42: Chapter 42 My Treasure Trove

Deep night. The bottom of the Great Pyramid. A cluster of underground chambers.

Drogon—in his human form—pushed open a bronze door. The hinges let out a deep, rumbling groan. The door slab was twice as thick as the one in the Yunkai vault, and he could feel the resistance of the hinges as he pushed.

The moment it creaked open, a shaft of golden light shot through the gap, striking his face. The gold in his slit pupils shone even brighter, reflected by the light spilling from within.

He stood in the doorway, stunned.

It was not a vault. It was a mountain of gold.

This chamber was three times larger than the Yunkai vault. Gold had been cast into floor tiles, covering the entire ground.

His reflection appeared on the floor tiles—a youth with black hair and golden eyes, his tail stiff behind him. The walls were studded with countless uncut raw gemstones. They weren't set in mounts; they were embedded directly into the fissures of the stone. Rubies and sapphires. Emeralds and topazes. They shimmered with colorful light under the torchlight.

In the center of the treasure vault stood a statue of an emperor of the Ghiscari Empire, cast from pure gold. It was twice as tall as he was. Two fist-sized rubies were embedded in the statue's eyes—the pupils—glowing with a dark red light under the torchlight.

The statue held a golden scepter in its hand, with a blue diamond embedded at the tip. It was the size of a pigeon's egg, pure as water.

Drogon stood in the doorway. The light in his slit pupils was brighter than all the gems in the vault combined.

His tail thrashed wildly behind him, knocking White Mane, who was following close behind, off balance. The tip of his tail swept against her thigh, and without him controlling the force, she stumbled back a step.

She steadied herself against the wall, glaring at his back. She noticed his shoulders were trembling slightly, the muscles beneath his scales twitching.

This was a physiological reaction of the dragon race when in a state of extreme excitement—the same as when seeing prey, the same as when smelling blood.

"Did you find a beauty or did you find gold?"

Drogon didn't even look back, his voice raspy.

"What is a beauty compared to this? This is beauty."

He threw himself straight into the pile of gold coins. He didn't walk. He didn't jump. He dove. Leaping forward like a diver, his body arced through the air before crashing into the heap of coins.

A rain of gold coins filled the air, clattering for a full minute. A few coins rolled to White Mane's feet. She looked down at them, but didn't pick them up.

He rolled and thrashed in the gold coins, scooping armfuls into his embrace. When he couldn't hold any more, he used his tail to coil them up. His tail whipped a long string of gemstone necklaces through the air. The necklaces were too long for the tip of his tail to lift, so they dragged behind him, the gems scraping against the coins with a crunching sound.

He rubbed his face against the coins, pressed his belly into them, and used his tail to sweep the coins toward himself. He piled them up, then sprawled on top, like a seal basking in the sun on a beach.

White Mane leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, expressionless, watching this dragon rolling around in the treasure without a shred of dignity.

He had covered his face with a sheet of gold foil, leaving only his eyes exposed, which were still sparkling. Drool leaked from the edge of the foil, dripping onto the gold coins with a hiss—dragon saliva was corrosive, etching a small mark into the coin.

"During the blood bond ceremony earlier today—I actually thought you were a romantic soul," she said, her voice dry. "But tonight, you've revealed your true colors."

Drogon poked his head out of the pile of coins. The gold foil slid off his face, and several gold coins were caught in his hair. He plucked the coins from his hair and licked the corner of his mouth, still holding a small sapphire in his mouth.

He took the sapphire out of his mouth, wiped it on his collar, and tucked it into his pocket.

"The romance is real. The greed is also real. Otherwise, why do you think I helped you slaughter those people? Who's going to pay the commission for two thousand cavalrymen? Me."

White Mane paused, stunned.

"...You treat me like a mercenary?"

"What else?" Drogon tilted his head, his tail curling up behind him. "As a wife? Have you ever seen a wife with teeth marks on the back of her neck?"

His tone was flippant, but his slit pupils were constantly observing her reaction.

He was testing her, testing the extent of the mark's influence on her. A subordinate contract was different from a spouse contract. A spouse contract was bidirectional, equal, and allowed for the perception of each other's emotions.

A subordinate contract was unidirectional—he could perceive her, but she could only perceive vague directions and danger. He needed to know what her own thoughts truly were in this relationship.

White Mane fell silent.

She raised a hand to touch the bandage on the back of her neck, her fingers pressing against the surface. The mark was still there. Warm. Not hot. Unlike the burning sensation during the blood bond earlier that day.

Then she did something Drogon hadn't expected.

She walked over to him and crouched down on the pile of gold coins. Not looking down at him, but meeting his gaze. Her bronze-colored knees sank into the coins. Her silver-white braids draped over the gold, the tips dragging across the pile, sweeping away a small patch of gold dust.

Her amber eyes stared directly into his slit pupils. The distance was very close. Close enough for Drogon to smell her scent—leather, rust, sweat. And a faint pheromone, altered by the mark. It wasn't perfume.

It was the marking component from dragon saliva that had permeated her glands and was now being secreted by her own body. The scent was very faint, but a dragon could smell it. More clearly than any other scent.

"Then explain it clearly," she said, her voice flat. "What exactly is this mark? Why did my entire neck burn when you and she... during that blood bond earlier? Did you feel it too—my anger at that moment?"

Drogon put away his playful expression.

He sat up. Gold coins slid from his chest, clattering. He sat cross-legged on the pile of coins, his tail swaying slowly behind him. The speed was slow, the rhythm steady. It was his posture when being serious.

"I felt it," he said. "I'm sorry."

White Mane did not look away, waiting for him to finish.

"The blood bond is the highest contract of the dragon race. The mark on you is secondary—a subordinate mark. When the highest contract is established, the secondary mark resonates. It's similar to... being forced to watch a banquet you weren't invited to."

White Mane's jaw tightened. A flash of stinging light crossed her amber eyes. Not pain. It was a sour ache.

The ache of being pricked by something. She gritted her back teeth, her masseter muscle bulging on the side of her cheek.

"So I'm the one who wasn't invited. Forever standing outside the door."

"No. You aren't standing outside the door. You are standing at my flank."

Drogon's voice was steady. No flippancy. No teasing. The golden light in his slit pupils dimmed and brightened.

"During the siege just now, you were the first to notice something wrong with that Grey Cloak. My system didn't even identify his aura—but you did.

If you hadn't been down there fighting desperately to cut through the city gate, I might not have held on until she arrived. Your mark was burning because it wanted to warn me. You saved my life, White Mane."

He picked up a sapphire from the pile of coins. An exceptionally large one, pear-cut, roughly forty carats. He had found it near the feet of the statue of the Ghiscari Empire emperor.

He wiped the gold dust off it with his fingers and shoved it into her hand. Her hands were rough. She had calluses from the sword between her thumb and index finger. There was an unhealed split in her palm, cracked open from the impact of hacking at the city gate earlier.

The sapphire landed in her palm, fitting perfectly into the split. The edges of the wound were flattened by the gem.

"This is yours. As your commission for today. In the future, if one day you are willing to attend the 'banquet'—when you no longer hate me because of the mark, we can talk again."

White Mane looked down at the sapphire in her hand. Pear-shaped. Very clear. She could see the blue light of the split in her palm refracting through the gem. The blood on the edges of the split hadn't dried yet.

The gem absorbed a tiny bit of the blood, adding a faint layer of red texture within the blue light. She looked back at his half-serious face, silent for a long time.

Then she stood up, tucked the sapphire away, and turned to leave.

She walked to the doorway, paused for a step, and didn't look back.

"Who said I don't hate you?"

A pause.

"But that Grey Cloak today—next time there's something like that, don't go in alone. Call me. I am not her. You don't need to block the damage for me."

She disappeared at the doorway. Her footsteps gradually faded away in the corridor.

Drogon watched the empty doorway. His tail drew a circle on the ground. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. Not a roguish smirk, but a smile of 'unexpected but within reason.'

"Yes, yes, yes. Commander White."