Daerton strummed a chord. “I’m sure there’s a song in this,” he announced, winking at Ruelke flirtatiously. He flashed her a white toothed grin.
“Are you a bard or a warlock?” Mariene retorted in disgust, distracted from his awe of my dragon.
“Are you a bard or a warlock, the general asked outside of Reknoc,” Daerton responded in song. “As the golden dragon circled overhead, something something princess’s bed… the last line needs some work,” he smirked at me.
“Watch your manners warlock,” Mariene snapped. “Men have hung for less.”
“Ah, but am I a man?” Daerton responded cheerfully. “What is the balance of blood that takes you from brethren to man, or the reverse, I wonder?”
Aurien circled and roared out flame, before winging back down and landing with an audible thud on the ground. He shifted from regal dragon to beautiful man and returned to his discarded trousers, pulling them on. “They’re coming.”