Blood of the King - Khirro's Journey Book 1 Page 0,120

the floor.

“Rrrr,” he growled as he walked the wingless dragon across the stone floor. “Rrrr.”

The half-hearted growl came out a shadow of its former self—the once ferocious beast would never be the same without wings. A dragon unable to fly was no more dangerous than a lion. Not that lions weren’t dangerous, he just already had a lion toy. Disappointed, he let go of the toy, leaving it standing on the floor, and glared at it.

He wanted his dragon back.

I want my Da.

He closed his eyes and sighed, fought to keep tears at bay once more. He didn’t want nanny to come in and find him crying. She’d get mad if she found him crying. Nanny didn’t like tears.

A scraping sound made Graymon forget his sadness. He opened his eyes expecting to see nanny or a guard standing in the doorway, but there was no one.

The boy glanced around his chamber, from unmade bed draped with red bedclothes that matched the frilled canopy, to wooden shelves cluttered with carved animals and tops and intricate toy soldiers, and at the armoire, so tall he couldn’t reach the clothes hung inside without help. Everything looked as it always did.

Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention: one of the broken-off wings skittered across the floor. Graymon stared. He reached to pick it up but it skirted his grasp and crossed to where the dragon stood. The other wing followed, sliding and bouncing along until it lay on the floor beside its former owner.

Graymon opened his mouth, intending to call nanny, but giggled instead. What a wonderful trick the king of dragons had done. He leaned forward to examine the three pieces but they began to shudder, so he stopped. The wings rose from the floor, rotating and moving until their splintered ends lined up against the dragon’s body. The ends touched, glowed briefly with dim red light, and Gorgo, king of the dragons, became whole again.

Graymon clapped his hands and laughed. He didn’t think to wonder how his favorite toy had healed itself, only felt elated the dragons would have their king again and he his toy. He rocked happily back and forth, excited to play once more, but stopped when the dragon's wings flapped.

The wood creaked as the wings raised and lowered once. Graymon sucked in a sharp breath through his open mouth.

The king of the dragons never did that before.

The wings flapped a second time. Then again. The boy giggled. The dragon’s wings flapped harder and the toy rose from the floor, an inch at first, but its wings beat the air harder and it climbed higher.

Graymon’s laughter stopped as nerves nibbled in his tummy. Having a flying dragon appealed to him, but he knew toys didn’t move by themselves, not without gears and strings and keys to wind them. He stared as it hovered level with his head. The toy maneuvered until their eyes met. The dragon’s eyes held the same red glow that had fused its wings back together.

As he gawked at the dragon, Graymon noticed the figure standing on the bear skin rug by his bed. The person didn’t move. The hood of a black cloak was pulled down to cover its face while the cloak’s hem brushed the fur carpet; its hands were tucked into broad sleeves.

Graymon forgot the dragon toy. Fear seized his chest, climbed into his throat, but he swallowed hard around it.

Warriors don’t show others when they’re afraid, his father told him more than once. Not even little warriors like you.

He wanted to be a brave little warrior like his Da wanted him to be, but it was hard.

“Who...who are you?” Graymon’s throat wanted him to cry instead of ask questions.

“I’ll not hurt you, my prince,” the figure replied with the pleasant-sounding voice of a woman, one which would sound good if it took up a song. “The king sent me to take care of you.”

“Da?”

“Yes, your father.” Her tone soothed him, as though she crooned a lullaby. “He sent me to get you, to bring you to him.”

Graymon tilted his head as he looked at the figure; she didn’t move as she spoke. Da had warned him to be careful of people he didn’t know, but the prospect of seeing his father sooner than expected made him excited.

“But Da is far away,” Graymon said, excitement in his voice. “He went to where there’s a real war with real soldiers.”

The person knelt in front of him, though he hadn’t seen her