Chapter 123: Acting Classes and Assassinations
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Riley’s heartbeat sounded like a marching band trying to drill through his ribs.
Slow-motion realization hit him square in the face. His eyes widened. His mouth went dry. Tunnel vision snapped into place as those golden eyes—half-lidded, faintly glowing, and entirely too amused—locked on him.
Kael, the golden lizard, the incoming executioner, looked for all the world like a man watching a play. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly while Riley’s knees threatened to buckle.
Yep.
Kill him now.
The tension snapped when one elf hissed, sharp and startled.
Because appearances could really be deceiving. Just because Kael looked casual, lazy, and amused didn’t mean everyone else should be.
So the pressure was crushing.
Yes, pressure.
At first, the elves weren’t shaken. Quite the opposite—in fact, their expressions lit up with the kind of anticipation that finally got the confused Riley’s stomach sinking before he realized what was actually happening.
Because in the mind of such proud elves, why would they be shaken when they clearly thought that the human was about to be roasted alive for daring to claim something so audacious?
So their gazes all shifted past the mortal and toward the door where they waited for what should’ve been an enjoyable show.
But then, just when they were waiting for the human’s entire world to crumble, they were instead hit with pressure that got them hissing or choking.
They expected him to be angry, livid, really; they just didn’t expect the human to be saved from the debilitating pressure released by the dragon lord.
Because when the elves reeled, Riley... didn’t.
"?!"
Someone finally dared to speak through clenched teeth, his handsome face paling. "M-my Lord, w-we haven’t done anything!"
"Mn. Really?"
Kael actually used words, and the elf who had spoken up seized it like a drowning man grabbing a floating log. His features softened, lips trembling just so, every inch the picture of pitiful innocence even as he wrestled with the pressure inflicted by Kael.
"My lord, forgive us. It’s only that the human became angry. He said you dislike being served by anyone else. That only Riley was allowed to touch you."
Riley’s eyes bulged. WHAT?!
Yes, he’d said something similar. But not like that. Not like that! He had been warning them for their survival, not staking a bloody claim! He wasn’t out here declaring himself The Chosen One!
Like anyone sane enough would want to be chosen?!
And yet, here these manipulative, cheekbone-wielding bastards were, acting like they’d just witnessed some star-crossed confession—character assassination, really. He swore one or two of them even squeezed out a tear for dramatic effect.
Riley practically gasped. Professional acting classes. They must’ve had them. Centuries of training just for this moment.
The other elves, emboldened by Kael’s silence, pressed in. Their gazes gleamed with calculation and hope.
"So he said that?" Kael murmured.
Riley’s soul left his body.
No.
Nope.
That’s it. I’m done.
I’ll live because of the sigil, sure, but I’ll need a new face and name afterward. There’s no way I can show myself again after this humiliation.
Another elf chimed in, voice laced with scorn. "But My Lord, surely he was just mistaken? Humans often tend to misunderstand. To say that about the Dragon Lord? Impossible. You couldn’t possibly be like that—"
"Oh, but he’s not wrong."
Kael’s head tilted, golden eyes gleaming faintly. Pressure slammed outward, thicker, heavier, until every elf but Riley dropped to their knees, their elegant forms pressed to the floor as though the weight of mountains bore down on them.
"?!" Riley froze, unsure whether he was supposed to kneel too. The sigil exempted him, yes, but what if Kael wanted him kneeling? What if this was the moment the dragon decided gutting him was preferable?
One elf clawed at his throat, gasping for air. Another begged hoarsely, "My lord, why—why are you—"
Kael’s smile was razor-sharp, his tone deceptively mild. "As a possessive boyfriend, won’t it be a shame to let him down?"
Riley almost choked. And for a moment, his ears wanted to reject the words that left Kael’s mouth.
But oblivious to Kael’s jab at Riley’s wounded dignity, the elves’ faces drained of color. Slowly, painfully, their gazes shifted—not to Kael, but to Riley.
Oh no. Don’t look at me. Don’t you dare look at me as if I ordered this! Riley’s skin crawled as a dozen pairs of perfect, furious yet begging eyes turned his way.
Was it not enough that Kael already said something ridiculous? And now they’re even trying to pin this on him?!
"My Lord, please s-stop!" he blurted, voice cracking. Not because he cared about mercy or their well-being, but because he could already imagine the mountain of paperwork if any of these glowing beings died in front of him.
Would he even be able to live down any of the headlines?!
No.
But instead of easing, the pressure increased, doubling as if that wasn’t enough punishment.
Meanwhile, Kael tilted his head again, as if dissatisfied.
Riley gawked.
He’s shitting me. He’s got to be shitting me. There’s no way he’d actually—
But Kael’s gaze dared him otherwise.
One elf collapsed, reaching desperately toward Riley’s feet. Blue lips, trembling fingers.
And Riley—pitiful, doomed Riley—cracked.
"H-honey! Please stop!"
The words spilled from his own cursed mouth, strangled with despair, shame, and the raw desire to live.
He malfunctioned. Absolutely broke down. In that instant, Riley accepted it. He would just need another life to fix his problems. Maybe in that one, he’d be smart enough to avoid anything that resembled a dragon. Especially golden ones with nice hair and excellent bone structure. Especially those.
But it worked.
The pressure eased.
Kael straightened, the lazy amusement gone from his eyes, replaced with something sharper. "Walk faster out of there. Unless you want me to come and get you."
Hell. No.
Riley practically sprinted, fleeing with the speed of a man who’d stared his executioner in the eyes and been told to run.
Because deep in his gut, he knew—even a new identity wouldn’t save him from the shame of being fetched again.