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He turned to one of his men. “Take Declan and his mate up to the rose room, please, Andre.”
    The man bowed. “As you wish, sir.”
    Drake turned back to Emily with a smile. “Sire, sir, it’s all the same.” Stepping closer, he reached out, took her hand, and bent over it. “I still wish you would call me Drake. I have grown accustomed to having friends. I would hate to lose one as special as you.”
    Emily’s cheeks burned as all the things she’d learned over the last few minutes ran through her mind. King Arthur had just kissed her hand and her mate had once been a knight of the Round Table. It was almost too much for her old mind to take in.
    “Thank you...Drake.” How would she ever feel comfortable being so informal with this man now? Every witch she had ever known had grown up listening to stories of the man and his knights. How when the world needed him, he would rise once more and save the people of Earth. “I-I’m sorry, but I really don’t feel well.”
    She glanced up at Declan. “I would rather be alone with my mate. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
    Even after a week together, they still had fifty years of catching up to do. What had he been doing other than sleeping? Also, Emily found she wanted to become his mate in every way. The thought had her stomach doing little flip-flops that she should be immune to at her age.
    “Of course.” Drake straightened and glanced at Declan. “We will discuss what to do about who destroyed your lair and I will fill you in when you rejoin us.”
     

Chapter Ten
     
     
    Declan followed Andre up to the third floor and a suite of rooms he could only describe as opulent. Wallpaper dotted with red roses covered the walls. The heavy cherry wood furniture gleamed darkly, and the scent of beeswax filled the room. It was a comforting and familiar scent.
    Drake’s man left them alone, closing the door quietly behind him. Declan carried his mate to the large four-poster bed and gently place her on the thick covering. The spread, if he wasn’t mistaken, was old and filled with goose down. The familiar things were a comfort to him. He hoped they were a comfort to his mate, as well.
    “I love country homes.” She sighed when he set her on the bed. “The quilts are so thick, and the house always smells of the country.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose this is the kind of smells you’re used to.”
    Her cheeks turned rosy and he wondered what was on her mind. If he was lucky, she would share it and he would know. “I do have fond memories of the smell of burning beeswax candles and the roses my mother always had scattered throughout the house.”
    Back then, magic was prevalent. It wasn’t feared, and those who had magic were revered, not hated, or feared.
    “We didn’t have to hide who we were then, either. After a while, we found it was better to conceal the fact that we were dragons, because some went mad and preyed on humans.” He shook his head. “I remember a time when humans came to dragons for help, knowing that we would do our best to assist them.”
    “Then, the dark ages and the burning times came.”
    “Yes.” He couldn’t put aside the wrenching pain that his memories wrought. The sight of his mother burned at the stake for witchcraft when his father was away. The horrible sensation of his first shift as his body changed into that of his dragon at the tender age of eleven. His rage, and subsequent sorrow as he remembered using his adolescent fire to burn the humans who had murdered his mother.
    That was when Merlin and Arthur had found him. They taught him to contain his rage, to use his strength for good. He had spent the bulk of his adult life attempting to atone for the sins of his youth.
    Sagramor’s years at the round table didn’t even begin to make up for the fact that in his youthful rage, he had killed men, women, and children alike. Arthur’s forgiveness only made his guilt worsen. How could such a great man forgive