The Dragel's Song VIII

By Chera Carmichael

The Headmaster's shocking news leaves Neil confused and frustrated about his future and current scholarship student status. A personal advisor assigned by Noir Academy? Not likely! Neil's worries continue when and a mysterious incident takes place between classes, tripping his protective instincts.

Can he trust them?

Better yet—should he?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chera Carmichael
• Release date: Mar 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005784256

Chera Carmichael

Chera Carmichael (Scioneeris), is known for her love of dragons and writing.

Book preview

The Dragel’s Song

The Dragel’s Song

The Neilson Hewitt Adventures

Chera Carmichael

Chera Carmichael

Copyright © 2021 by Chera Carmichael

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Design by Starlight Book Cover Design.

Editing by Excel Designs

Contents

The Tags

1. Every Morning, Just Like The Others - Ben

2. An Undercover Detail - Ben

3. Headmaster Grond's Office - Neil

4. A Protective Kind Of Magic - Neil

5. An Uncomfortable Echo - Neil

Author’s Note

GLOSSARY

Character List

Have You Read The Prequel?

Also by Chera Carmichael

About the Author

The Tags

To my faithful readers who requested my ‘rambling fic tags’. This is for you. I hearby tag Episode 8 as:

Soft Space Academy AU. Found family. Slow-burn. Eventual Friends, then Friends to Lovers. A little angst, some family fluff, everyone needs a hug. Mysterious circumstances. Ben can be sneaky. Undercover students. The Headmaster is an alien!

1 Every Morning, Just Like The Others - Ben

Ben straightened his uniform collar in the mirror, checking his cuffs and personal accessories with the air of someone who enjoyed a morning routine. Satisfied with the end result, he padded out of his room and into the spacious living space shared with his famous parents.

The mornings were always quiet in the Carlson penthouse, unless some emergency meeting was underway for some catastrophe or another.

Today was quiet and Ben was grateful.

He wound his way through the living room, the front room and the showy kitchen that was mostly for aesthetic as their personal chef sent meals up from the industrial kitchen on the floor below.

By the time he reached the dining room, he could just barely make out his father's quiet murmuring voice and the answering murmur of his personal assistant, Markus. He rounded the corner to see his father, Ernesto Carlson, seated at the head of the table, with Markus standing off to his left, a tablet in hand.

Both heads looked up at his entrance.

Slept through your alarm? Ernesto's grin was fond. Breakfast is waiting downstairs.

Too tired, Ben admitted. He eased into the chair at his father's right, adding a polite nod to Markus, before summoning his breakfast. It was nice to have it ready and waiting, so he could at least pretend to share a meal with one of his parents for the day.

The steaming hot breakfast tray was filled with deliciously inviting scents and several of his favorites were arranged just how he liked it. Ben gratefully tucked into the warm food, listening with half an ear to Markus' comments on the day's upcoming activities.

It was nothing new to hear of all the appearances, meetings and contracts his father had to deal with, but once in a while, he could sort of keep up with their conversation.

When a muttered phrase about outer-realm guests caught his ear, Ben's attention switched from breakfast to his father's contemplative expression. He was sure he’d heard Markus mention this once already.

Is this about that missing cargo again? Didn't they sign in or request insurance or something? Ben wanted to know.

Based on our findings, that does not appear to be the case, Markus said, blandly. On the surface, it is a minor inconvenience.

And beneath, it’s a mess, Ben finished. He stabbed at his plate with his fork. Is there anything I can do to help?

Ernesto sighed. "I hate to ask, but if you’re offering, I think—perhaps—it might be best if you didn’t attend