Rebel Bride: A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy (Drakoryan Brides Book 4)

by Ava Sinclair

  “So, he did.” Her affirmation is edged with tension. “Mind its edge, Matthias, and keep it out of the reach of your little brother.”

  “I will,” he promises, and runs home to his mother.

  “So your strategy is to buy our allegiance then?” The healer addresses me once the lad is out of earshot. “Shiny knives for the boys, trinkets for the women? They say your gilded Drakoryan birds will soon fly in with gifts to distract us.”

  This is my first time talking to Thera alone. I already know of the effect she has on my brothers. When we are together and they speak of her, the room gets warm as heat rises from their bodies. Now, I feel my own heat rising unbidden. It annoys me to feel attraction towards this disrespectful female, more so because she is unattainable.

  “Mind your tongue, healer,” I growl. “The Drakoryan lords are tolerant but brook no disrespect of their mates, not even from a village girl.”

  “I am no girl. I am a woman.”

  I look down at her. “You seem little more than a girl to me, skulking about in your sullen state.” It is a lie. I can tell she is all woman, even if she is covered in a cloak. There’s a certainty in her tone, a woman’s knowing in her eyes. I find my gaze dropping to her parted lips. Her warm breath is visible in the cold air. I catch the scent of mint. I force myself to shake off the sensations that accompany my observations. I step towards her so that she has to look up at me. “My brothers and I have been charged with keeping the peace here. Whatever you’re playing at is a dangerous game. I’d advise you not to ply your divisive arts when the ladies arrive, healer.”

  I can tell this is the first time anyone has spoken to Thera in so stern a manner. I know Erdorin sought to reason with her. As the eldest, he is the most patient. Third born Jareo is the strategic thinker. My twin brothers, Tyri and Yrko, are the most passionate.

  I am the sternest, the problem solver. And Thera the Healer is a problem in want of a stern solution. My brothers may coddle her. I will not.

  “Your brother scolded me,” she says. “Did he not tell you it did no good? I do not fear your kind.”

  “Perhaps you should, healer. You have been warned.”

  She looks as if she is about to say something else, then her focus turns to a group of men walking by. Ceril of Darly is among them. He smiles at her, then looks at me. Jealousy clouds his expression. I feel my own rise as he approaches and chide myself for it.

  “Thera, out gathering herbs?” Ceril asks, moving between me and Thera.

  “No. I was looking for Matthias. His mother asked me to find him.”

  Ceril glances at me. “Looks like you found a lord instead.” His words are laced with sarcasm.

  “Who I speak to is my concern, Ceril.”

  “When we are wed, it will be mine as well.” The other men laugh. His tone is light, as if a merry flirtation, yet I sense a resolve in his words that the healer has missed as she returns his taunt in a joking tone.

  “And I’ve told you, Ceril, I’ll not consider it unless you prove yourself as strong and loyal as the man I lost.” She glances up at me. “Strong enough to rally a defense against any villager under threat.”

  The vixen. I realize now that Ceril of Darly is smitten with her, even if she does not see it. It is no wonder now that we cannot raise an army of villagers. By design or happenstance, the healer has stolen the strongest of village men away and infected him with her suspicions.

  “Have you a wife, Lord Gyrvrg?” Ceril of Darly regards me suspiciously.

  “No. My brothers and I are yet unmated.”

  “Is it true that the Drakoryan brothers take one woman to share?”

  “It is. Instead of one husband, Drakoryan Brides have several to protect and pleasure her.”

  “Is this because it takes multiple Drakoryans to do what one man can do?” Thera asks with mock innocence. “Is this why your kind favors maidens, because of their ignorance?”

  She’s mocking me—mocking my kind. She’s mocking her rulers. I can feel the hatred that feeds it. I want to grasp her, to shake her, to ask her why.

  Thera makes me feel anger, but she makes me feel something else, too. Her mockery feels like a challenge. I feel my cock stir under my skirt, and it takes all my will to keep it from rising. A few moments alone with the healer and I’d have that mocking mouth issuing moans.

  She is not a maid. And a village man wants her. She is not for you. I tell myself these things as I grow more resentful of Ceril of Darly. He stares at her with open desire. I feel the dragon in my veins start to uncurl. My body grows hotter. My head begins to pound.

  No. No. No.

  It is the soundsof delighted cries that save me, save us. I look to the village to see that the Drakoryan Brides have arrived bearing supplies and what I hope is the goodwill they promised. My desire dissipates, and I turn and leave before the sight of the healer can kindle it anew.

  Chapter 9

  THERA

  Despite the persistent flurrying snow and brisk winds, nearly everyone is flocking to the village square, lured by the heady scent of still-warm bread coming from laden carts. I stick to the periphery, watching. Women balance bundled children on their hips, the hems of their gowns dragging in the frozen slush at their feet.

  These are my people. I should feel pity, not disgust. But that is just what I feel as I watch my family and friends reach their hands to the Drakoryan Brides—dry and warm in their fur cloaks—framed by the curtains of the covered carts.

  My people thank these women for cloth, baked bread, and pottery—the very things we used to produce for ourselves. I have to look away from their grateful faces as I begrudgingly remind myself that desperate people do not analyze their need.

  “Thera! Thera!” I hear Sybil’s voice over the din and catch sight of her wind-burned face from under the hood of her worn cape. She’s beckoning me over so I reluctantly go. When I reach her, she takes my hand. “They have linen, Thera. Linen and silk thread and needles. Fine needles made of metal! Can you believe it? You must get your share!”

  In the villages, needles were scarce, and made of bone. The two I have are old and so worn it makes stitching wounds a challenge.

  She’s right. These are things I need. Can I refuse what I require to heal my people for the sake of pride? I cannot and queue up beside Sybil, who cranes her neck towards the carts, hoping aloud that there’s enough for everyone.

  Two women walk by. One is telling the other that they will no longer have to grind their own corn to make flat bread. The castle mills will now grind the grain, and the bread will be baked in castle ovens and delivered to the villages.

  “Did you hear that?” Sybil asks excitedly. “Isn’t that generous?”

  “Would you not rather have your own oven?” I do not say what is really bothering me. Around me, I can see the resistance I’ve been cultivating fading by the moment.

  When we reach the cart, there are two Drakoryan ladies dispensing goods. One I recognize as Lady Isla, who came to deliver herbs shortly after we settled here. I’d only had a tent then, and she’d arrived when I was delivering a baby. She’d told me she was the sole survivor of Branlock and spoke of the great black dragons that destroyed her village. She smiles warmly as she leans down to hand a bundle to a woman shivering in a thin woolen cloak.

  “How many in your household?” A blonde woman to Isla’s side calls to Sybil.

  “Five, my lady. Me, my husband, and our three boys.”

  “Will your husband join our fight against the ShadowFell?” she asks. “There are extra rations for families of men who join the cause.”

  Sybil casts me a nervous glance. “He was, my lady. But…” Her voice trails away.

  “In case he changes his mind…” She smiles graciously as her slim white hands pass Sybil an extra loaf of bread and some dried figs. My friend avoids my gaze as she turns away.

  “You’re the healer!” Lady Isla calls to me.

  “I’m one of them,” I say.

&n
bsp; “Yes, but you’re the youngest.” Lady Isla gestures towards her companion. “This is Lady Lyla of Fra’hir. Lady Lyla, this is Thera.”

  “We’ve brought things you need.” Isla turns to pick up a bundle that’s separate from the others and hands it to me. “Linen, silk thread, needles...I also added additional things from the castle apothecary.”

  “Thank you.” I do not refuse her. I cannot afford to. But I can’t stop myself from asking her the question that’s been on my lips since I got in line.

  “Why now?” I look up at her. “Our needs are not new, Lady Isla. They’re the same needs we’ve suffered since we erected tents in view of your castle and cooked over common fires as our houses were being built.

  “You mean to put me on the defensive.” Lady Isla does not shy away from my question. “I would feel the same, if I were in your shoes. I will not lie. The Drakoryans need the village men to see them as allies rather than overlords. But they fail to realize what women know; men are only half the power in a village. Our mates concentrated on building strong houses and digging wells. They did not think of what the women and children need. We seek to restore faith in the Drakoryans through reaching out to our villages.”

  “Your villages?” I’m incredulous.

  “Healer, the Drakoryan Brides you see have not forgotten where they came from. What I do here, I do in memory of Branlock. I would not see the ShadowFell victorious again.”

  “Yes. The great black dragons, the ones we have not seen.”

  Lady Isla’s eyes glint with anger. “Mock my words if you wish. But as you do, pray you never see them.”

  She turns away. She is done with me, and I with her. The day is growing late and villagers still crowd around the carts. I walk home, glad to be away from the throng.

  Once inside my cottage, I build a fire and I open the bundle I was given. Where others would see useful linen, I see a reminder of the ready stash I had at home. Where others would see bread, I see food as payment for our servitude. I think of the serving class who serve the Drakoryans with loyalty and obedience, questioning nothing. Is this our fate as well?

  I suddenly feel tired and sink down onto the wooden bench at the table. I think of Bran, of what he would say if he were here. I told Ceril that my husband would have rebelled but in my heart, I know this is a lie. Bran was practical. He would not have urged dissent until he knew whether the Drakoryans were false. Bran. My Bran. It is the dragon lords’ fault that he is dead.

  I lay my head on the table and fall into a sleep. I dream of my husband. He is standing at the edge of the forest. What’s left of his shirt hangs from him in bloodied shreds.

  “Stay strong, my love. Beware the enemy who brought about my death. Beware—”

  A scream drowns out the rest of my dead husband’s words. I look around, to see who has cried out. Only when I jerk myself awake do I realize it is coming from outside.

  Chapter 10

  ERDORIN

  At first glance, it looks like eagles. But eagles don’t flock, and these are approaching five abreast.

  Only when one drops from the sky to land among some cottages at the edge of the village do we hear the scream. Cottages block the creature from our sight, but my brothers and I, who were helping to unload a cart, see the line of flame it exhales.

  A dragon, yet not a dragon—a least not any dragon familiar to us. More screams. More fire. The lords who’d come to the villages to protect their ladies pull their mates down from the carts as the horses start to panic. No sooner are the ladies on the ground than the horses take off, breaking free from the men who try to hold them. They careen through the village. One cart hits the side of a cottage, shattering the traces and flipping over. The cart rolls onto its side, barely misses a panicked woman with two young children. Overhead, dark creatures dip and dive with frightening speed.

  We put no thought into changing. The villagers were under attack. My brothers and I rush to an open space and burst into towers of flame.

  Twins Tyri and Yrko shift first; Tyri’s blood red flame and Yrko’s orange one swirl together and then split to reform into two identical red dragons with flame-orange wings. Jareo shifts next into a jade green dragon, then Gyrvig, whose dragon form is blue with white mottling. I change last into the rarest color in the kingdom. When my alabaster flame molds and solidifies, I take to the air and follow my brothers to where the creatures are attacking. Below, the roof of a cottage has been set ablaze, sending the family fleeing to huddle against the side of a shed.

  The black dragons are small and fast, dipping and darting below us to spray fire over the village. Their aim is haphazard; some roofs are set alight while others are barely singed. Because they are below us, it is impossible for us to burn them without incinerating the village.

  Several other lords have shifted in the center of the village. They direct their flames at the black dragons flying above them. One is struck with a glancing blow, and the Drakoryan dragon has no time to refill its fire glands before the creature recovers to dive and set one of the overturned carts ablaze.

  Like any dragon, even these soon run out of fire and take to the skies to refill their fire glands. My brothers and I give chase, each homing in on separate creatures. I am determined to seize my quarry from the air if I must. I am getting closer; the smaller dragon appears to tire, his wings beating slower as I draw closer to him. Then suddenly, he turns and what I see surprises me so that I miss my chance to attack. The creature fixes its red eye on me, and for an instant, I see not a dragon’s eye, but a man’s, pale blue and full of cunning. The dragon blinks, and the eye changes back. I have missed my chance. The dragon is gone, fleeing now towards the mountain. It gains speed as I follow.

  Turn back! I hear my brother Jareo call to me in my mind. I wheel around to see him approaching the village. The dragon he was pursuing is heading towards the mountains with the others, but he is looking down, where a dozen more of the creatures are descending from all points.

  I fold my wings and drop, looking for a place to land. Below, I see one of the dragons on the ground. It is approaching a house I know to be occupied by a family, using its clawed wing joints as front legs. Two men rush at the dragon with swords. The creature sprays fire and the man screams as his clothes alight. Others rush to his aid, rolling him in the snowy earth to extinguish the flame.

  Other armed men rush the dragon, which is little bigger than a large Wolven. They surround it, stabbing the creature until their swords are imbedded up to the hilt. The little dragon screams and spreads its wings in an attempt to take flight, but instead collapses on the ground, twitching violently as death claims it. As it screams in death, all the other dragons take to the air and retreat into the blackness.

  My brothers and I shift as we land on the outskirts of the village, breaking into a run as soon as we fully assume our human form. The twins rush to help men haul water to a burning cottage. Nearby, mothers run about crying the names of children that became separated from them during the pandemonium. People are running everywhere, crying and screaming. Smoke fills the spaces between the cottages. Loaves of bread, bits of cloth and broken pottery have been trampled into the mud. The horses, which broke their harnesses in a panic, are nowhere to be seen.

  I catch the sound of weeping and follow it to where a woman kneels over a shivering man stripped to his waist. My heart catches in my throat when I recognize the woman. It is the healer’s friend, Sybil, and the man is her husband. He was the one burned by the dragon. While his friends saved him from being severely burned, he is in obvious pain, and she is afraid. Thera is already applying salve to his injuries, but when she sees me, she stops and stomps over.

  “So this is it, then? This is the threat?” The healer points to the body of the dragon lying nearby. Lady Isla stands beside it. Her lords, like others, have arrived and crowd around her. “These are your huge ShadowFell dragons?”

  “She speaks true!” a man cries, coming over. He is quickly joined by others. “W
hat trickery is this! You uprooted us from our homes to protect us from beasts we were able to cut down ourselves!”

  “These are not ShadowFell!” I raise my voice above the growing outcry, but Thera now stands between me and the crowd.

  “They are false!” she cries, turning to the other villagers. “Had every man here been given a sword, we could have cut them all down!” She wheels around, her face a mask of fury. “You took us from our homes! Took our harvest! You told us stories of great beasts that show themselves to be no bigger than Wolven!”

  The villagers are raising fists. Those with swords are raising swords. They are all yelling angrily.

  “You are wrong!” Lady Isla steps from a nearby cottage, her men behind her. The crowd falls quiet. “These are not ShadowFell! They are something else!”

  The crowd will not be assuaged. “Liars! Liars!” they cry, and Thera is encouraging them, stoking their anger.

  “How much more do we have to lose to the Drakoryans? We’ve lost our homes, our harvest, our maidens!” She whirls around, facing me. “Some of us have lost our loved ones!” She points at my brothers and me. “They are false!” she cries. “If they would turn us into another serving class, let them do it as the monsters they truly are! If not, let us fight them as the men they pretend to be!”

  She is goading us to change, to turn. She is pushing us to do what we have vowed not to do, which is to use our dragon might against the villagers. I look to my brothers. We are larger, but we are outnumbered, even with some other lords here in the village. The presence of the brides complicates things. Nothing brings out the inner dragon faster than our protective urges. I can already feel the heat of the Lords of Fra’hir and the Lords of Za’vol, who move to flank their ladies.

  Do what you must. I am not the only one who hears the voice of the king. The unrest has gotten his attention once more. He has given us permission to suppress this in the only way we can.