by Jasmine Walt
“I never thought I’d be jealous of watching my father dance with a woman,” Lucyan said quietly halfway through the dance. “But I confess to a sudden urge to rip his throat out.”
Drystan blinked, turning from the spectacle to look at his brothers. They appeared calm outwardly, but Drystan knew them better than anyone else, and he could see the signs of tension in their bodies.
“He is our father,” Drystan said quietly, “and our king. To speak of him in that way is treason.”
“We don’t really mean that we would do such a thing,” Alistair said just as quietly. “But do you see how close he holds her? It’s as if he is deliberately trying to taunt us.”
Drystan sucked in a breath. He’d thought he’d been the only one to notice, but if his brothers had picked up on it too, it was likely the whole room had. “He’s probably just playing mind games with us,” he said. “Winding us up for tomorrow’s meeting.”
Lucyan nodded. “I don’t understand why he hasn’t already made his decision on which of us will be his heir,” he said. “He could have named one of us before the ritual and announced the decision tonight in front of everyone.”
“Like Drystan said, Father is playing mind games with us,” Alistair said grimly. “I just wish I knew the point of this particular one.”
“Maybe he’s just trying to make us more desperate,” Drystan said. If that was the case, he’d certainly succeeded—Drystan’s fingers itched to whisk Dareena away from his father and take her back to his chambers. He’d wanted to be named heir before—now he craved it, like an alcoholic craved wine, or a fat man chocolate cake. He needed Dareena in his bed. She was his, and no other man had the right to put his hands on her.
Not even their king.
The dance came to an end, and the king finally released Dareena. She came up to the high table to sit with the rest of them, a vaguely uncomfortable expression on her face. Drystan wondered if it was from dancing with his father or something else. He vowed to ask her about it when he had the opportunity to get her alone.
“Congratulations, my lady,” Alistair said, somehow managing to grab her hand first. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his lips lingering on her skin long enough to make her blush. “That necklace looks stunning on you.”
“Thank you,” she said, her lush lips curving in a shy smile. “I honestly never expected to be Chosen.”
“Well, I for one am very glad you were,” Lucyan declared, kissing her hand next. “Of course, that now means my brothers and I will be fighting over you, but you are most definitely worth fighting for.”
Dareena giggled at that, and Drystan shot his brother an annoyed look. “Fortunately, we won’t be forced to battle to the death,” he said, taking Dareena’s hand next. “Our king will be deciding tomorrow which one of us you are to wed.”
Dareena’s smile faltered. “T-tomorrow? It is to be so soon, then?”
Drystan raised an eyebrow. “Would that be so bad?”
Dareena’s cheeks flamed; she no doubt realized her mistake. “I didn’t mean it like that, my prince,” she said quickly. “This is just all so new to me—I really haven’t had time to take it all in yet.”
“Too right,” Tariana said, appearing at Dareena’s side. “Let’s get you off to bed before these three ply you with too much wine. They are far too charming for their own good,” she added with a smirk as she took Dareena’s arm in hers.
“My dear sister, how is it that you manage to turn something that is normally a compliment into an insult?” Lucyan said with mock-hurt, pressing a hand to his heart. “We would never make the lady do anything she doesn’t want to.”
“And that is exactly what I am afraid of,” Tariana said dryly, steering Dareena away. They watched as she guided Dareena through the throng and out the door, identical expressions of longing on their faces. None of them would be able to stop thinking about Dareena tonight, Drystan knew. Tomorrow morning’s meeting could not come soon enough.
14
“Rise and shine, my lady!” Rona sang as she sailed into the room. “It’s time for you to get ready for your audience with the king!”
Dareena groaned, burrowing deeper into the blankets. “I don’t want an audience with the king,” she muttered into her pillow. Her stomach was in knots just thinking about facing him again after last night. The way he’d danced with her, holding her a little too close for comfort…she kept trying to convince herself she imagined it, as he’d said nothing inappropriate. But she couldn’t help thinking that he was interested in her.
“What?” Rona asked, sounding as if she thought Dareena had lost her mind.
“Nothing.” Sighing, Dareena pushed the blankets back and struggled out of bed. She’d had two hours of sleep at most—after what had transpired last night, she’d been unable to do anything more than stare at the ceiling as she tried to come to terms with this new reality.
She was the Dragon’s Gift. Her. Dareena Sellis, daughter of a simple farmer and lowborn serving girl, had been chosen by the gods to bear the dragon’s sons.
The idea was so ludicrous that she burst out laughing.
“My lady, are you all right?” Rona asked, her eyes wide with concern. She took Dareena by her shoulders, which were shaking with mirth. “Do you need me to get you a tonic?”
“Please, don’t call me ‘my lady,’” Dareena said, waving off the woman’s concerns. “I am anything but.”
“You are the Dragon’s Gift,” Rona said in a tone that was part reverence, part admonishment. “I couldn’t possibly call you anything else.”
Dareena held in the protest that sprang to her lips—there was no use in arguing. “Let’s get me dressed to see the king, then.” She turned around so Rona could undo the laces on her nightgown. “We can’t keep him waiting.”
Either Rona completely missed the biting sarcasm in Dareena’s voice or she chose not to hear it, because she simply hummed a cheery tune as she ran Dareena a hot bath, then dressed her in a gown of pale gold silk.
You’ve got to get ahold of yourself, Dareena said sternly to herself as Rona fussed with her hair. She had no illusions that Rona was loyal to her—the maid barely knew her. No doubt she would tell all the other servants about Dareena’s ill-mannered tongue, and word would reach the princes, or worse, the king himself. She had to be more careful. No longer was she simply a serving wench—she was about to become a member of the royal family.
Even so, Dareena couldn’t quite help the shiver of apprehension as she thought about meeting the king again. She remembered all too well how he had looked at her when they’d danced last night, his gaze cruel and calculating and a little too hungry for her liking.
“So, you are the woman my daughter brought back in her fit of petulance,” he’d said, his hand curling a bit too tightly around her waist. “When I first saw you enter the Keep, I admit I was shocked. I had not expected Tariana to defy me so openly. But I suppose the joke is on her,” he said with a smirk. “You are the Dragon’s Gift, after all.”
Dareena had ducked to hide the flash of ire in her eyes. But the king had gripped her chin hard and forced her to look at him. “Such beautiful eyes,” he’d murmured, “full of green fire. You may not be what I expected, but you’ll do nicely.”
When the dance had ended, Dareena had been glad to be rid of him. After Tariana had dropped her off at her rooms, Dareena spent the rest of the evening with Cyra and Mira while the other girls avoided her—they felt as though they’d been cheated, and Dareena couldn’t blame them. Even Cyra seemed a bit put out, though she’d offered her congratulations with a sunny smile. If Dareena had been in their shoes, she might have felt the same way.
“There you are,” Rona said, stepping back. “All done.”
Dareena looked at her reflection. The front half of her dark hair had been pulled back from her face and secured behind her head, leaving her face unframed while the dark waves cascaded down her shoulders and back. Rona had put a bit of rouge on her cheek
s and a pale pink stain on her lips that made them look like freshly bloomed rosebuds, but other than that she had left her face untouched.
“You did a wonderful job,” she said.
Rona beamed. “The princes will love you,” she said. “Whichever one is chosen for you, I’m sure you will be very happy. They are all fine men.”
Dareena’s stomach filled with nerves as Rona escorted her to the audience chamber. Gods, which one would the king give me to? Drystan, with his brooding stare and stern countenance? Or Lucyan, who looked like he charmed the skirts off multiple women daily? And what of Alistair? She knew next to nothing about him, only that he was just as handsome as his brothers.
It only took a few minutes to get to the audience chamber in the south wing of the Keep. Two guards flanked the door, and they both bowed deeply, unsettling Dareena further. She steeled herself as one of them opened the door to show her in.
“My king,” the guard announced. “The Dragon’s Gift is here to see you.”
Dareena’s eyes widened as she stepped into the chamber. It was really a hall, she mused as she tried to take in all the splendor without openly gawking. She’d expected lots of red and orange, but the hall was turquoise, with a jade green carpet running the length of the gleaming tile floors. Golden arches lined the walls, interspersed with beautiful tapestries. Between the pillars, she could see the gallery, which was thankfully empty. She wasn’t certain if she could bear an audience for this.
“Good morning,” the king said, staring lazily at Dareena from the throne as she curtsied deeply. He sat in a gold throne raised up on a dais with the head of a dragon, its shining wings curved around as if to cup his broad shoulders. His sons stood to his left, below the dais, all watching her avidly, and his daughters stood on the opposite side. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you,” Dareena lied. She was relieved to see that standing amongst them was Tariana, who winked at her.
“Good. You may rise.”
Dareena did so. She wondered if the king would force her to engage in conversation, but instead, he turned his glittering amber eyes toward his sons.
“I have brought you here today to tell you which one of you will be my successor,” the king said to them, “but thus far, I have been unable to decide which of you ungrateful whelps deserves the title. None of you are fit to be king.”
Dareena schooled her features to hide her surprise—she hadn’t expected this. Drystan’s jaw was clenched, and Lucyan look faintly annoyed. Alistair, however, was staring directly at her, an intent look on his face. Her heart fluttered as she met his amber eyes—he looked as if he were gazing into her very soul, trying to judge its merit. Quickly, she broke the gaze before she started to blush, and focused on a point just above his shoulder instead.
“Father,” Drystan said carefully, “I think we all know that I am the better leader—”
“And I am the better strategist,” Lucyan cut in, drawing a glare from Drystan.
“Schemer, you mean,” Drystan fired back. “Our people are not merely chess pieces to be moved around on a board, Lucyan.”
“Barely three seconds in, and the two of you are already squabbling like children,” the king said, and the brothers immediately shut up. “What say you, Alistair? You have been remarkably quiet.”
Alistair didn’t even look at the king—he was still staring at Dareena. “I think,” he said, his lips curving into a slow smile, “that we should let the lady choose.”
Drystan and Lucyan both looked at him like he was insane, and Dareena barely kept her jaw from hitting the floor. “Let the Dragon’s Gift decide?” Drystan said. “Have you lost your mind, brother? She knows nothing about any of this—how can we rely on her to decide which of us is best to rule?”
“A preposterous idea,” the king scoffed. “Of the three of you, you have always been the most foolish, Alistair.” He turned to Dareena, who was still struggling with her composure. “Which of my sons would you have for yourself, if I were to indulge this outlandish notion?”
Dareena swallowed hard. “My king,” she said, glancing nervously at the brothers, “I would be honored to have any one of them.” She didn’t dare insult the princes by favoring one of them, in case the king chose a different one for her instead.
“Father,” Lucyan said smoothly, stepping in. “I think it is a bit unfair to ask the Dragon’s Gift to choose when she hardly knows us. Instead, I propose a contest.”
“A contest?” The king’s eyes gleamed with sudden interest.
“There is no contest,” Drystan snapped. “I am the firstborn, and according to any law written back when there was more than one prince, clearly the rightful heir—”
“You are clearly talking too much,” the king growled, his amber eyes flashing red. The air heated several degrees, and everyone in the room froze beneath the king’s ire. Dareena could barely breathe as she bowed her head—what would it be like if the king she stood before was in dragon form instead? Would she collapse beneath the weight of that wrathful gaze?
“Continue,” the king said to Lucyan in a soft, menacing voice. “And be quick about it.”
“I propose that you allow us three weeks to win the lady over,” Lucyan said, sounding completely unperturbed by his father’s mood swings. “All three of us have our different strengths and weaknesses, but what kind of kings would we be if we cannot woo a single female? Surely whichever dragon wins Dareena’s heart is fit to rule the throne,” he added, winking at Dareena.
Alistair snorted. “The only reason you are backing me up on this is because you think you’ll win,” he said.
“Of course I will,” Lucyan said silkily, “but that isn’t the point. The point is to let the lady decide which of us is the best dragon.” He met Dareena’s eyes. His gaze was like molten gold, and Dareena’s mouth went dry as he gave her a smile that was pure sin. She remembered all too well what it had been like in his arms as he swept her across the dance floor…
“Very well,” the king said, surprising everyone. “I shall grant you this silly little game of yours and allow the three of you to court the Dragon’s Gift. Perhaps the competition will be good for the three of you—you all spend far too much time on your silly little pursuits. And who knows? Perhaps the Dragon’s Gift will choose none of you, and I shall take her for myself.”
“My king!” Dareena gasped, her mouth dropping open in horror. She had been doing her best to keep her mouth shut, but this—this—
“My father has very poor taste in jokes,” Tariana said coldly, striding forward. She took Dareena by the arm. “There is no need for the Dragon’s Gift to stand here while the four of you eye her like a piece of meat. With your leave, Father, I will escort the Dragon’s Gift back to her room.”
Tariana turned on her heel, and Dareena clutched at her arm to keep from overbalancing. Relief swept through her as the huntress marched her out of the audience chamber, and if the servants and nobles in the hall glanced at them askance, Tariana pretended she didn’t see them. They didn’t speak until they were standing outside her room.
“Thank you,” Dareena said fervently, placing a hand on the door.
Tariana said nothing, simply staring down at Dareena for a long moment. “You must be careful of my father,” she finally said in a soft voice. “He is not as he should be.”
“What does that mean?” Dareena asked, her stomach tightening with dread.
But Tariana only shook her head and pushed the door open. “Ring your bell if you need anything,” she said as she ushered Dareena inside. “Do not roam around the Keep without an escort.”
“Tariana,” Dareena said, slapping her hand against the doorjamb before the huntress could close it. “Why is it that the king suffers your insolence? First, you brought me here, and then you marched me out of the audience chamber without his approval…I’m honestly surprised you’re still standing.”
A sadness entered Tariana’s eyes, and she gave Dareena a bitter smile. “
I think it’s because of all my sisters, I resemble our mother the most.”
And with that, she shut the door, leaving Dareena alone with her thoughts.
15
If he was entirely honest with himself, Lucyan had a hard time believing Drystan hadn’t been selected to be the heir right from the start. For all his bravado, he’d believed their father would have picked The Dutiful One. Lucyan liked power, Alistair feared it—Drystan was the only one amongst them who saw it as nothing more than a responsibility, which made him the one most likely to be perfect in his position of power. And, more importantly for the king, at least, he would also be the easiest to manipulate.
But that didn’t matter now. Their father had turned this into another one of his games, and Lucyan wouldn’t go down without a fight. And the throne came attached to a gorgeous, curvy little thing called Dareena, a delightful bonus.
For the first time, there was a real competition between Lucyan and his brothers. They weren’t to be vetted by wise councilmen or a mad king. Their fates rested with a young woman they simply had to seduce. Nothing aroused him as much as a fair fight.
Still, Lucyan didn’t want to lose his brothers over the deal. How could he ensure that he would be able to fight for Dareena and become the rightful heir without alienating his brothers? Lucyan knew they needed to strike some kind of deal, an agreement between the three of them. Ground rules, perhaps.
With that in mind, Lucyan asked his brothers to meet him in his apartments after dinner.
While he waited for his brothers to arrive, he thought about the whole ordeal. He already had a plan in mind when they joined him. That was what he did: think and see workarounds, solutions to every possible issue standing in his way. Which was also why he’d make a fine king. Emotions could run high in dragons, and mistakes were so easily made.
The door opened, and his brothers walked in unannounced. “Well, you nailed it, brother,” Alistair said to Drystan. “Father did end up surprising us.”