by Delia Castel
An old wound on Matheson’s palm throbbed. He had nicked himself as a child while trying to reach that damnable blade, and it had cursed him with a wasting sickness that had taken nearly a decade to break. Why hadn’t Father used it on his attackers? He of all dragons knew of the sword’s terrible magic.
Matheson rounded the desk and sank into the leather chair. Holding his head in his hands, he allowed the tears to flow. Why were Mother and Father killed in the parlor and not the receiving room they used to entertain strangers? Why had they transformed and not defended themselves with fire? And how could assassins overpower two powerful dragons? Nothing about this murder made any sense. Not the crime scene, not the method of death, and certainly not the witness Berrin was pleasuring upstairs.
Marigold, if that was even her real name, was the biggest mystery of all. In mere hours, she had captured the attention of his cold-hearted brothers. Even if she really had just stumbled across the murder scene, she was bad news. Such a devious female had the power to tear a family apart, and he would not let that happen.
Chapter 8
After drying herself on a linen cloth, Marigold picked up a chemise from the corner of the bathroom. It was so soft, it could have been made of spider silk. A matching negligée lay on the table. She slipped on the garment and turned. Berrin’s eyes widened, and she glanced down at herself. The lace of the chemise cupped her breasts, making her feel like a heroine in a romantic scroll. Her lips spread into a smile. “Should we go?”
Berrin smiled back. “This way, My Lady.”
The deferential treatment from one much higher in status made her giggle. Berrin placed a large hand on the small of her back. It slid over the silk and rested on her hip. He glanced down at her and smiled. “My room isn’t far.”
She nodded, and they walked down the hallway. Portraits of what looked like family members lined the walls. Many of them wore clothing from different periods, and Marigold assumed that they were ancestors. Lord Arctos’ manor house boasted such paintings, but they were mostly of himself clad in fine clothing he had commissioned especially for portraits.
Berrin opened a door leading to a large study-bedroom with a small four-poster bed with purple drapes, a matching sofa, and a wooden desk and chair. An iron stand in the corner had space for half a dozen swords, and a narrower stand held just as many daggers. She was about to comment when her gaze caught a huge oil painting of three dragons. The largest of the three was the crimson dragon Marigold had failed to save earlier.
Her heart twisted. In the painting, the dragon’s scales shimmered like polished garnet, and his beautiful jade eyes seemed to stare at her from the canvas. On his left stood a smaller green dragon, and on the other side was a dragon whose dark scales reminded Marigold of oxblood.
“Polaris must have commissioned this as a Festival present,” said Berrin. “That’s him on the right, standing next to Mother, and that’s Father at the other end.”
Her eyes widened. She had assumed that male dragons were larger than the females. “Why aren’t you and your other brother in this picture?”
He ushered her inside and closed the door. “We’re both too young to transform. I’m eighteen and Matheson is twenty-one. Most male dragon shifters only attain that ability around the age of twenty-five. Those who are lucky enough to form a mating bond with a female dragon before then shift a lot earlier.”
She nodded. “So, the females are bigger. Do they transform earlier?”
Berrin shook his head and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Until they’ve had their first child, female dragons can’t shift. They are not without protection, though. Young females are fireproof and can learn to transform their hands into claws for defense.”
“In Boreas, we have mostly bear shifters and the occasional wolf.” She turned in his arms and gazed up into his aquamarine eyes. “You’re the first dragon I’ve ever met.”
“I suppose that’s because fire dragons dislike the cold.” His gaze softened and lingered on her lips. “I would like to kiss you again.”
Warmth spread across her chest, pooling down to her belly and exciting her anew. She raised both hands, cupped his face, and placed her lips onto his.
The next morning, Marigold awoke in Berrin’s strong arms. She nuzzled his neck, inhaling his masculine scent. Sunlight, brighter than any she had seen in Boreas, streamed in through the window shutters, making the purple velvet bed curtains glow magenta. A smile curved her lips. A mere two days ago, she was an inmate at the House of Corrections, and now she lay in the luxurious bed of a handsome, protective, and loving young male. Not only had he delivered her from the inquisitors, but he had given her the use of an opulent bathroom and silk bed clothing.
She stared into his face and traced her finger over the smooth, golden skin of his cheekbones. His long, thick amber lashes fluttered, but he didn’t open his eyes. Her fingers trailed down to his jaw, which had a dusting of soft stubble. Berrin had stood up to his older brothers for her benefit. Such acts had to mean something, didn’t they? She let her gaze wander over his full lips, dimpled chin, and down his neck to an impressively muscled chest. A sigh escaped her lips. Girls like her never ended up with handsome noblemen. The most she could expect from Berrin was a luxurious room and pocket money while his fascination lasted. Holle and other women in the House of Corrections had shared their stories of being swept into a dream lifestyle by a rich nobleman, only to be deposited in the gutter when his interest had waned.
All thoughts of a good, hard send-off vanished. The last thing she wanted was to get used to luxuries. It had ruined many a woman, causing them to commit crimes to fund a lifestyle that had become an addiction. It was daytime, and she needed to earn money fast. The brothers might be convinced that she didn’t kill their parents, but she was still a fugitive. That didn’t change her plans to earn enough money to repay Ella and to buy two tickets to Habilis.
Sighing, she wriggled out from his arms, slid off the bed, and padded across the sun-warmed floor. The shutters were half closed, and birdsong drifted in through the window, making her spirits soar. Her clothes lay on a chair, still stiff with blood. She gripped them and let out a frustrated breath. How was she going to get a job with no clothes?
Warm, strong arms hugged her from behind. “What are you doing?”
“I need to find work. I also made a new friend yesterday, but we lost contact.”
“Ella?”
Her breath caught, and she turned, meeting his sparkling, aquamarine eyes. “You remember her name?”
Berrin kissed her on the temple and guided her back to the bed. “Actually, I didn’t get a chance to greet her yesterday.” His lips quirked into a smile. “I was too stunned by your beauty.”
Marigold lowered her eyes, and warmth spread across her cheeks. “So, how do you know her?”
“Polaris recognized Ella first. Before Mother and Father sent me away to school, Ella’s parents used to come here often. As we were the same age, we would play together in the gardens.”
“Did you know she’s under the control of a violent she-dragon? What happened to her? Where are her parents?”
“Her mother must have died, because her father remarried. But he died a few years ago, according to Polaris.”
Marigold grabbed his hand. “Do you think something can be done to help Ella? Her stepmother beats her and forces her to make garments.”
“Of course.” His eyes softened, and he cupped her jaw with his large hand. The pad of his thumb brushed over her lips. “You’re amazing. After every misfortune you’ve suffered, you still want to help others.”
Marigold’s breath hitched. There was something about Berrin she couldn’t resist. It didn’t have anything to do with his dazzling good looks or his wealth, either. His touches seemed to ignite something in a way not even Urwin could manage. She gazed into his bright eyes, mesmerized by the gold flecks radiating from his irises. They seemed to move, urging her to fall into him. He lowered his face and brus
hed his lips against hers. Each touch of his skin ignited tiny sparks of pleasure that shot straight between her legs. She moaned and pressed her silk-clad body against his. That tantalizing, hard length pulsed against her belly, and she slid her hand down his smooth, naked torso and reached for his linen underpants.
Several sharp knocks shattered her state of bliss. Berrin drew back, scowling. “If that's Matheson, I'll deal with him.”
As Berrin stalked towards the door, Marigold scurried to the foot of the bed, where she had left the negligée. Berrin waited for her to make herself decent before giving her a nod of approval and opening the door.
The General stood in the hallway, his face grim. “Keep Marigold inside. Uncle Hertz has arrived to pay his condolences.”
Berrin gasped. “Where is he?”
“In the study with Matheson. I have told him that you are too distraught for visitors.”
“Thank you.”
Polaris ruffled Berrin’s hair and stepped away.
A pang of an emotion she couldn’t describe chilled her heart, twisting her warm feelings into nausea. Sitting on the soft, feather bed, she stared into her hands. She had known that servant girls who consorted with noblemen were never introduced to the family, but it stung to be hidden away like a dirty secret. Despite this, she forced a smile. It was impossible to bear Berrin any ill will, as he had done more than enough to help her.
“Are you frightened?” He knelt at her feet and placed his hands on her thighs.
She furrowed her brow at the strange question. “I can leave if you don’t want your relatives knowing of our association.”
“What are you talking about?” Berrin leaned forward, getting into her line of sight. “Uncle Hertz is the Governor of Boreas. He would have signed your wanted poster, and that’s why we wish to keep you hidden.”
A massive burst of panic jolted her heart into action, and Marigold shot out of the bed and rushed towards her blood-soaked clothes.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Escaping.” She shrugged off the negligee and placed it on the desk. “I don’t know why, but he’s interested in me.”
“Are you sure? Governors deal with thousands of people. They hardly have time for their own families, let alone a sole, escaped prisoner.”
She grabbed her charcoal, woolen dress and crushed the stiff fabric. Flakes of blood fell onto the wood floor, making her cringe. “I’m sorry you had to see that. But you’re wrong about the Governor. The prison officers said he wanted me specifically.”
“It doesn’t make any sense, Mari. If he wanted to meet you, why would he have arranged to have you placed in a brothel?”
She pulled the silk chemise over her head and placed it on the desk. “I didn’t wait around to find out.”
“Don’t run away!” He grabbed her by the shoulders.
“What if he raids the house?” she stared into his panicked face. “That’s how they caught me the last time.”
“Uncle Hertz doesn’t have the authority to send his bears into a nobleman’s house. Even if he found you, he would have to petition the Governor of Austellus to take you away.”
“Are you sure?”
Nodding, he guided her towards the sofa. “I have a few items that might fit you. Put them on, and I’ll take you to the room above Father’s study. You can hear exactly what Uncle Hertz wants.”
The tightness in her chest loosened, and she gave him a grateful smile. Berrin handed her a linen shirt and breeches clearly fashioned for a smaller boy. While they were a little snug around the hips and chest, she couldn’t complain. Anything was better than getting back into that awful, blood-soaked dress. Berrin threw on some clothes while Marigold rolled up the sleeves.
“You have to be quiet,” he said. “Fully grown dragons have enhanced hearing.”
“Right,” she whispered.
Berrin held her hand and they tiptoed out of the room and into the marble-tiled upstairs hallway. It was lit by a single, floor-to-ceiling length window, consisting of about two dozen panes. At the other end of the hallway, he opened the door and led her through a dark corridor and into a storeroom. The sun streamed in through the window shutters, casting stripes of light on the leather portmanteaus standing in piles. Each was clearly labeled in the kind of simple, cursive script Marigold had been taught at the orphanage. She was about to inspect one, when a voice wafted in from the end of the room.
Placing his finger on his lips, he guided her through the maze of boxes towards a grate on the floor.
“A terrible, terrible business,” said a sharp voice from below. “This would never happen in Boreas. My bears rule the humans with a clawed fist!”
Marigold grimaced at the insensitive words.
“What makes you think that humans are responsible?” The General’s words were clipped.
“Who else would slay two dragons in their own homes?” said Governor Hertz.
“Assassins.”
“Hmmm…” the Governor drew out the sound. “The head of the Guild is now recruiting disgruntled humans. I have it on good authority that they have a secret base under the streets of Sigma Central and are arming humans with magical weapons.”
“Why am I hearing of this now, Uncle?” asked Polaris. “Any potential threats must be reported to the King’s Regiment.”
The Governor chuckled. “Rumors… I do not wish to be the simpleton who spreads panic about the sky falling on his head.”
“You will tell me everything you know—”
“Relax, General,” drawled his uncle. “I came to pay my condolences, not to make official reports. Are you any closer to finding the identity of the murderers?”
“The forensic wizards have yet to complete their analysis of the parlor.”
A silence fell over the room, and Marigold relaxed. She had been worrying about nothing. Governor Hertz just wanted to inquire about his murdered brother. Berrin rubbed her back and sent her a reassuring smile.
“Who will manage the estate?” asked the Governor. “As a sworn officer of the King’s Regiment, you cannot inherit it.”
“Father appointed me as his heir,” said Matheson.
The Governor hummed. “You may be twenty-one, but you have not fully matured. As you are aware, a dragon who is unable to transform is deemed too young to inherit.”
“We have already discussed this,” replied the General. “Father’s advocate is more than capable of managing the estate until Matheson reaches maturity.”
“I think not,” snapped Governor Hertz. “Such an estate requires the attentive hand of a family member. I will have my assistant, Arctos take over my duties in Boreas and install myself here to help you boys in your hour of need.”
Both Polaris and Matheson replied to that suggestion, talking over each other. The Governor shouted over them, and the discussion devolved into a screaming debate. Marigold clapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t known that Lord Arctos was working for the Governor of Boreas. He had always boasted of being independently rich. Perhaps this was a recent occurrence. She turned to Berrin. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why does your uncle want the estate so badly?”
Berrin leaned in closer. “Uncle Hertz is Father’s older brother. Grandfather disinherited him for being irresponsible. There was a huge scandal two decades ago, and the King sent him up north as punishment. He hates it up there, and I think he’d do anything to return to Austellus.”
The raging voices shook the wood floors. Marigold chewed her bottom lip. “Do you think he might be responsible for the murders?”
“Everyone knows he’s a coward. He wouldn’t risk my brothers’ wrath.”
Marigold held her silence. She didn’t really know any of the characters involved in this dispute. She was about to ask another question, when an almighty roar drowned out the argument. She jumped and clutched Berrin. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
“Enough!” shouted the General. “If you came here to squabble ov
er the estate, you should leave.”
There was a slight rustling before the Governor spoke. “I am also here in my official capacity as the Governor of Boreas. You inquired about a young woman who you captured at the scene of the crime.”
Marigold’s heart exploded, and she clamped her hand around her mouth to block a gasp. Beside her, Berrin stiffened. She had been right. Governor Hertz would hunt her down until she left the country.
“That is correct,” replied the General. “However, she somehow picked the locks in the middle of the night and absconded.”
A tense silence fell upon them, as heavy as a thundercloud. Marigold gulped, hoping that the dragon downstairs couldn’t hear her reverberating heart. Berrin’s eyes were wide with shock, which only made her feel sick with worry.
“Escaped in the middle of the night.” Governor Hertz’ voice was flat. It was the kind of tone the sisters at the Priory Orphanage used when someone had told them an obvious lie. “Is that true, Matheson?”
Marigold closed her eyes and shuddered. Matheson hated her. It would only take one word for him to condemn her back to Boreas for execution.
“Why are you asking me? Don’t you trust the word of perfect Polaris?”
“Don’t be belligerent,” snapped the General. “Tell Uncle Hertz what he needs to know so he can leave.”
Even with an entire floor separating them, she could hear Matheson’s labored breaths. Marigold swallowed back a whimper. He was going to tell his uncle exactly where to find her. Berrin wouldn’t be able to protect her from the Governor. A dragon who could kill his own brother to take an inheritance was capable of throwing his own nephew into prison for harboring a fugitive.
She couldn’t let Berrin get caught hiding her. Marigold straightened, readying herself to escape.
“It is as Polaris said,” said Matheson.