Tears of the Dragon

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

  He frowned. “You cannot wear the bed linens. You are a princess of the house of Emberhorn.”

  Khalia pursed her lips. “Does everyone in this … world run around naked or nearly naked?”

  “Your body is flawless. Why would you wish to cover it?” he asked curiously.

  The remark was flattering and horrifying at the same time. If she’d had any doubt that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to examine her thoroughly, he’d disabused her of the notion. She couldn’t help but be pleased that he seemed to think she was beautiful, but all the same…. “For the sake of modesty? Decency?” she suggested.

  And then there was the other thing, the fact that flaunting her naked body must seem like an open invitation to any randy male that happened along. It would seem almost as if she were saying, ‘yes, you may look, but this isn’t on tonight’s menu’. And of course, being the perfect gentlemen they were they wouldn’t throw her down and take what she hadn’t intended to offer.

  He frowned. “The customs are different where you came from.”

  That was an understatement if she’d ever heard one.

  Returning, he helped her to her feet, pried the edges of the coverlet from her fingers and tossed the ‘veil’ over her head. It had been fashioned much like a poncho and in truth was no more than a length of cloth with a hole large enough for her head to fit through. Lifting her arms, he quickly tied two sets of ties on either side, one at breast level, the other around her hips … as if she was a small child and had no notion of how to dress herself. He was frowning as he tied the two halves of the gown together, but she wasn’t certain whether it was from concentration, irritation, or her reluctance to wear the thing. “You must become accustomed to the ways of your people. We are dragon folk. The clothing we wear has nothing to do with a weak morality or a lack of modesty. We could not shift without destroying our garments if we were to swath ourselves from head to toe as you were when you arrived.”

  She honestly hadn’t thought of that and, oddly enough, now that he had pointed it out, she began to feel a bit like a zealot. All the same, and despite the fact that he made a strenuous attempt not to ogle her, she felt distinctly uncomfortable and had to fight the urge to cover herself with her hands. She refrained only because she had no desire to draw his attention to those particular spots when he was ignoring them so assiduously. “What about the … uh … armor?”

  Lifting her hand, he placed it on his arm and escorted her from the room into the sitting area. He pulled out a chair and held it for her while she sat. “It expands … to a degree. We cannot wear full armor, but I have no need of it when I shift.”

  The tray, she saw with a good deal of surprise, held a large fowl and several side dishes. She knew she hadn’t been in the bath long enough to prepare such a meal--at least not with the sort of kitchen facilities she was accustomed to. She had seen a number of marvels already, however. Or had he commandeered the meal of the royal guard, she wondered?

  When he didn’t take the seat across from her, she looked up at him. “You’re not dining with me?”

  “I will serve you.”

  Khalia blinked at him. “I will choke on my food if you stand over me.”

  Amusement gleamed in his eyes. After a moment, he moved to the chair across from her and sat down. The amusement vanished when she served the plates, but she ignored his look of disapproval.

  “You must learn the ways of your people.”

  She frowned. She didn’t want to learn the ways of ‘her’ people. She wanted to go home. “Tell me about my mother.”

  He studied her for a long moment, but finally turned his attention to the meal. “In truth, I know little. Those were … tumultuous times and I was no more than a captain when I was selected for the royal guard, but I did not guard the Queen’s household. I was too … proud of my manhood to submit to gelding. It weakens a man, for, once gelded, he cannot shift.”

  Khalia choked on the bite of chicken she’d just taken. It took her several minutes to catch her breath. Damien, she saw once she managed to dislodge the piece and drag in a decent breath, was on his feet and nearly as white faced as she was red. “I beg your pardon?” she said weakly.

  He looked at her blankly, obviously having entirely lost his train of thought while she struggled for air. “You didn’t guard the Queen’s household…,” she prompted, convinced that she must have heard him wrong.

  He frowned, apparently mentally reviewing the conversation. When his gaze met hers once more, there was amusement in his eyes. “It has been practiced for eons--In order to protect the royal lines the guards must be gelded. It is neither permanent, nor, I’ve been told, painful.”

  “Oh. Then it’s not … what I thought it was.”

  His lips twitched. “I expect it is much like you thought it was. It is to prevent any chance of an undesirable breeding upon a royal.” After a moment, however, he sobered. “Caracus was a powerful dragon, possibly the most powerful there had ever been. He bred three daughters upon his queen, securing his line … but it cost him his queen and, in the end, his life.”

  The tale created far more questions in her mind than it answered. She’d been reared by strangers, among strangers, and yet she’d had grandparents, aunts … possibly cousins…. Or maybe not. Maybe all had died, or been slain before she was even born?

  As intriguing as she found the personal history of what he, at least, supposed to have been her family, the rest of his comments were almost as puzzling. “He … Caracus had no male heir? Is that what caused the war?”

  Damien looked at her curiously. “He had three female heirs. No king in living memory had born three. His own sire failed to produce a single female. He bore only males, which is what tore the kingdom apart.”

  Khalia merely stared at him. She was having a great deal of trouble getting her mind around the implications. “The monarchy is passed through the female line? This is … a matriarchal society?”

  He gave her a strange look. “Naturally.”

  Naturally? Khalia was so stunned she couldn’t even think of how to respond to the remark.

  “The female bears her young. There can be absolutely no doubt that her offspring is hers.… A bull will not stray from his female once they have mated, but he cannot always prevent others from usurping his place. Occasionally, although it is rare, the female will not be satisfied with the male she had chosen and seek another, or even take a lover. In any case, it is in the nature of the female to promote society, peace and prosperity … all things necessary to a good ruler. The male is stronger, aggressive and territorial by nature, far better suited to the protection of the realm from its enemies.”

  The food was good, and Khalia was hungry, but she found she was far more interested in assuaging her curiosity than her appetite. “So … Caracus inherited the throne from his mother … and insured his line by producing three female heirs? What happened to my mother? Why was there a war? I assume there was war?”

  Damien pushed his plate away and sat back. “Caracus was crowned because he was the eldest offspring and there were no females. His brother, Houlin, stole Carcacus’ queen in order to wrest the realm from his older brother. Caracus tore the kingdom apart searching for her. Those loyal to the King sent the princesses to safety through the portal. They didn’t dare leave it open, however, so they gave each of the princesses a Tear--the amulet you wear. The amulet was designed to summon them home once peace had been restored. Unfortunately, we discovered that it did not work as we’d thought it would. We could not summon them home. We could only wait for them to use the Tear to return. And since the princesses did not know that they could not be summoned, or how to use the Tear to return….”

  He paused, frowning. Finally, he rose and began to pace. “Caracus’ beloved queen took her life to prevent Houlin from claiming her. When Caracus learned of it, he could not be restrained or reasoned with. War gripped the land until both Caracus and Houlin were slain in battle.

  “When we realiz
ed we could not summon our princesses home, we were forced to place the youngest of the Gildwing offspring, Maurkis, on the throne as regent until such time as the true heir returned. There was something else we did not count upon, however, when we sent the princesses to the other world.”

  “Maurkis would resist giving up the throne to the heir, even if she showed up?” Khalia guessed.

  Damien stared at her a long moment, but slowly shook his head. “He has given us no reason to believe he would not welcome the true heir.” He frowned thoughtfully, but finally seemed to dismiss it. “That world we sent them to drains their life force. Princess Cassiamia, who should have been next in line after her father, returned, but she was aged. In less than ten of our years, she had grown ancient, weak in body, mind and spirit. She was not fit to rule. We thought, once she was home once more, that she might recover. She did not. We realized then that our only hope was that the offspring of one of our princesses would return to take the throne, but, in truth, we had almost given up hope of it … until we were alerted by the tear that you had passed through the portal.”

  He ceased pacing and turned to study her for a long moment. “Your people need you. I cannot allow you to return to that world you have always believed to be your own. This is your world. It is your duty--to your people--and to your family line, to assume the throne of Atar.”

  Chapter Five

  It was just as well that Khalia hadn’t really expected to rest, she thought wryly when she woke the following day. She couldn’t ascribe her restless night to physical discomfort with her surroundings. The temperature of the quarters where Damien had imprisoned her was constant and so finely attuned to her comfort that she couldn’t help but wonder if these beings had discovered a way to regulate such things--as farfetched as that seemed on the surface.

  The bed was also comfortable.

  It was her own body she was uncomfortable with. She was sensible enough to realize that giving the appearance of malleability was probably the safest thing she could do in her current circumstances. She was cool headed enough to present the facade of doing so, but the customs here boggled her conservative mind. Inside, she cringed at being the next thing to naked--around a man, no less. More than that, it made her aware of her own sexuality in a way she never had been, nor had ever particularly wished to be.

  She was entirely certain that she would’ve been uncomfortable if she’d been completely alone. Damien Bloodragon magnified her awareness to such a degree that she had felt unnerved, jittery, and fragile even after he’d left her, at last, to herself. The most shockingly indecent dreams had plagued her throughout the night. As much as she’d always prided herself on her imagination, she couldn’t even begin to guess where the images had come from.

  Naturally, she wasn’t a complete innocent. She was an educated woman. She had a working knowledge of the mechanics of human copulation even though she hadn’t actually experimented with it. She wasn’t even completely ignorant of the mating ritual that led up to it. She’d been kissed before--several times. The first time, she’d actually encouraged her beau to do so. It had even been rather pleasant to begin with. In the end it had been a disappointment, however, and she’d certainly not felt any great need to repeat the experiment. Others had tried, but after she’d soundly boxed their ears they’d learned to control their baser instincts around her.

  She had dreamed of far more than a few chaste kisses, however! In fact, they hadn’t been chaste at all, but rather downright carnal. She should have been as shocked and disgusted with the dream as she had been when her beau had stuck his tongue down her throat. Instead, in her dreams, she had welcomed his kisses--encouraged him!

  She’d dreamed of his hands, too. She was fairly certain that part, at least, had been brought on by the way he’d stroked her face, although, to be honest with herself, just looking at those big hands of his made her heart flutter--except it wasn’t her face he was stroking in her dreams.

  She had an uncomfortable suspicion that she was going to have a hard time looking him in the eye the next time she saw him.

  Frowning at the thought, she rose from the bed and went into the bath to perform her morning ritual. When she’d finished, she studied the pile of rags she’d discarded the night before and finally decided to wash them. Perhaps she could get a needle and thread and mend it? The clothing was ruined of course, and she doubted a magical seamstress could mend it in a way that would make it at all presentable, but it at least covered her nakedness.

  When she emerged sometime later, she felt marginally better and crossed the room to the wall Damien had opened the night before, deciding she would see if she could discover something she might wear that didn’t leave her feeling so exposed, so … wanton.

  After all that had happened, she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised when the wall merely slid soundlessly open as she stopped before it, but she was. Immediately distracted from her goal, she stepped away. The panel slid closed.

  Maybe, she decided, there was some sort of latch on the floor? A weight and pulley system? She felt around with her foot, but noticed nothing through the thick carpet. Finally, she got down on her hands and knees, pressing a palm into the carpet in search of a depression or lump that might support her theory.

  “Lose something?”

  Khalia’s head snapped up of its own volition, twisting toward his voice so quickly a bone cracked in her neck. Damien was standing in the doorway, staring at her fixedly. His gaze wasn’t riveted to her face, however. Resisting the urge to cover her posterior with her hand, Khalia scrambled to her feet. “What? Oh. No … uh.…” She found that she was very reluctant to tell him she’d never seen doors like those here and that she’d been trying to figure out how it worked. Pride might goeth before a fall, but she hated admitting complete ignorance about anything. “I was just curious about the fiber the carpet was made of. It doesn’t really feel like cotton … or wool either.”

  His brows rose, but he apparently decided not to comment on her strange behavior. “Shall I assist you?”

  “Assist me?” Khalia asked weakly.

  He nodded toward the panel.

  “Oh. No. I believe I can manage … thank you.”

  “I have brought your breakfast,” he said. Bowing, he turned and left.

  Khalia’s shoulders slumped. Turning, she activated the panel and stood staring at the wardrobe for several moments before she began digging for something to wear. A half hour later she accepted the futility of finding anything she felt remotely comfortable about and simply dragged out a couple of pieces of teal colored, gauzy fabric and tossed them onto the bed. Either everything in the armoire was night wear, or this was as much as any of them ever wore.

  The outfit she’d chosen wasn’t quite as sheer as the ‘nightgown’ Damien had chosen for her to sleep in, but it didn’t miss it by much. Holding them up, she examined the two pieces. One looked rather a lot like a veil, or perhaps a kerchief for her hair. The other looked a good bit like the ‘gown’ she was wearing except that it had a drawstring at one end and no other ties. It was also considerably shorter than the gown she was wearing which ‘modestly’ brushed her ankles.

  It was unfortunate that she hadn’t seen a female since she’d arrived. It would’ve been a good deal easier to figure these things out if she had. Shrugging, she tossed the gown off and pulled the ‘dress’ over her head. It was only open on one side, which seemed really odd. Was she supposed to wear it like a cape, she wondered? Or tie it on one side? Finally, she shifted it around until she had one arm free of the fabric and picked up the matching piece. It, too, had a drawstring at one end. It was a very short drawstring, however, too short to tie it under her chin. Finally, she simply tied it in a bow and set it on top of her head like a coronet, with the veil hanging over her hair. She was still trying to figure out what to do with the two ties on the sides when Damien, apparently having decided she had taken too long, entered the room once more.

  The look on his face
made her want to hit him.

  With an obviously strenuous effort, he curbed his amusement and strode toward her. Without a word, he untied the drawstring at her shoulder, pulled the ‘cape’ off and wrapped the skirt around her waist, tying it at one side. Khalia blushed to the roots of her hair, so mortified tears stung her eyes as he moved around behind her. Removing the ‘veil’, he gathered her hair and draped it over one shoulder, then placed the top over her breasts, tying the short tie around her neck. He then took the ties she hadn’t been able to figure out what to do with and tied them in back, just below her shoulder blades. Stepping away from her, he dug in the armoire and returned with something that looked a lot like the thing he wore over his genitals, except that it was a wedge in the front, rather than bag-like. Kneeling, he stretched the thing out, waiting. After a moment, Khalia, dying of embarrassment, placed her hands on his shoulders and stepped into the thing, closing her eyes tightly as he pulled it up and adjusted it.

  When he’d finished, she drew a shuddering breath and stepped away from him. He caught her arm when she would’ve left the room. She resisted, but she didn’t want to get into a tussle and yielded readily enough, though reluctantly, when his grip tightened. He moved closer. Tucking an index finger beneath her chin, he forced her to look up at him.

  The tears gathered in her eyes made it impossible to read his expression, not that she wanted to. She lifted her chin another notch to avoid his touch. He frowned, touching the tiny bead of moisture on one cheek. “What is this?”

  She flushed, though not so heatedly as before. Instead of answering, she glared at him. “Don’t taunt me. Isn’t it enough that you embarrassed me?”

  If she’d slapped him, she didn’t think he could’ve looked more surprised or taken aback. “It wasn’t my intention to do either, princess,” he said gruffly.

  She wasn’t certain she believed him. On the other hand, the words had no sooner left her mouth than it occurred to her that she’d embarrassed herself. By not being able to figure out how the garments were supposed to be worn, she’d made herself look foolish. She sighed. Her menses, she decided, must be imminent for her to be so sensitive as to blow the situation all out of proportion. Ordinarily, she would probably have laughed herself. She would’ve still been embarrassed, but she would’ve been able to see the humor in it.