“And that matters to you?”
“I don’t know. It’s supposed to. And after everything that happened to me—to my family—because of St. Georges . . .”
“That wasn’t me. I’m probably related to them, but I’ve never met them, and I wasn’t even born yet. I’ve never even cast the binding spell. I’m not a paladin, and I’m not like them. And you’re not like other dragons.”
“My father’s the king.”
“So? Are you going to be king anytime soon?”
“I’m never going to be king. I already wasn’t, even before they thought I was dead. Someone like me can’t rule Hawthorne clan.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I’m still a prince. I still have responsibilities to uphold. And I’ve shamed him enough as it is.”
“But he already thinks we’re together, right?”
He shakes his head. “Not like this. If he knew how I really felt about you, he’d kill you, no matter how useful you are.”
Which, so far, is not at all. And it seems like every little thing I do here has the potential to get me killed. “He doesn’t have to know. No one has to know. What are they going to do, see us kissing? They already think we’re lovers. I don’t see how us actually being together would look any different.”
“Maybe not. But . . .”
“What?”
“You’re not going to be here forever.”
“Oh, so I guess we shouldn’t enjoy the time we do have, then. You know, if it’s not going to be forever. Don’t you want this?”
“I do—you don’t even know how much. I’ve felt like an outsider my entire life. Like I never really belonged anywhere.” He moves closer, so we’re standing only a couple inches apart. “But you make me feel like I belong. With you.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, and I smile at him. “Me, too.”
“But I already don’t want to say good-bye to you, and us being together is only going to make that worse. So much worse, and I can’t . . . I can’t handle the thought of . . .” He backs away, and I think that’s it, he’s made his decision. He’s not going to do this.
But then he squeezes his eyes shut and mutters something to himself in Vairlin—something that sounds like an expletive—and changes his mind. He closes the gap between us and kisses me. Not softly and tenderly like he did the very first time, when we were in front of the court. This is more frantic, like he can’t hold back anymore. He wraps his arms around me, and I slide mine around him. I’m kissing him just as desperately. I like the weight and warmth of his hands on me, and the feeling of being pressed up against him.
And I think maybe he’s right—this is going to make saying good-bye so much worse. Because I already know that I never want this to end, and I already know that it has to.
Amelrik stands awkwardly next to the bed. We’re in our pajamas, and I’m already under the covers. It should be like any other night, except it’s not. He clears his throat. “Maybe I should sleep on the floor.”
“What? Why?”
“You know why.”
“So, what, now that we’re together, I don’t get to sleep next to you?” That sounds fair.
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
He’s the one who seems uncomfortable. “Do you want to sleep on the floor?”
He laughs. “Of course not. The floor is made of rock. And it doesn’t have you.”
I melt a little bit at his words, and I do not want him to sleep on the floor. “Just get in the bed, okay?”
He goes to turn out the last lamp, then crawls in next to me. Well, sort of next to me, because there’s a gap between us. Not that that’s new or anything, but I kind of thought we’d be closer. He’s my boyfriend now, right? I finally don’t have to worry about doing something stupid, like touching him inappropriately. I mean, somewhat inappropriately. Like his back or his shoulders or his chest. Not anything, uh, too intimate.
But if it’s okay to touch each other, then why is he at the far end of the bed? We slept closer than this last night. “Amelrik?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to be all the way over there. If you don’t want to.”
“Okay.” He shifts closer, then turns on his side, so he’s facing me. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what, exactly?”
“Slept in the same bed as someone.”
“Uh, yes, you have. We’ve been sharing this bed for weeks.”
“I mean someone I’ve kissed.”
My stomach feels like there’s a rock in it. I hate the implication that he’s kissed other people. It’s one thing to know it must be true, and it’s another to have to hear it out loud. “Except for me. You kissed me before, remember?” He better not have forgotten. I know it wasn’t supposed to be real, but it felt real, and maybe it meant more to me than it did to him, but he’s still not allowed to just forget it.
“Of course I remember. But that was different.”
“Because you didn’t mean it?”
“Because you didn’t want me to.”
Oh. “I do now, though.” I want him to do a lot more than just kiss me.
I want to know what it’s like to have sex with him. Well, to have sex at all, really, but mostly how it would be with him. What kind of movements he would make. The sound of his breathing. How safe I would feel with the weight of him on top of me, his skin warm against mine, and what it would be like to have part of him inside me.
I imagine touching the muscles in his arms and his stomach. I think about running my hands down his back. And about kissing the outline of his jaw, and the place where his neck meets his shoulders. I want him to take his clothes off so I can explore every inch of his naked body.
Which probably makes me some kind of pervert, because it’s not like he’s thinking those things about me. And it’s not even that I want to do all that right now. Which is good, since he told me he’s never trusted anyone enough for that. There’s no reason to think I’m the exception, and the last thing I want to do is find out for sure that I’m not. I mean, I kissed a boy, and he actually liked it. That’s enough bravery for one day.
So there’s no way I’m going to act on anything that I’m feeling right now. Just knowing what I was thinking would probably freak him out, and even though he’s really close—close enough that I could “accidentally” touch his arm or something—I’m going to keep my hands to myself.
I turn over, just to make sure. And because I feel slightly less guilty for picturing him naked when I’m not facing him. Even though it’s pitch-black in here and there’s no way he could see me and guess what I’m thinking.
And then he moves closer and wraps his arm around me. His chest is pressed against my back, and I can feel his heart beating. He kisses my ear. “You were shivering,” he whispers.
“What?” I don’t know what he’s talking about. If anything, I’m too hot.
“That first night we slept in the woods. We didn’t have a fire, and you were so cold. I woke up at some point, and you were next to me, shivering. That’s why I held you like that. When you asked about it, I lied and said it was an accident, because I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, but it wasn’t. It was very much on purpose.”
Very much on purpose. His confession makes me feel warm and tingly all over. It makes me feel protected and wanted and happy. “I have to tell you, I’m kind of getting the wrong idea now.”
He buries his face in my neck, and I feel him smile. “If you’re worried about it, I could still sleep on the floor.”
“Don’t you dare,” I tell him, and then I pull his arm tighter around me.
And all the things I used to be afraid of seem so ridiculous now, because I’ve never felt safer than I do in this moment, curled up with a dragon, in his bed, far away from the barracks.
32
AN IMPORTANT JOB
The games take place a few days later, on a drizzly afternoo
n. The sky is gray, and it’s not exactly raining, but it’s not exactly not raining, either. Despite the sort-of rain, hundreds of dragons fill up all the space on the cliff and around the edge of the lake. You’d think they’d be in human form, so there’d be more room, but Amelrik says it’s because they can see a lot better as dragons. And because participants in the games have been known to crash, and nobody wants to get squashed.
We’re watching from the opposite cliff—the one Amelrik took me to for my birthday. We don’t have as good of a view over here, but there’s no chance that an excited fan is going to knock us over with their tail or anything, either. Plus, we’re alone. Which means we can make out, and I can rest my head on his shoulder, and he can put his arm around me and ever-so-casually let his hand graze the edge of my boob.
I want to tell him it’s okay to actually touch me there, for reals, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Because what if it really is an accident? I mean, it’s not. I’m sure it’s not. But what if calling attention to it scares him off? And even if he’s not like other dragons, he still is a dragon, and maybe he doesn’t even care about that part of me. And then I’ll look like an idiot. Or like I want this more than he does. And he hasn’t said anything about not wanting me to touch him, and he hasn’t stopped me when I’ve dared to let my hand linger on his hip, or when I’ve brushed my fingers along the bottom edge of his stomach, but I can tell it made him uncomfortable. Not a lot uncomfortable—not like he didn’t want me to—but enough that I didn’t want to push my luck.
Actually, he seems kind of uncomfortable now, but I think that’s just the rain. He said before that it makes his wings ache, and he keeps stretching out his arms and rolling his shoulders.
Above us, dragons whirl through the sky. Two teams of five compete at a time, racing in formation in specific patterns around the lake. The first team to finish goes on to the next round. Smashing into your opponents seems to be allowed, but only as long as nobody breaks formation. It’s pretty intense, and we’ve already seen two teams get disqualified because one of their members fell into the lake. Actually, one of them hit the cliff first, then fell into the water, and a couple other dragons—who seem to have been posted around the lake in case of emergencies—dove in to make sure they got back out again.
After the round ends, a dragon shouts in Vairlin, announcing the next teams. I can’t understand a word of it, but Amelrik nudges me and says, “Odilia’s team is up.”
This is the round we’ve really been waiting for—or at least that I have, since I don’t know anyone else who’s competing—but there are ten dragons on the cliff getting ready to take off, and I have no idea which one is her, or even which team I should be rooting for.
“Can you point her out?”
“Huh? Oh, right, I forgot your eyesight’s not as good. She’s the second one in from the left.”
“It’s not that. I just can’t . . . you know.”
“What?”
“Tell anyone apart. Not when they’re in dragon form.”
He frowns. “You can’t? I guess you really only saw her for a few seconds as a dragon.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”
“Well, that’s Odilia, and that’s Osric right next to her.”
“On which side?”
“Uh, he’s the one who’s not a girl?” He says that like it’s super obvious.
“I can’t tell that, either.”
“Really? Okay. He’s on her right. And Godwin’s on the other side of him. And—Oh!”
All ten dragons leap into the air as someone gives the signal to start. Odilia’s team glides into a V formation and takes the lead. The other team swoops in, clawing at them to get ahead. Odilia lashes at one with her tail, and Godwin swings his neck around and bites his attacker, nearly losing his place in the process.
We watch in silence, and I think Amelrik might even be holding his breath. It’s a close race, and both teams fight viciously for the lead. I actually lose track of which is which, but I know Odilia’s team wins because Amelrik shouts, “Yes!” when they cross the finish line. A cheer erupts from the crowd, peppered with some angry shouts from sore losers.
“This is so much better than last year,” Amelrik says. “I was still at Elder clan. Lothar was competing, but no one wanted to win against him—not after what happened the year before—and it turned out to be the most boring games I’ve ever been to. He won the whole thing, of course.”
“What happened the year before?”
“I wasn’t there for that. I was, um, living in a human city at the time. But I heard all about it. It was the first time he’d competed, and when his team lost the second round, he beat the winner’s captain senseless. And no one dared raise a claw to him—not to their prince.”
“He sounds like a real prize. And just think, I almost married him.”
Amelrik makes a face. “Don’t even joke about that.”
If I had, though, maybe Lothar wouldn’t have abducted Celeste. She wouldn’t be stuck at Elder clan right now. Amelrik said she’d be okay, but I can’t help feeling a pang of guilt. After all, I’m here, with my new dragon boyfriend, and she’s all alone, probably thinking no one’s ever coming for her. But the Feast of Eventide is coming up soon, and then all of this will be over.
The thought makes my throat ache.
“I get why you hate Lothar,” I tell Amelrik, “but why does he hate you so much?” Being a jerk is one thing, but advocating so hard to get him killed when the hostage exchange went bad is another.
Amelrik takes a deep breath. “It’s complicated.” He pauses, then shakes his head. “Actually, no, it isn’t. His father was kind to me. He treated me like his own son—more than mine ever did. And that’s why Lothar hates me.”
“He’s jealous?”
“The king saw us as foster brothers, but Lothar only ever saw us as rivals.” He laughs, just a little. “It’s a bit ridiculous. I never thought anyone would be jealous of me.”
“No wonder you didn’t like it there.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“But you said you were upset, when your father sent you away?”
“I was. At first.” He stretches his arms and his shoulders again. “It turned out to be a relief, living away from home. I didn’t have to watch every little thing I said or did. I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder, worried how my mother would react to me. It was like I could finally breathe. And it was different, over there. The Elder king never acted like he was ashamed of me. Neither did the queen. They knew what I was—everyone did—even though I didn’t transform for so long. And I . . . I never told anyone what happened to me. Not until I told you. But I think they suspected.”
“You really never told anyone?” I like that he trusted me that much, but I hate to think of him suffering alone all that time.
“No one, and I was miserable. I’d essentially been banished from my home, and I missed my cousins and being in a familiar place. I missed my father, too, even though I hated him for sending me away. My wings were broken, but I didn’t want anyone to know. Not about what I had done to end up that way—”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“—or how I was just making it worse by not transforming. I blamed myself enough already, and I couldn’t handle getting that from anyone else. I hardly ate, and I hardly spoke. I wouldn’t let anyone touch me. It was probably obvious that it wasn’t just homesickness. The king tried to ask me a couple times if I was all right. We both knew I wasn’t, but I lied to him anyway and said I was fine. He couldn’t make me talk to him, but he went out of his way to make me feel welcome there. He treated me like I was part of his family, and I always sat with them during the feasts. He didn’t have to do that—no one would have missed me if I wasn’t there—but he included me anyway. Lothar hated it. His older sister was living in a foreign court, and his other sisters were quite a bit younger than him, plus he was the only male, and his father’s heir. He wa
s used to getting special attention, and he was disgusted that his parents were reaching out to me.”
I consider that, watching as two more teams take off across the lake. “So it turned out to be a good thing your father sent you there?”
“It was harsh, and I was so unhappy at first—for quite a while, actually—but overall, it was the right thing to do. I think it saved my life.”
“Why did Odilia say that the Elder king exploited you?”
“Because she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The Elder king made use of me. Most dragons can’t stay in human form for more than a day at a time, but I can be like this indefinitely.” He gestures to himself. “To my father, it was a shameful disability, but the Elder king saw it as a strength. After I’d been living there a few years, he sent me to infiltrate—” He stops himself, his eyes darting over to mine. “You don’t want to hear about that.”
“About how you tricked paladins and got them killed?” The words come out bitter and angry, and I didn’t even know I was going to say them.
He stares at me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean to say it that way.”
“You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” He sighs. “I pretended to be human, and I got close to people, and they died because of it. It’s not something I would have ever done on my own, and I’m not proud of it, but I still did it. And I . . . I hated paladins. If they hadn’t hurt my mother, if they hadn’t been so cruel, I wouldn’t be like this. She wouldn’t be ashamed of me, and she would have still been herself, instead of whatever she is now. I thought they deserved it at the time, and maybe they did, but the more I think about it, the less sure I am. I risked my life pretending to be human, and if anyone had ever guessed who or what I was, they wouldn’t have stopped to ask questions—they would have just killed me. I was so afraid at first that I’d slip up, and I couldn’t wait for my assignment to be over. But then . . . It wasn’t easy, betraying the people I’d gotten close to. I hated that part.”
“I can’t picture you doing that.” I know that he did, but when I think about the boy I’ve gotten so close to—the same one who holds me in his arms at night and whose smile makes me melt inside—I can’t imagine him ever hurting anyone.
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