King's Bride_A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy

by Ava Sinclair

  I feel I am back in my dream, but a different one. As we pass, everyone bends the knee, not just to the king but to me. My own sister and her lords, as well Lady Thera, who healed me after her lord husbands found me wandering in the forest—all bow before me.

  Up on the dais are the thrones, arranged differently now. There are still five thrones. The king’s throne still sits with the crown resting in the seat. But beside it is a smaller ornate throne, with a feminine version of the king’s royal headpiece. Off to the side are the other three thrones, each with a defeated brother standing beside it. They are dressed in the royal purple of their dragon color.

  King Bymir leads me up the short flight of steps and we stand as Ezador lifts the king’s crown from the seat. I look up as he places it on Bymir’s head. Ezador then takes the smaller crown. He smiles at me as he places it on my head. Physically, it is not as heavy as it looks, but I feel a different kind of weight and wonder whether I can bear it.

  King Bymir pivots me to face his brothers now. Prince Rargi and Prince Yrgi are smiling, but Prince Oneg is not.

  “Will you kneel before your king?” The oracle asks Bymir’s brothers.

  The three step forward, and I cannot help but note the effort it seems to take Prince Oneg. As the others bend the knee, he has to force himself down. He does not look at his brother. He does not look at me. He looks past us, and I glance up to see King Bymir’s eyes register concern. He looks to the other brothers then, smiling, my cue that I should, too. And so I do, and they smile back, so I focus on them.

  Ezador turns to the assembled lords and ladies, repeating what was said after the dragon battle. “The king is dead. Long live the king! Long live King Bymir!” What he adds feels like a dream, and makes the crown even heavier. “And long live Queen Zara! Long may she reign at his side!”

  I am queen. It is not a dream. It is real.

  Chapter 11

  Prince Yrgi

  I am proud to bend the knee to Bymir. True, I wanted the kingship. We all did. But a son does not have to be trueborn to be most like the king, and our eldest brother is the most like our father king in his heart. Bymir has the quiet wit and thoughtful manner of Vukuris. True, he possesses passion and pride, but he subverts these qualities when needed. The same cannot be said for the rest of us, and now that the battle is over, I am confident that this was a choice our fallen king would approve of.

  Rargi feels the same. We know Oneg does not, but pay his jealousy no heed.. In every battle of brothers—be it for first rights or a crown—there can only be one winner. Losing is a humbling experience, but one shared by the majority. It teaches humility. It restores order. The sting of defeat heals, especially in times like these when unity is important.

  We ignore Oneg’s sour looks as we rise to embrace our brother, and also to embrace the queen. When my turn comes, I am surprised at how delicate she feels.

  “Don’t break her before my turn comes, King Bymir,” I tease. He smiles, and she flushes deeply, reminding me she is from a more modest culture. In time, she will get used to our ways. With four mates to please, she will be naked more often than not. She will have to learn to endure salty tongues that say and do lewd things she’s unaccustomed to.

  The feast proves a good distraction. Once we move to the feast hall, a chorus of delighted cries fills the huge room as the lords and ladies see the laden tables. Huge platters of raised mutton surrounded by buttered carrots, turnips, and beets grace platters lining each table, sharing space with roasted boar, baked rabbit, and pork and venison pies.

  Huge tureens hold varieties of soups and stews, from fish chowders to creamy soup made from pumpkin and squash flavored with cardamom and pepper sauce. There’s duck and chicken and trout and quail, and dried fruit stewed and poached or blended into sweet cream puddings.

  Compared to other feasts, this is eager. But for a people who have dealt with famine, war, and the death of a king, it’s more than ample. For our the newly crowned Queen Zara, even the king’s description does not seem to prepare her for the bounty.

  “There’s too much to choose from,” she says. I am fortunate enough to sit to her left. The king is to her right. Rargi is on the other side of the king, and Oneg is to my other side.

  “Try some of everything.” I pile her plate with quail and poached pears and black bread and pork pie as Rargi adds buttered carrots and stewed rabbit. Soon she is objecting, telling us that she can’t possibly hold it all.

  “You’ll need your strength,” Rargi says, smiling. He turns to Oneg. “Tell her, brother. She has much to look forward to.”

  I know Rargi is hoping to draw Oneg into conversation, but our youngest brother barely acknowledges the queen we are doting on. He does nothing to put her at ease, and I can see this is already bothering Bymir.

  I fix our younger brother with a firm stare. “What’s done is done, Oneg,” I say quietly. “You aren’t the only one who lost today, but Bymir is the king. He expects you to put the queen at ease.”

  Oneg’s initial response is silent. He takes a bite of bread and chews it sullenly while looking at Zara.

  “Go on,” Rargi says. “You’ve barely spoken to her. Make a bit of conversation, at least.”

  “Very well.” Oneg turns and calls out. “Queen Zara!”

  She turns at the sound of her name, surprised to be addressed by the youngest prince who so far has had nothing to say. She smiles shyly.

  “So,” Oneg says. “When the ShadowFell took you, did you know they would use you to house the magic necessary to destroy the Mystic Mountain? Do you feel any shame, knowing that trying to protect that magic drew my father to his death? And here you sit, a direct recipient of the enemy’s dark deception…”

  Oneg has spoken loud enough for all to hear. The entire table falls quiet, the resulting hush covering the room like a blanket. The only sounds are quiet murmurs as voices repeat the offensive words for those who did not hear them. The traveling news is accompanied by soft gasps of outrage as whispers replace the sounds of merry feasting.

  Our brother king stands. He puts a hand on the shoulder of our new queen, whose face has drained of color.

  “Prince Oneg.” Bymir’s deep voice is loud enough for all to hear both his words and the warning they convey. “We have long been without strong drink, and it seems the little you’ve enjoyed has already fogged your mind and loosened your tongue. Why else would you risk the ire of your king by speaking hurtful words to his queen?”

  His choice of words is by design. Bymir is reminding Oneg of his authority. His eyes glow gold and the lords and ladies of the empire hold their collective breaths.

  Bymir leans over, putting a hand on the table. He keeps his other hand on the queen’s shoulder, his gaze fixed on our youngest brother.

  “Beg her pardon, Oneg. Or by the gods who made our kind, you will beg for your life this night.”

  Oneg looks to me and then to Rargi, but he finds no sympathy in our eyes. We are as angry as Bymir, but for now, the king’s rebuke is enough. Oneg has gotten the message; if he persists, he will face the wrath of not just our brother king, but of his other brothers as well.

  “Queen Zara.” He speaks her name slowly, as if it is being dragged from him by force. “The king is right. I misspoke. I beg your forgiveness.”

  The little queen sits silent and pale.

  “He begs your forgiveness.” Bymir prompts her to reply with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder.

  “You have my forgiveness, Prince Oneg” she says, and although her words are spoken quietly, they ring through the hall. “How could I offer anything but mercy to someone so terribly deluded?”

  The barb hits its mark, judging by his uncomfortable expression. I feel a stab of jealousy that Bymir has won her. There is more to Zara than meets the eyes. Our mate has a spine, and a quiet courage.

  But this is the king’s night, so I concentrate on enjoying her company now until my turn comes to get her alone. I reach out and pluck a berry tart
from the tray of a serving girl, and hold it out to the queen.

  “Have you tried this?” I’m eager to distract her from what has just happened.

  She looks down at a plate still filled with savory food. “I have yet to finish this.”

  “Ah, but that’s the best thing about a feast. You can eat anything you want, when you want it.” I break open the tart, letting the juice run over my fingers. “These are my favorites. When I was a lad I’d sneak into the kitchen before a feast and eat a dozen. I don’t know what was worse, my mother’s fury or the bellyache.”

  She smiles shyly. “Was it worth it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Her thin fingers reach out and take half the tart. My eyes are riveted to her pink lips as they open. She nibbles the tart, and her large green eyes grow larger.

  “Oh, it tastes of summer.”

  “It’s the lemon,” I say conspiratorially. “The cook once told me that’s the secret.”

  “Perhaps she can teach me to make them.”

  “You’re a queen now. You’ll never have to cook again.”

  “I like to cook. I cooked a lot in the village.” She pops a finger in her mouth to lick off some of the berry juice, and I feel my cock stir beneath my skirt. I also feel a wave of heat and look over to see Bymir staring hard at both of us. He is already feeling the possessive urge of a chosen first mate. He knows I’m just talking to Zara, but even that is difficult for him in this moment. I turn back to her.

  “What did you cook?” Rargi is leaning over now, listening in on the conversation.

  “Oatcakes. Rabbit stew. Baked trout when father could catch them. He was a terrible fisherman.” She smiles at the memory, then a wave of pain comes over her face. “He was a good man. My mother was good, too. I miss them.”

  “I know. I’m sorry for what happened to your village and your people.”

  “Yes.” She sighs. “It’s just me and Isla now.”

  “Your Majesty.” I capture her eyes with mine. “No. It’s not just you and your sister. My brothers and I are your family, too, along with the sons you will give us. One day, you will be the mother of a king. Think of how your mother and father must be smiling in the Summerlands.”

  “And yet my children will not join them.” She pauses. “Isla says the Drakoryan do not go to the Summerlands because of the curse.” She looks sad again. My brother the king has turned to talk to someone farther down the table, so I take the opportunity of his distraction to brush my hand over hers. “This is true. While we have exceptionally long lives, we are not promised eternity, and so Drakoryans treat every day as a treasure, as if it may be our last.”

  I would be happy to keep talking to her, but Rargi is rising now to make a toast to the king and queen. It is customary for the princes to toast the victorious brother king and their shared queen mate. He vows his loyalty as brother and prince to the king, and vows his protection and fealty to Zara.

  I follow with a toast, vowing my protection—my life if necessary—to preserve theirs.

  Cheers follow each toast. Then Oneg rises and the room falls into a hush. He lifts his cup, and vows loyalty and protection, but not to the king and queen. “I vow to always preserve the Drakoryan Empire, as did my father.” He holds the glass up towards the room before draining it and sinking back into his chair.

  Even if the snub is obvious, Bymir ignores it. Just as there was power in his confrontation with Oneg, there is power in his dismissal of our youngest brother’s slight. As the last of the wine is brought out, he turns his attention solely to the queen, an obvious sign that the king is now focusing on the night ahead with the virgin he’s claimed along with his crown.

  At his side, two brothers are merely envious. But the other is seething with something more.

  Chapter 12

  Queen Zara

  The wine glass by my plate is still full. Isla had suggested drinking a bit at the end of the feast. It would help, she said, with my nervousness. But when the king announced that he and his queen would be retiring for the evening, I was glad I had not. My legs were suddenly shaky. Had I taken the strong drink I don’t think they would have carried me back to my chamber, where I now am being prepared to rejoin the king.

  The mood is different than before the coronation. Ladies selected to attend me remove my gown and replace it with diaphanous floor-length shift that flows loose around my body. It’s as soft and white as a cloud. The scoop neck shows the tops of my small breasts. I remember how the village boys looked with longing at the girls with swaying hips and full breasts. My body is still so slim. Will the king be pleased?

  “Do not worry.” Isla takes my face in her hands, and I can tell she knows what I’m thinking. “You’re beautiful. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. None of them could.”

  “Except for Oneg. When he did look at me, it was with contempt.”

  My sister frowns and picks up a silver brush. “He’s angry at having lost, Zara. It happens in every battle of brothers, even among my lords. They will sort it out. Sit.”

  She guides me to a small table and settles me in front of the looking glass. As she brushes my hair, I take stock of my reflection. My pale face with its high cheekbones, my eyes so large and innocent of what is to come.

  “Tell me of the act, Isla.” I ask quietly, embarrassed that others might overhear. Behind me, the reflected image of my sister smiles.

  “Drakoryans are different from human men.” She leans down, putting her hand on my shoulders. “The fire of the dragon feeds their prowess. Each brother will put a cock between your legs that brings its own unique pleasure. A village woman marries a single man, and that is the man she gets every night. A Drakoryan bride? She marries several men, and each one is capable of doing different and wondrous things each time she’s with him. Do not be afraid, little sister. Open yourself to what they offer you, but don’t lose your power in the face of theirs. Your softness will unman them, both in and out of bed. It is your hidden strength. We know it. And they know we know it.” She kisses me on the cheek. “You’ll see.”

  Her words flow over me like water, but I’m still too nervous to drink them in.

  And now it is time. The ladies are ready to escort me to King Bymir’s bedchamber, and they do so with a giddy, festive air, some running ahead trailing bright ribbons, others giggling as they fluff my hair and tell me how lucky I am.

  The tunnel we travel is wide, as is the massive door to the king’s bedchamber. I’m reminded again that this was the first Drakoryan castle inhabited by men who could not completely control their urges to shift. I’m also reminded that the man waiting beyond the doors can change into a dragon whenever he wants.

  A dragon. I hear a rumble in my ears and my body flushes with heat. Don’t do this. A voice that rumbles like shifting rocks fills my head and I stop, putting my hands to my ears to shut it out.

  “No!” I cry, and my sister clasps me, giving me a shake.

  “Zara. Are you all right?”

  The voice in my head is gone, and I decided I’ve imagined it. Her eyes are frightened, and I know she’s not afraid for me so much as she’s afraid I’ll let her down. “I’m fine. Just a sudden moment of panic.”

  Isla hugs me. “When we next embrace, you’ll know the mysteries of the flesh,” she whispers. “King Bymir is a good man, and will be a great ruler. Let him teach you. Trust him.”

  The door opens and everyone, including my sister, falls back. I walk in alone.

  A bedchamber, but also a dragon’s lair. The room is cavernous. The bed is huge, with stone columns around it draped in red and gold velvet. A blaze is slowly consuming a whole tree in the massive fireplace. Braziers cast the chamber in golden light. The floor is laid with the skins of Wolven and Nightbears. The walls are hung with tapestries depicting artfully stitched dragons that are as big as I am.

  “When I was a child, I’d sneak in here and stare at that tapestry.” A deep voice comes from behind me. I startle and turn. The k
ing is standing just a few paces away, and I wonder how someone so large can move so quietly.

  “It is beautiful, Your Highness.”

  “So are you.”

  I look at the floor, not knowing what to say. King Bymir closes the distance between us and puts a finger under my chin, tipping it up until I’m looking at him.

  “You’re scared.” He smiles. “I was, too, my first time.”

  “You?” I stare up at him in disbelief.

  “Everyone is.” He runs his hand over my hair. “She was a maid. I can’t remember her name. Elna, maybe. Or Ella. I just remember she’d had many a man before me and I was afraid I’d make a fool of myself, or that she’d think me too big, or maybe not as big as some of the lords she’d had.”

  “Did you enjoy it?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.

  “It was pleasant enough, and necessary.”

  “Necessary? Why? Why not wait, as women do?”

  The smile widens. “The appetite of a Drakoryan doesn’t allow that. He must find release as soon as manhood brings on the urge. Many a maid is happy to comply, but understand it is all schooling. Schooling and practice.”

  “For what?”

  He trails a finger down my arm. “For you. While you live, I shall have no other. Neither will my brothers. Our desire is fixed on you alone. Can you not feel it?”

  His touch is warm, almost hot. And the front of his leather skirt is lifting. I cannot help but notice. I want to ask him what is happening to him, but before I can, he takes me by the hand and leads me to the enormous bed, sweeping me up in his arms to put me there.

  He steps back then and undoes his belt, dropping it to the floor before lifting his tunic over his head. Within moments he’s standing there in just his leather skirt. His shoulders are broad, the muscles of his chest rise like smooth swells, tapering to a ridged abdomen. King Bymir is power personified, and I feel even smaller sitting on this huge bed watching this huge Drakoryan disrobe.