Rebel Bride_A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy

by Ava Sinclair

  Enough.

  I should not think on such things. The king sent me and my brothers here to ease whatever fears and resentments the villagers may have and if possible to recruit men to fight with us when the time comes.

  You were sent to keep peace among living men, not fix your mind on the wife of a dead one.

  I tell myself this as the wind howls over a valley tense with distrust, hunger, and a looming danger lurking deep within the dark mountains.

  Chapter 3

  THERA

  The clanging hurts my ears. It starts at dawn. I can hear it from my cottage, the noise a daily reminder of how much my life has changed.

  In the villages, we were allowed bows and arrows and knives for hunting, but not swords. We were under Drakoryan protection, our only enemies Wolven or Night Bears that had mostly learned to fear dragon fire.

  Clang! Clang!

  I follow the noise to the village armory, feeling the heat from the open stone structure before I reach it. The wooden frame built around the forge is open with a steeply pitched roof that sheds the snow.

  I stand by the outside corner, observing as a Drakoryan lord instructs a villager hammering red-hot metal into a blade. Beside him, another man pushes his newly-finished sword into a barrel of water, and for a moment, the steam it produces is so thick as to cloud them from view.

  I am here for a reason. I stop, looking for the familiar face. And there he is. While not as tall as Bran, Ceril is still half a head taller than the other village men. But despite his muscular build, he has a somewhat boyish face with ruddy cheeks and a slightly pug nose. Still, many a maiden thinks him handsome. He could have his pick of any of them but has not yet married.

  He has not yet caught sight of me, and for a moment, I hesitate. Perhaps what I am about to do is wrong. Then I think of Bran, of the bloody shirt, of the awful moments he must have endured as the wolves killed him and my father. I think of my fellow villagers allying themselves with the rulers I blame for the death of my husband. When I am angry enough, I walk into the ironworks.

  Ceril is carrying an armful of blades to a rack. He has not spotted me yet, and since we are behind the forge, I am out of sight of the Drakoryans. I have learned that the five who stay in the village are lords and all brothers. Sometimes I catch them watching me and do not like it.

  “Thera!” Ceril finally spots me. He tosses his head, throwing a forelock of hair away from his blue eyes. It’s the kind of gesture that charms the other village women. “What brings you here?”

  “Curiosity. So much noise. I had to see the cause.”

  “Swords.” He picks one up from beside the rack. Its blade gleams in the cold light. “Any man who agrees to fight will get one.”

  I cock a brow. “And those who don’t pledge allegiance will be as defenseless as we were when we lived across the mountain. Weapons were forbidden then, or have you forgotten?”

  Even though it is cold, I lower the hood of my cloak, which is slightly open. I wear a chemise, and over it, a plain dress with a bodice that molds to my breasts. I pretend not to notice how intently Ceril is looking at me. I turn, putting my hand on the hilt of a new blade. “What use are blades against dragons, anyway?”

  “They are a weapon of last resort,” he says. “The Drakoryans say any dragon that lands will have already been wounded by fire or spear. If they are still alive, we are to attack until the Drakoryans finish them off.”

  I cross my arms. “Such knowledge and weapons would have been useful when the Drakoryans were burning our land and taking our maidens.”

  Ceril reaches out and takes my arm. “Mind your tongue, Thera.” His voice is low. “Such words bring offense.”

  I jerk away from him. “Only to cowards who have traded their dignity for a shiny sword and the promise of glory.” I soften my tone upon seeing Ceril’s wounded expression. “Bran never would have joined this army. He would have only pretended to. Then, when he was armed, he would have avenged our people against these Drakoryans, cutting them down while they were in man form.”

  “Thera…” He looks around, as if afraid someone will hear. “Bran is no more.” He stares into my eyes. “Your period of mourning is long past…”

  “Ceril, don’t..”

  He sighs, exasperated. “Just listen to me, Thera. If you’d only let me ease your loneliness, perhaps you’d not be so angry.”

  “Only justice will ease my anger,” I reply with a shake of my head. “And I’ll never take a mate until I find a man strong enough to stand up to the Drakoryans.”

  Ceril is looking at the swell of my breast. A spasm of want crosses his face. “You’d remain stubborn to your very death? And what of the black dragons? What happens when they come?”

  “Black dragons.” I utter the words bitterly. “Funny, don’t you think, that we’ve not seen them? And odd that the harvest disappears after we are imprisoned here. The Drakoryans send their lords to live among us. Do you think raising a pint by the fire makes you one of them? This is all a ruse, Ceril. Mark me. They seek to train our men for some future war. None comes here.” He’s uneasy now, and I take advantage of his uncertainty to press my point. “Don’t be their fool, Ceril. If you don’t have the backbone to take up arms against the Drakoryan, at the least find the strength to refuse to serve, and to encourage others to refuse as well. Don’t be so easily used.”

  “Ceril of Darly. Have you…” A deep voice from behind interrupts us. I turn and see the speaker is one of the Drakoryans. This one, as always, is in the company of his identical twin. They fall silent, as if surprised to see me.

  “Healer, what brings you here?”

  “She came to bid me good day.” Ceril lays a hand on my shoulder, and given the headway I’ve made, I can hardly pull away. When his hand closes in a possessive squeeze, however, I do just that.

  “I’ve dallied enough.” I pull my hood back over my hair and look up at the two Drakoryans from under its rim. “I apologize if I’ve taken your loyal subject away from the tasks he performs with such...obedience.”

  I smile almost sympathetically at Ceril and can tell by the expression in his eyes that I achieved my objective. Through my childhood friend, I have sowed the first seeds of distrust against our Drakoryan masters.

  Chapter 4

  TYRI

  “Something is amiss.”

  My twin brother, Yrko, and I are heading to the village square to meet our middle brother, Jareo, who waits with recruits we plan to train today.

  “I agree.” Yrko nods, although both my comment and his reply weren’t necessary. While Drakoryan brothers can project thoughts to one another, twins share an even deeper mental bond. If he drinks wine, I taste it in my mouth. If he is hurt, I feel the pain. We often share thoughts.

  Three days ago, we’d been walking through camp when I felt my cock harden under my skirt. I’d looked up to see Yrko staring towards the forge. And there she was, Thera the Healer, the outspoken widow who made an instant impression on me and my brothers.

  Then I’d felt jealousy, part my brother’s and part my own. Thera was talking to a village man. We did not like the way he was looking at her. Without a word, we’d turned and headed to the forge.

  The wind had blown towards us as we walked. I’d caught the scent of smoke and hot metal, and the light scent of fragrant herbs infused into the healer’s cloak. As we got closer, I caught her scent. A woman’s scent, and both my brother and I shared a thought of the first time we noticed the healer on the day she approached us with her bold demands. It was her eyes we first noticed. The healer’s eyes are knowing. There’s a cunning to her. There’s a slyness, like the vixens that haunt the misty fringes between field and forest.

  Our exchange at the forge had been brief, but the anger I felt when Ceril of Darly put a hand on her shoulder has stayed with us since we parted. Did Ceril detect our jealousy? Is that why his demeanor has changed? We’d worked hard to recruit him into service. Ceril is big and strong. He’s the type of
man other men admire. When he agreed to become a soldier, right away other village men expressed interest.

  But as we pass the forge on this day, we notice Ceril in a huddle with the other men who’d agreed to join with him. They are speaking in earnest and fall silent as we approach. The healer’s uncle, Releg, is with them. He was the first to confront us when we returned to the village with news the harvest had been burned. Mistrust burns anew in his expression. Their eyes follow us as we pass.

  We do not like this.

  When we arrive at the well, we find Jareo looking concerned. His voice is low as he nods to a group of men comprised mostly of the serving class come to help with the training. But there are far fewer villagers than we expected.

  “Less than half of our new recruits have shown up,” Jareo says.

  We tell them about the group we saw near the armory.

  “We should go talk to them,” I suggest.

  “We won’t have to.” Yrko nods towards the men. “They’re coming this way.”

  Ceril and Releg of Darly head up the group walking in our direction. I glance at my brothers, and know we are thinking the same thing. No matter what the villagers have to say, we must remain calm.

  “We need to talk.” Ceril’s fists are clenched at his sides.

  “Then talk.” Jareo fixes the other man with a stony stare.

  Ceril exchanges a look with Releg, who nods for him to begin. “If we are to join this fight, we want something in return. Our people are tired of oat cakes, turnips, and salt pork. We want more and better food in the storehouse.”

  Jareo’s tone is strained. “We have stocked your storehouse already.”

  “And yet our food is rationed.”

  “All our food is rationed.” I enter the conversation now. “Even in the castles.”

  “Even in the castles?” Releg steps forward. “And how would we know this? We have to take your word for it, just as we take your word that it aids us to fight against some enemy we have yet to even see for ourselves.”

  “You saw what the ShadowFell did to your villages,” Yrko says. “You heard what they did to the people of Kenrick and Branlock.”

  “We saw destroyed villages. We only heard of black dragons.” Ceril pauses. “Some suggest that any dragon could have done that, even a Drakoryan who wanted to trick us into moving here so they could steal our harvest and force us to live and farm under their eye.”

  “Who suggests this?” Jareo moves forward, eying Releg. “It is a lie.”

  “If we lie, then show us proof.” Releg narrows his eyes.

  The muscle twitches in Yrko’s jaw. “We have battled the ShadowFell before. And there was a survivor in Branlock who can describe what she saw.”

  “Or what she has been told to describe.” The voice speaking these words is a woman. We turn. How long has the healer been standing there, listening? Her stare is bold. Too bold.

  “You call Isla of Za’vol a liar?” Jareo’s tone is heavy with warning.

  “I did not call her a liar,” comes the cool answer. “But neither do I doubt the motivation of a village woman who seeks to keep her place of warmth and safety. She has only to look from her tower window to see how other villagers live.”

  The men behind her murmur in agreement, Ceril of Darly loudest of all. He is staring intently at the healer, a look of longing in his eyes. I feel the fire rise in my blood. Heat. Heat for her. And a sudden jealousy. Beside me, Yrko is breaking out in a sweat.

  Jareo’s voice booms over the assembled men. “We understand that you do not fully trust the Drakoryans, but the ShadowFell did burn Branlock. They burned Kenrick. They stole away maidens and would have taken more had we not brought you all here. And it was the ShadowFell who burned the harvest. They will bring the fight here, and when they do, it will be with bloody terror; it is to your peril not to join this fight.”

  “It must be to your peril as well, if you cannot defeat them without us,” Releg of Darly shouts. “If you need our help, then give us more food.”

  Behind him the men cheer.

  “We have no more to give!” Jareo tells him.

  “Then we will not fight.” Ceril’s words are firm.

  “If you will not fight, then you will give back your swords,” I say.

  “Why?” The healer is speaking again, her eyes hard as flint. “You’d leave us defenseless against these… awful dragons you claim you need us to defeat?”

  The men cry as one now, raising swords we realize will have to be reclaimed by force. It would be easy to teach them all a lesson, to show them our dragon might. But the king has forbidden us from turning our dragon wrath on the villagers, lest they further revolt from fear. Our reputation for good judgment is why my brothers and I were tasked with keeping the peace. Yet I find my patience tested by the villagers’ growing distrust and tested more by the unlikely influence of this village healer.

  “Not all men are as weak as the ones who blindly serve you already, my lord.” The healer’s quiet words have a powerful effect on the men.

  Thera the Healer. As much as I long to deal with the defectors as men, I long even more to deal with this instigator as the woman she is. The men around her are angry, yes. But the defiance in their eyes is a shadow of hers.

  An image flashes through my mind of this woman beneath me, moaning her submission as I thrust into her body. I feel dragon lust pulse in my veins. I struggle to control this heedless, forbidden thought.

  “Only the council can authorize extra rations.” I am not ready to offer a concession, only to diminish the tension until we can figure out what to do.

  “Then hold your council.” Releg sheathes his sword and pats the scabbard. “And we will hold our weapons in case your giant black dragons come to call.”

  The mockery in his voice is worse than the disdain. I see the shadow of a smirk on the healer’s face as I turn away and decide that one way or another, there will be a reckoning for what she has done.

  Chapter 5

  THERA

  “How does that feel?” I am looking into the dark eyes of a little boy who is trying very hard not to cry as my hands move over his belly. Behind me, his mother clutches a hand over her mouth. Her eyes are swollen and rimmed with tears.

  Seven-year-old Jorie had only wanted to help when he’d climbed a ladder he’d seen his father climb the day before. At the top he’d lost his footing. A barrel had stopped Jorie’s fall, and he’d taken the impact on his abdomen.

  I check for all the signs that indicate deadly bleeding within. I look in Jorie’s mouth, relieved to find his gums pink and not pale. I check the prominent ridges of his ribs, badly bruised but blessedly unbroken. I ask him to tell me where it hurts. The pain is localized to where he hit the barrel. His skinny frame is tough. It saved him.

  “This poultice will help with the bruising.” I reach in my basket for a burdock leaf and coat it with an herbal salve. I lay the leaf gently against Jorie’s bruised ribs and praise him for his bravery as I lift him so his mother can wrap a strip of cloth around his body to hold the poultice in place.

  I’m glad the child isn’t gravely injured, yet I worry about how thin he is. I reach into the basket for an oatcake I’d brought from home. I’d intended it for my lunch. Instead, I give it to him.

  “Here,” I say. “For being such a good lad. There’s dried apples in it.”

  His eyes widen.

  “Dried apples?” his mother asks. “Where did you get dried apples?”

  “From the last rations.” I put my things back in the basket. Jorie is eating his cake with relish.

  “There were no dried apples,” she says.

  I stand and pick up my basket. “Sybil picked up the rations for me. She said there were.” I pause. “Are you sure you did not get some?”

  Jorie’s mother smiles. “Thera, I’d have remembered dried apples. And I’d have eaten them.” She sighs. “How I was looking forward to apples from the harvest. And berries. Remember the pies I cool
ed on the sill of my cottage?” She speaks wistfully of the simple pleasures of a home that is no more. “I wish we’d gotten apples, too.”

  I feel guilty, even though it’s not my fault.

  “I’ll find out why you got no apples.”

  She smiles. “Thank you.” Then a look of remorse crosses her face. “Listen to me. I should be ashamed, wishing for apples when I have nothing to trade you for your healing save some mending. Is there anything you need sewn, Thera?”

  “Not now, but once there is I’ll surely bring it around.”

  We walk to the door, and as we are about to leave, she takes hold of my arm. “Everyone is talking about you. They say you believe the Drakoryans false. Should I worry?”

  “You’ve worries enough, Delia. I do not know what is true and what is not, but if our men are to serve, they should ask for a surety of some kind. And compensation for the risk they are asked to take.”

  “They say you seek more food for our families.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will they grant it?” She casts a look at her frail son, his chest rising and falling under the bandage.

  “I do not know, yet I would hope one day we will no longer see ourselves as passive subjects begging for food grown by our own labor.” I pull my hood over my head. “I must go.”

  Tonight I am given only an embrace by a grateful mother for helping her child, but it is enough. Outside, it is starting to snow, even though it is still only late autumn. Before now, the settlement has stayed covered in just a light daily dusting of snow. This is heavier. I pull my cloak about my shoulders as I head for my cottage in the dying light.

  I arrive to see someone standing by the door. I do not have to ask to know it is one of the Drakoryans. None of our men are so large.

  He blocks my path as I approach. I feel the heat coming off his bare chest. It reminds me he is not human.