by Jasmine Walt
He had started walking to the next injured soldier when a sweet voice pulled him out of his focus—a voice that reminded him that he was supposed to be elsewhere.
“Alistair?” Dareena asked shyly.
He turned to a vision in green; she stood there in a verdant dress that matched those gorgeous eyes, watching him.
“Dareena.” Alistair inclined his head as shame filled him. “I apologize, the time has escaped me.” He cursed silently—this was not the impression he wanted to make. There was blood all over his hands and his shirt—he was certain he looked like a vagrant right now.
“I waited for you a few minutes,” she admitted, “but a servant told me I could find you here. She looked between Alistair and the rest of the stable, those keen eyes taking in everything. “You’re a healer?”
“No, just another pair of hands. The infirmary is overrun, so I just…never mind. I’ll go and get changed.”
But Dareena waved him away. “Don’t be silly. You must think very little of me if you think I would take you away from saving lives just so we can go have a bit of fun.” Alistair stared, speechless, as she headed toward a basin to wash her hands. “Now, come and tell me what I can do to help.”
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Alistair and Dareena finally left the stable, exhausted. Dareena had worked tirelessly beside him as they’d helped the healers, dressing wounds, fetching supplies, and mixing up poultices. Only one of the soldiers died, and Dareena surprised Alistair by keeping it together through the ordeal. Many women would have been traumatized.
“I don’t quite feel up to a day of leisure after all this,” she admitted as they walked back into the Keep. He couldn’t blame her, and he wondered if it was his cue to leave her to her thoughts.
But he found himself quite reluctant to let go.
“We could send for some music and talk in my quarters, if you so wished?” he asked.
Her emerald eyes almost popped out of her pretty head as she blushed adorably. “You mean, alone?”
He smiled kindly. “Not quite. There will be musicians, and my footman, Ruver, shouldn’t be far.”
She nodded. “All right. Music sounds lovely, actually.”
He took her arm, which felt so small compared to his, and led her back inside the Keep. Catching the first servant he came across, he gave his order, sending for some food from the kitchens.
“How’s your stay at the Keep so far?” he asked her. “That is, when one of your suitors isn’t making you nurse soldiers back to health.”
Dareena smiled at his joke. “Strange, for the most part. I’m used to being kept busy, so not really having any duties, having a maid of my own…well, it’s definitely new.”
He remembered the simple dress she’d worn that very first day, when he’d seen her upon her arrival.
“You’re a commoner, right? I don’t pay as much mind as I should to the talk around the Keep, but I believe my sister picked you?”
Dareena grinned. “That she did. Shocked me along with everyone else. But not quite as much as actually turning out to be the Dragon’s Gift did.”
He could imagine. “And how do you feel about it?”
She bit her lip, glancing toward him. “Honestly? A little trapped. Which is ridiculous, I know. Who wouldn’t want to parade in finery all day and be waited on hand and foot?”
“A smart woman who values her freedom may have her doubts,” he said, understanding her perfectly. She gave him a grateful smile, and he opened the door leading to his quarters, letting her go in first. His entry hall would suit their purpose nicely. He used it as a drawing room; there was a green and gold long chair where he did most of his reading and a few armchairs his brothers used when they visited him. Other than that, and a plush rug on the floor, the room was sparse and simple—he loved the open space.
Dareena made her way to his furniture. She looked like she belonged there, her dress the exact color of his chairs.
“Sir,” Ruver greeted him, remaining perfectly expressionless when he saw Dareena. “My lady.”
He turned back to him, enquiring, “Does Your Highness require me to return to the office?”
In other words, did he wish for some privacy?
He really, really did, but he shook his head.
“Not tonight, Ruver. The lady and I are to listen to some music—I know you’re quite partial to violin. Please stay.”
Grapes and cakes arrived, and shortly after, seven elegant musicians carrying their instruments. They played so beautifully his plan was altogether thwarted; he could hardly talk over the music. Dareena listened, mouth open, her hand over her heart, as if she listened with every part of her, leaning forward as though she could physically get closer to the heavenly sounds.
It was dark when they stopped.
“That was absolutely lovely,” Dareena gushed, getting to her feet. “You are all terrific,” she told the musicians.
“Thank you,” the head violinist said. They all bowed as one. “We are pleased to hear it.”
Alistair tipped them all handsomely, then sent them off for the night. Ruver also made himself scarce, surreptitiously slipping out the door behind them. He always could read Alistair’s mood, and even though the prince hadn’t said anything, he did want some alone time with Dareena.
“I’ve never heard anything like that before I came here,” Dareena said. “I’ve heard music, of course, but at parties it’s all about a fast rhythm to dance to. They were the same musicians playing at the feast, right? When I…when I danced with your father.”
“Yes,” Alistair said, instantly noting the way Dareena shrank inward, as if physically uncomfortable. “The same.”
A moment of awkward silence passed before Dareena asked, “Do you three get along with your father?”
“Why do you ask?”
Dareena hesitated. “He seemed…confrontational when we all met last time,” she said. “Almost as if he is jealously guarding his throne from you.”
Alistair sighed. “Dragons are territorial by nature. It will be hard for my father to give up the throne, but give it up he must. He cannot rule forever, and now that you are here, he will one day have to step aside and let one of us take over.” He took Dareena’s hands in his own. “I realize you may have misgivings about us,” he said quietly. “But you cannot speak such thoughts aloud where servants or nobles might overhear. The king does not tolerate those who speak out against him.”
Dareena swallowed hard. “I have no intention of causing trouble.”
“Good.” Alistair smiled, then pulled Dareena to her feet. “Enough about my father, though. Let’s replace that dance you had with something better.”
“Oh?” Dareena giggled as Alistair swept her into his arms. “There’s no music anymore, though.”
“We don’t need music,” he murmured, pulling her against him. They swayed together to a hidden rhythm, their bodies moving in perfect time as they looked deep into each other’s eyes, and for a moment, Alistair felt as if the stars were aligning. Without breaking her gaze, he guided her into the dance, and everything else but the two of them fell away.
18
Late the next morning, Lucyan showed up outside Dareena’s door with a picnic basket and what Dareena was beginning to think of as his signature roguish smile. He spirited her off to the rolling fields full of heather beyond the Keep, and they sat atop a grassy knoll on a checkered blanket to eat the lunch Lucyan had packed.
“Mmm,” Dareena said around a mouthful of meat pie. “This is really good.”
Lucyan beamed. “Cook makes the best meat pies around,” he declared. “You won’t find a better cook in all of Dragonfell.”
“Oh, I agree that these meat pies are top-notch,” Dareena said with a smirk as she dabbed her lips with a napkin. She was tempted to suck the grease off her fingers, but she knew Lady Maude would have had a fit if she’d seen such behavior, so she refrained. “But these strawberry tarts…” She lifted one of the sugar-dusted pastries to h
er mouth and took a bite. “They’re delicious, but my friend Tildy’s aunt makes pastry dough so fine it practically melts in your mouth.”
“Well it’s a good thing I don’t live there, then,” Lucyan said wryly. “I’ve a bit of a sweet tooth, and if I had access to pastries that good, you would be rolling me down the hill.”
Dareena laughed. “Somehow I think you would keep your physique,” she said, her gaze roving over Lucyan’s body. He wore a dark green tunic and leggings, and the outfit was much more fitted than Drystan’s, showing off his powerful limbs. There was no padding beneath that hose, she thought as she traced the outline of his calves with her eyes.
Lucyan grinned, seeming to notice her regard. “More than likely,” he admitted. “I’ve never heard of a fat dragon.”
They talked for a while about their lives—Dareena telling Lucyan about her life in Hallowdale, while Lucyan in turn told her about life as one of the king’s sons. It turned out he had a knack for politics and intrigue—he was building a network of spies across not only Dragonfell, but elsewhere in Terragaard as well. He enjoyed the game of trying to figure out what people wanted and helping them to get it in exchange for furthering his own ends.
“Unfortunately, building a spy network is slow-going when one does not have access to the royal spy budget,” Lucyan said. “I have had to make do by leveraging my position as prince and exchanging bribes and favors as I am able. But I do have a handful of informants now, and that network is only going to grow as time goes by.”
“Why don’t you have access to the budget?” Dareena asked. “I would think the king would want to ensure you are amply funded.”
Lucyan smiled. “He would…if I was working for him.”
“You mean you’re not?”
“Not yet,” he said. “The intelligence is for my own use, not his, which is why I am using my own resources to gather it. I have found nothing I feel the need to share with my father, and I do hope you won’t tell him about this. It’s a hobby, you see, not an official career.”
Dareena frowned. “But I thought he knew about this? You did mention being the better strategist when you were arguing with Drystan and Alistair about which one of you should be king.”
Lucyan waved a hand. “I sit in on the council meetings often, just like my brothers, and Father often asks our opinion on how to deal with certain matters. Lately, though, the only opinion he seems to desire is his own,” he added darkly.
“Your brothers have said similar things,” Dareena commented, a seed of worry planting itself in her gut. Could it be that the king was not of sound mind and body? She’d heard whispers of discontent amongst her fellow townsfolk in the past, but she hadn’t listened to them much, having little care in politics at the time.
Lucyan shrugged. “Fathers and sons always have their spats,” he said. “But let’s not talk of such things on such a beautiful day. What is it that you want to do? I’ve got you to myself for the rest of the afternoon—how would you like to make use of me?”
Dareena bit back a laugh as he waggled his eyebrows—she had no doubt in her mind as to what he thought was the best use of himself. “Since you seem to be so knowledgeable about the world,” she said, trailing her fingers up his arm in a teasing manner, “I wouldn’t mind learning about the War of the Three Kingdoms.”
Lucyan blinked. “That isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “But you’ve certainly come to the right person. Why the interest, if I may ask?”
Dareena hesitated. She didn’t want Lucyan to think she was worried, but after Drystan had been so insistent about protecting herself that day in the carriage, and with what the brothers were saying about their father, she couldn’t help but wonder about the real motivations for the current war. She didn’t know much about the histories between the three kingdoms, so it seemed like the best place to start was with the war that had driven a rift between them in the first place.
“It just seems that if I’m going to become a part of the royal family, it’s something I should know,” Dareena said with a smile. “I didn’t have access to many history books, so I don’t know very much about it.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Lucyan said. “Why don’t we pay a visit to the library? It’s always best to get history straight from the source. In the meantime, I can give you an overview.”
They packed up the basket, then mounted the horse Lucyan and she had ridden out there. Lucyan’s hands circled her waist lightly as he lifted her onto the gelding, and then he sprang up behind her. Dareena leaned against his strong chest as he reached around her to grip the reins, and lightly inhaled his scent. He smelled of smoke and spice, and she drew in a deeper breath through her nose, the scent oddly addicting.
“You smell good too,” Lucyan said, dipping his head. Dareena gasped as his nose grazed the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met—that’s where Drystan had first sniffed her, too. “Good enough to eat,” he added, flicking at the spot with his tongue.
White-hot need lanced straight through Dareena, and she instinctively arched into Lucyan. “I don’t think we ought to engage in love play while sitting on a horse,” she gasped as Lucyan nibbled her neck. “Someone might get hurt.”
Lucyan laughed, lifting his head. “That wasn’t love play, darling,” he murmured against her ear, and his warm breath sent shivers through her. “That was just a taste of what’s to come later.”
He spurred the horse into motion before Dareena could answer, and she jolted as the animal began trotting down the hill. “The War of the Three Kingdoms started nearly a thousand years ago,” he said in a casual tone, as if just a moment ago he hadn’t been grazing his teeth across her exposed flesh. “Back then, my ancestor, King Rakan, had set his sights on Elvenhame. He was a power-hungry bastard, and he coveted the elven lands for their bountiful forests and endless springs. We had many more dragons back then, before the elven goddess cursed us, and Rakan thought he could succeed in his campaign against the elves.”
“Why wasn’t he able to win?” Dareena asked. “I know the elves are a formidable race”—she knew they were said to have earth magic, and were keen-eyed and fleet-footed— “but I can’t see how that compares to dragons and their fire.”
“If we’d had to face the elven armies alone, we might have beaten them,” Lucyan said. “But the warlocks of Shadowhaven lent their support to Elvenhame because they did not want Dragonfell setting their sights on them next, as would have surely happened if Rakan had taken the elven lands. Warlocks have powerful magic, and with their might joined with Elvenhame’s, Dragonfell was forced into a stalemate.”
“Oh, right,” Dareena said, vaguely remembering this part. “And so they tried to strike a treaty, but King Rakan betrayed them, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Lucyan said in a solemn voice. “He slaughtered both the elven and warlock monarchs right where they sat, much to the shock and dismay of his sons. The rest of Dragonfell wanted peace as well—we had lost too many dragons to this war, and it was obvious that we wouldn’t win without losing many more. But the sickness of greed had seeped into the dragon king’s bones and would not loosen its claws. It had driven King Rakan mad, and he would not listen to reason, not even from his closest advisors.”
“That’s terrible,” Dareena whispered, trying to imagine how the other kingdoms had felt when they’d learned about this horrific loss. “No wonder Shalia cursed our kingdom.”
Lucyan stiffened behind her. “The elven goddess’s curse was a bit harsh,” he said tightly, “particularly since the king’s sons were repentant, and immediately subjugated their father and handed him over to the elven lords to be executed. But Shalia’s Curse could not be undone.” He sighed, and the tension Dareena felt in him eased a little. “And so here we are, with you torn from your home to serve as the Dragon’s Gift, and my brothers and I vying for your favor so that we might continue our noble race.”
Dareena twisted a little to look
into Lucyan’s uncharacteristically solemn face. “Are you saying you wished you didn’t have to win me?” she asked. Was it possible that Lucyan didn’t want her? A pang hit her heart that she didn’t understand—she hadn’t fallen for him, and Drystan and Alistair were just as appealing.
Lucyan’s trademark grin banished the shadows from his face. “Of course I wish I didn’t have to win you,” he said. “I want this contest to be over and done with already, so I can take you to bed and plant many dragon babies in your belly.”
Dareena’s face flamed, and she looked away. Ahead, the Keep loomed close, and within a few moments, they rode through the gates. Lucyan dropped the gelding off at the stables, then took her to the library.
“Well this is no help,” Dareena said, sounding disappointed as she leafed through the books that Lucyan brought out for her. “Only two of these books are written in the Common Tongue!”
“Ah, yes.” Lucyan looked a little sheepish. “I forgot that you wouldn’t be able to read dragon runes. If you’d like, I can teach you. It’s merely a matter of learning the alphabet—once you know it, you’ll be able to decipher the words easily enough.”
Lucyan spent the rest of the afternoon teaching Dareena the alphabet. The runes were complex and hard to draw, but after several hours of drilling with a series of makeshift cards that Lucyan had hastily created with parchment and ink, Dareena was beginning to get the hang of it. Lucyan gave the cards to her to practice on her own, and he insisted she take one of the books back to her room with her so that she might begin deciphering it. The best way to learn how to read, after all, was by reading.
“Thank you,” Dareena said when they stopped outside her door. “This has been wonderful.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Lucyan said. He moved closer, brushing a lock of raven hair off Dareena’s cheek. His touch sent a tiny thrill through her, and she found herself leaning in unconsciously. He brushed his lips against hers once, twice, then gently bit down on her bottom lip in a way that made Dareena hungry for more. She parted her lips, but he drew back just before she could take it further.