To Claim a King (Age of Gold Book 1)

by May Sage

  The weak golden filigrees coming out of her hands went blazing gold, and he felt her breathe out easier immediately. He followed them back and eastward, this time, feeling himself growing weak, but feeding as much as he could through the bond. If they died together, so be it.

  His own flesh unexpectedly regained some energy; that bond, he did recognize. Vincent. He didn’t have to turn to know that his cousin, though far from them, and unable to fly, was also emptying himself of whatever life force he could spare, and sending it to him

  Xandrie may not have managed to rebuild the wall if the foundations laid by his mother hadn’t been there. And she would never have managed to do half of it, untrained as she was, without his help, and Vincent’s, too. But between the four of them, they somehow did get a shaky, rocky, uncertain barrier going.

  By the time they were done, the dark figure had run back to its woods, chased away, for now. Rhey knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that it would come back.

  They didn’t land as much as crash on the floor, but their men had their backs, so they felt free to collapse. It was nightfall before any of them woke up.

  Xandrie was already up, and sitting next to him, when Rhey regained consciousness. The first thing he did was cup her chin in his hand, and growl a low, threatening, “Never again.”

  She wasn’t going to put herself in danger like this again. She just wasn’t.

  The damn woman just laughed.

  “Right. Or, every single time something comes at us, I’ll just get better at kicking their asses.”

  He had a few things to say about that, but first, and more importantly, he had something else to do. His lips captured hers - finally, finally - and devoured them, unwilling to let her go. Ever again.

  This was everything that mattered, he felt it down to his entrails, sealing their bond forever, by right of flesh.

  “I’ll wed you soon,” he swore, “But when I get you home, I’m going to feast on you and fuck you until the morrow because, Alexandria, you’re mine. And we’re alive.”

  Thanks to her.

  “I’m okay with fucking. Please. Pretty please.”

  The woman was going to be the death of him, of that, he was certain.

  Nathos said their wall would hold.

  “You’re sure? Because I basically had no idea what I was doing. I just pushed energy through the marks I could feel between each guard post.”

  “And that’s exactly what it needed - living energy. Joda did an incredibly powerful thing, but it was fading and she wasn’t there to rekindle it. We’ll reform the guard here, but you did good. We’re safe thanks to you.”

  By the time they’d made it to Tenelar, the word had somehow already spread, and they were greeted by the entire Kingdom, kneeling before their King, their Prince, Princess, and their Rider. Xandrie looked awkward, but took the honor graciously, collecting each flower thrown at her on her lap.

  Then, they were finally home - with three thousand servants, seven hundred residents and as many guests - but none of those mattered.

  He helped her down from her horse, and wordlessly took her hand, leading her away.

  “My King…” Nathos started.

  “Not now. Day off. Two of them. Call me if the whole world burns.”

  Alive

  He didn’t think the world burning might actually have stopped either of them now. He had his hands on the woman that, not even a day ago, he might have lost; the woman who belonged to him. He wasn’t gentle, and nor was she.

  Rhey had only meant to kiss her before they’d reached his door, but she jumped on him and wrapped her long legs around his hips, plastering her heat against his – groaning against her, he cursed out loud and pinned her to the closest wall, his hand seeking the warmth of her flesh under the fucking stupid armor.

  “You’ll wear a shield, next fucking time,” he growled.

  He wasn’t great at removing battle gear – people did these things for him. He made such a mess out of finding all the hooks and bolts that she somehow managed to stay dressed until he’d reached his den.

  They were both laughing at his door, but when he pushed it open, Xandrie just gasped in astonishment.

  His lair took over the entire basement of the palace; for close to a mile there was nothing but mountains of gold.

  Most knew of dragon sickness and understood his need to keep his treasure where he could survey it; many a time had he slept under the gold in his dragon form, instead of taking up the large bed standing right in front of them.

  He realized that Xandrie might want to have a say about the decorating. Or, more likely, she’d have them move to a pretty, small room somewhere upstairs. The thought should have alarmed him, panicked him, but he genuinely didn’t care. Whatever she wanted, he would give her.

  More shocking realizations came to mind; how long had it been since he’d counted his gold, now? Since he’d cared about it?

  No need to ask; he hadn’t spared it any mind since she crash landed into his life and changed everything he knew to be truth. He was obsessed with nothing and no one now – only her. There lay the cure for dragon sickness.

  “A little too much, right?” he said, embarrassed by his foolish display of gold, but she shrugged.

  “There’s a bed. That will do very well.”

  Good point.

  She pulled Rhey’s lips back to hers, and he bent to take her behind the knees and hold her back, carrying her to his unmade bed. There was just a tunic and a pair of pants on her now – neither stood a chance. He had to battle her to remove her clothes, as she was just as determined to pull his from his limbs.

  Fuck.

  Her skin was so smooth, silky, milky, and perfect, he could have stared until the end of time, if only his woman hadn’t wrapped her small hands around his shaft, and pumped it, visibly intending to drive him to madness.

  She got it.

  Growling like the beast he was, he jumped to her, parting both of her legs as far as they could go, and buried his face in her soft mound of auburn hair, eating her folds. She screamed, yelled, begged, and screamed again, shouting his name so loud everyone in the castle knew their King was torturing his mate. He didn’t stop, ignoring her pleas until warm slickness drenched his beard.

  Xandrie was panting like she’d just run a marathon, and although ninety percent of his mind wanted to maim him for it, he did consider letting her rest. But he’d just opened his mouth to suggest such a thing, when the woman pushed against his chest, forcing him to fall back on his mattress.

  “Let’s give another meaning to dragon rider,” she said, before straddling him, and pushing his throbbing dick deep inside her.

  Where he belonged.

  He came quickly, and wasn’t even embarrassed by it; right after emptying himself inside her the first time, he grew just as hard and took her from behind – the second time, recovering took three minutes. By the tenth, or eleventh time, they were both spent; they collapsed, wrapped into each other like they might perish if they didn’t hold as tight as they could.

  Seconds later, as he fell asleep, Rhey heard her whisper, “We’re alive.”

  Fights

  The morning of The Claming, there was a decided chill in the refectory when Xandrie came down for breakfast. She’d gotten used to eating alone in her own quarters, but now that she was a contender in The Claiming, she was to break bread with the women who’d won their preliminaries.

  Saskia, who Xandrie had fought on Demelza’s behalf, was icy and aloof, which was to be expected. Xandrie had kicked Saskia’s ass; she had every right to shun her. But the fact the other women were looking down their snooty snouts at her was a bit disconcerting. She could see them sneaking glances at her and tittering. One unabashed snot even cut her off when she reached for the tongs to ladle some black pudding onto her plate. It was no accident. The woman elbowed her way around Xandrie, almost standing on Claws’ tail.

  The tiger growled, low and menacing.

  “Keep y
our beast in check.” The woman didn’t even do her the courtesy of looking at her.

  “Don’t mind them.” The voice behind her was friendly, in total contrast to everyone else at breakfast. The woman – a burnished Amazon, with hair of gold and eyes that danced and smiled – held out her hand. “Janive,” she introduced herself. “I’m a friend of Demelza’s.”

  Xandrie shook her hand. “What was her problem, do you think?”

  “The crowd loves you, and you’re favored by the King,” Janive told her, “but you can’t expect your competitors to be happy that you’re in the mix.”

  Xandrie was relieved that Janive was so frank. Pretending something wasn’t happening, when it clearly was, only made for headaches and sleepless nights. Yet something deep down told her to be careful; she didn’t quite buy Janive’s friendliness.

  When they made it down to the Arena, they were met by a clerk, who said, “For this round, you’ll be fighting guards from other houses.”

  Xandrie cocked her head. “How does that make any sense? No guards fight for the King’s hand.”

  “It’s a test of skill. You’ll be awarded points for technique.”

  She nodded; sounded fair, and she’d rather spar with guards, in all honesty. At least they didn’t look like they’d enjoy bleeding her for fun.

  Xandrie took her place in the competitors’ pit, adjacent to the ring.

  Saskia was first to enter. She was fast on her feet and Melnak, the blade the King had given her, sang. Xandrie studied her. She had a tell: right before she went in for the kill shot, she feigned right. Every time.

  That might be useful.

  The air was filled with grunts and clashes, punctuated by sighs and applause from the crowd. When Saskia and her opponent put up their swords, a page stepped forward with Saskia’s score: nine out of ten. Saskia nodded at Xandrie as she passed, but it was more of a “screw you” nod than a greeting.

  Contestant after contestant took to the ring and was dispatched by the guards with ease. No one came close to Saskia’s score.

  When Demelza finally stepped forward, Xandrie felt her stomach clench. Her friend assured her that her arm was healed and she’d be able to fight, but it had only been a month since Saskia had ripped into her and Xandrie was sure the palace mages didn’t have half the skill her sisters had when it came to healing. She wanted to close her eyes and look away, but honor dictated she must not. Even if Demelza failed miserably, as the women who’d gone before her had, Xandrie had to bear witness to her fierce spirit and total unwillingness to yield.

  Claws nudged his head under her hand, as he always did when she was tense. She was glad of his soft, warm presence and did her best not to clench his fur in her fists each time the guard lunged at Demelza. She needn’t have worried. Demelza was every bit the kickass warrior Xandrie knew her to be. She fought with her usual ferocity and skill and left the ring with a stunning score of seven.

  “Not too shabby for someone with a gimpy arm, right?” she teased her, amused by her worry.

  Xandrie clutched Demelza and squeezed her tight. “I am so proud of you.”

  Janive was up next. She smiled at Xandrie and Demelza on her way past, and she shed her good girl image the second the flag was dropped.

  She went after her opponent with rage and skill; Xandrie could hear Vincent, who stood behind them, exclaim, and it took a lot to impress her weapons instructor, so she knew Janive must be doing well. None of them were prepared for a perfect score, though. When the page held up her card and the crowd saw a ten, they went wild.

  Xandrie felt her heart thumping way up in her throat. She stepped into the ring, determined not to disgrace herself. She’d do her best, damn it. She didn’t need a ten - she just needed to get high enough to get through to the semi-final.

  She didn’t dare look to the King’s box, not wanting that distraction.

  She pushed the world out of her mind and drew her spirit in tight. The crowd fell away, Vincent fell away, even Rhey fell away. All she could see was her sword and her enemy. She lunged, she swiped, she tried to make the blade an extension of her arm, then her heart, remembering the dance Rhey had taught her one night, so long ago. Her footwork was shoddy compared to his, she missed as many times as she landed a hit, and she was a sweaty mess by the time the bout was over. She wanted to hang her head, but Demelza’s words rang in her ears: “Show no weakness.”

  She lifted her eyes to the royal box and waited on the page. The Elders conferred for longer than usual. Was it possible to earn a negative score? She felt the shame rise and spread throughout her. The page stepped forward and turned over the card.

  The crowd exploded.

  Vincent ran into the ring and threw his arms around her. She could hear Demelza screaming her name, but she could hardly see for the tears. She’d scored a nine.

  The rest of the afternoon zoomed by in a flurry of knives and swords, lunges and feints, but by nightfall it was decided: she, Saskia, Janive, and Althara, a woman she hadn’t even seen fight, were through to the semi-finals.

  Demelza didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

  The songs of victory reverberated throughout the entire compound. Xandrie was victorious and the entire city - the entire Kingdom - seemed to roar its approval.

  The Ball

  He didn’t know whether no one had seen fit to warn him, or if he’d scratched the unfortunate event from his memory, but the next night, they were to have a ball.

  The ballroom was decked out in its most sumptuous decor. The orchestra was in the galley, the fires roared, and the tables were piled high with truffle-drenched roasts and sculpted delicacies. Drinks were ladled from an ice-carved swan the size of a horse. By the time the King arrived, his guests were gorged and giddy, sweeping around the dance floor with some abandon.

  Xandrie was at the very center of the melee.

  Rhey tried not to stare, but it was impossible. She had come to the Palace in a guard uniform too large for her frame. For the most part, she’d trained with Vincent in a dun tunic that did nothing to show the curves and contours of her frame. When she fought, she’d been resplendent in her armor, which, true, didn’t hide much, and he’d seen her with nothing at all, too, but tonight, she had slid into a hip-hugging, curve-caressing slice of crimson silk that rippled as she moved, but clung to her thighs and ass in ways that made his heartbeat land squarely in his groin.

  Vincent twirled Xandrie around the dance floor; how easy she looked in his arms. Rhey choked back the jealousy, determined not to embarrass himself in front of the entire assembly; the woman was his, he knew it, Vincent knew it, the whole damn palace knew it after he’d made her scream his name. He turned his attentions to his partner, a lovely woman who had been struck dumb the minute he’d taken her hand. When the tune ended, he returned her to her seat, then took the hand of his next, designated partner. He grinned when he saw who it was.

  “I would dance with my King.”

  Elza.

  The old friends took their places, Rhey signaled the orchestra, and the two of them thrilled the room with a dance they’d invented when they were children.

  Though he couldn’t see Xandrie, he could smell her light and lively scent. As he turned Demelza through a simple box step, he caught a glimpse of that column of lustrous red silk, this time in Nathos’ grip. He had to laugh. The man was about as elegant as a workhorse, but at least, he’d been a good sport. He normally stayed on his seat.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  He nodded at Xandrie and Nathos, just as the man trod on the hem of his partner’s gown.

  “Go, rescue her,” Elza rolled her eyes.

  Rhey practically ran, incapable of staying away another second. He tapped Nathos on the shoulder. “May I?”

  The Elder looked as if he’d just won some windfall at the card table. He couldn’t have been more grateful.

  “Red becomes you,” Rhey said. He bent close and whispered in her ear. “But you should wear gold.”<
br />
  She smiled, knowing how much he liked his gold, after spending so many nights in his den now.

  But that was it; he just liked it. The only thing he was obsessed with these days was her.

  He felt her falter. Surely he hadn’t done a Nathos and trodden on her hem? She sagged in his arms. He relaxed his hold on her, confused by her limp body. Her eyes rolled back in her head until only the whites showed. Her knees gave way and she was slumped in his arms, entirely unable to support herself.

  “Andera?” he bellowed.

  The orchestra ground to a halt and the dance floor was clear of guests in seconds.

  “Get me the head mage, now. Tell her we will need a compound of willow bark and oak-burned brandy.”

  Vincent was at his side. “You suspect poisoning?”

  Rhey bent close and inhaled her breath. “I don’t suspect it. I know it. That smell of rotting fruit?” He lifted Xandrie into his arms and stormed towards the doors. “You’ll find who did this, Vincent. Find them before I do.”

  Because if he got his hands on them, they’d wish they’d never been born.

  Andera, their best mage, rushed to Rhey’s private chambers to administer the antidote to a recumbent Xandrie. Rhey had to hold her head back, while the solution was trickled into her slack mouth.

  “If you’d been but a moment longer, Sire, the lady would not merely be blue in the lips. She’d be laid out on a slab, colder than ice.” Andera pressed a vial into Rhey’s hand. “Three drops, every hour on the hour and no visitors. She needs rest.”

  The mage left Rhey’s chambers. Never in a thousand suns or a million moons had he imagined Xandrie would be on his bed, gold piled high about them, but on the brink of death, rather than ecstasy. He gathered her in his arms and held her close. He could not bear to think of her being cold. The shoulder strap of her dress slipped. He took it gently and returned it to that magical dip where her clavicle met her neck. He wanted, more than he’d ever wanted anything, to press his lips to the sweet hollow, but instead he rocked her and wished her back to health.