Dragon's Curse: a Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy Book 3)

by Jasmine Walt

  Lucyan did as he said, reading aloud a poem about unrequited love. Under other circumstances, he would have done it with theatrical flair, pressing his hand against his heart in dramatic fashion, but he’d already drawn enough attention to himself, so he refrained. Even so, he managed to make it to the end of the page before he remembered he was only supposed to read a line or two.

  “A poetry fan, eh?” Lord Byrule’s eyes gleamed. “An odd pastime for a mercenary, but then again, I once met a day laborer who liked to knit in his free time.”

  “Really?” Lucyan chuckled. “It is easy to misjudge a person based on one’s first impression.”

  “Indeed.” Byrule gave him a shrewd look. “You may not have been the best fighter today, Suric, but the training sergeant noted that you were particularly observant. I think that you will do very well for the position I have in mind.”

  “And what position might that be?” Lucyan asked, making sure to sound eager, like the hungry-for-work human that he was portraying.

  “All in good time,” Byrule said. “Are you willing to work alone?”

  Lucyan nodded. “I prefer it.”

  “How about undercover? Possibly amongst dragons or elves?”

  A-ha. “Of course,” Lucyan said. “Whatever is necessary to thwart the enemy.”

  “That’s the kind of attitude I want to hear,” Byrule said. “Now, obviously you are a good fighter, but have you ever actually killed anyone, or is it all just for show?”

  Lucyan paused for a split second, weighing the question. “No,” he lied. “I came close once when I was fending off a thug trying to steal my purse. The authorities arrived in the nick of time. But I would not hesitate to do so, if it were an enemy.”

  Byrule asked him a few more questions, quizzing him about his character and experience. Overall, he seemed moderately impressed, which was exactly what Lucyan was aiming for.

  “Very well,” Byrule said, “the position is yours, if you want it. Take the rest of the day to make whatever arrangements you need, and report back here tomorrow morning with your luggage. You’ll be living in the trainee barracks for the foreseeable future. You will be paid one gold coin at the end of every week, and once your training is finished, that amount will triple.”

  “By the gods,” Lucyan gasped. “That is very generous, sir. Thank you for this opportunity.”

  “You’re welcome,” Byrule said. “The pay is good, but that is because the work is very strenuous. I suggest you make your goodbyes to your friends today, as you will no longer have time to spend with them. You will only have one-half day off every week. For the rest of your waking hours, and even while you are asleep, your time belongs to me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lucyan said. He bowed to the man, then took his leave. The arrangement sounded very confining for a spy, which was curious, but the man had said undercover. Either way, he was certain he would find out something valuable about Shadowhaven’s operations if he stayed long enough, and it wasn’t as if he were locked in here for eternity. If anything went south, he would just desert.

  He only hoped they could find Basilla before that happened.

  11

  “So, when do you think we should have the wedding?” Dareena asked over breakfast the next morning. She sat at the dining table with Drystan and Alistair in their suite, enjoying a last meal together before Alistair flew back to Glastar to continue overseeing the training of the strike forces. “I know we cannot proceed without Lucyan, but surely he will not be gone longer than a week or two. We should at least start the planning now if we can.”

  “I think three weeks is reasonable,” Alistair said after swallowing a mouthful of porridge. The sweet tooth of the family, he’d poured plenty of honey and blueberries into his bowl, enough to give Dareena a toothache just looking at it. “That’s enough time to send out invitations and get your dress made before you start to show.”

  “We’ll need to have some updates done to the Keep if we are to host such a grand event here,” Drystan said. “Nobles will be coming from all across Terragaard and beyond. They will be expecting to use the guestrooms.”

  “I can oversee that,” Dareena said cheerfully. “Yes, I know I should leave the heavy lifting to the servants,” she said before Drystan and Alistair could open their mouths, “but I can direct them, and work with the steward on ordering any new furniture or decorations. Seeing as how it is my wedding, and I am about to become queen of this castle, I think I should have a say in it.”

  “Too right you are,” Alistair said with a smile. He leaned over and planted a kiss on Dareena’s cheek. “Drystan has enough to do as it is, and I will be too busy with the soldiers to pay attention to these details anyway.”

  “True,” Drystan said. “Honestly, you are the best person for the job. Alistair would likely make terrible choices, and I just don’t have the patience.”

  Dareena laughed. “Then I will spare the staff from dealing with both of you,” she said.

  “Speaking of staff,” Drystan said, “how are you settling in with your ladies? I know you are not fond of Lyria, but what about the others?”

  “I am getting used to their presence,” Dareena admitted. “And even Lyria is not as insufferable as I thought she would be. Soldian is quite likable, though a bit clumsy at times, and Rantissa is tolerable, though she has gone from being merely shy to breaking out into nervous giggling fits whenever I try to hold a conversation with her.” Dareena let out a frustrated sigh. “It has only been a few days, though. I need to give them a chance.”

  “The main thing is to keep them busy,” Drystan advised. “They are solely there to serve you, so I imagine standing around and doing nothing is only going to make things awkward.”

  “Now that I’m in charge of the wedding preparations, there will be plenty for them to do.” She could just imagine how the three of them would protest, but it would be good for them to get their hands dirty.

  Alistair chuckled, noting the grin on Dareena’s face. “If you’re going to plan the wedding, you should do the coronation as well.”

  “That will be just as interesting as coming up with the wedding vows,” Dareena mused. “Who will be conducting the services for these events? Should we have Lord Renflaw do it, since there is no oracle?”

  “That is an idea,” Drystan mused, “though I am hoping we can find a new oracle. I plan to visit the dragon god when Alistair comes back, and I can consult him on how to proceed with these ceremonies, as well as how to find the new oracle, if there is one.”

  “Can I come along?” Dareena asked eagerly. “I would so like to visit the dragon god.” Indeed, it seemed a shame that as the chosen vessel to continue his line, she did not have a way to speak to him directly.

  Drystan and Alistair exchanged a glance. “I think it would be better not to,” Alistair said. “The pilgrimage requires a long climb and day-long fasting, both of which could be harmful for the babe.” He glanced meaningfully at her stomach.

  Dareena scowled. “I am strong enough for a climb, and from all accounts, dragon fetuses are not so easily harmed.”

  “We can’t risk it,” Drystan said firmly. “It would be all too easy for our enemies to ambush us. You must stay within the Keep until you’ve given birth.”

  Dareena’s shoulders slumped as she looked down at her belly. She truly was happy that she was bearing a dragon son, but her pregnancy was beginning to feel more like a curse than a blessing.

  “I’m sorry, darling,” Drystan said, softening his tone. He pulled Dareena into his lap and cradled her against his chest. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. But you know what’s at stake.”

  Dareena nodded, cuddling against him. She reached for Alistair’s hand and twined her fingers with his. “I do know,” she said softly, listening to Drystan’s heartbeat thudding beneath her ear. She was aware that she was being unreasonable, but she couldn’t help it. The midwife had warned her there would be mood swings during the pregnancy…maybe that was why
she was having a hard time. Tackling the wedding preparations was just what she needed, she decided. Wrapping herself up in a new project would keep her from going stir-crazy.

  After they finished breakfast, Drystan left for one of his dreary meetings, and Alistair took flight, heading for Glastar. Dareena called in her ladies, and while they helped her dress for the day, she told them about her plans.

  “My lady,” Rantissa said as she brushed and plaited Dareena’s long, black hair, “I understand your attention to detail, but is it really necessary for you to personally oversee the preparations? Surely you can just give the steward instructions.”

  “You should really be resting,” Soldian added.

  Dareena glanced at Lyria, who merely stared out the window. “What say you, Lyria?” she asked. “Do you not have an opinion?”

  Lyria stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shrugged. “It is a foolish idea, but if you want to get your hands dirty, I don’t see how that’s any of my business.”

  Dareena snorted. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me since you’ve arrived.”

  Finished dressing, the four of them walked over to the steward’s office. “I don’t see why you tolerate her insolence,” Soldian murmured, taking Dareena’s arm so she could speak quietly without being overheard. “My mother would have had me whipped if I’d dared speak to her so rudely. And you are the Dragon’s Gift!” She sounded scandalized.

  Dareena shrugged. “She already knows that she is being sent away soon enough,” she answered in a low voice. “Her barbs do not bother me overmuch anyway.” They only reminded her of just how far Lyria had fallen. If she were any other woman, Dareena might have pitied her. As it was, it only took a reminder of their role reversals to let those glares and pithy comments slide right off her back.

  The steward was in deep conversation with the lead maid when Dareena arrived, but he was more than happy to send her packing so he could see Dareena. They spent the next few hours going over all the details and plans for both the wedding and coronation, and the ladies were more than happy to participate in the discussion. They all had excellent suggestions, especially Lyria, to Dareena’s surprise. But then again, she had thrown quite a few parties back in Hallowdale, so Dareena supposed she had plenty of experience.

  “You’re going to want to order twice as many hors d’oeuvres,” she said as they were going through the numbers. “Guests love to stuff themselves with finger food even though they know a twelve-course dinner is being served later.” She rolled her eyes. “The last thing you want is to run out of food, especially at a royal wedding.”

  “You’re quite right,” the steward said, making a note on his paper.

  “I think you ought to order peonies rather than roses for your centerpieces,” Rantissa said. “They have a far more pleasant fragrance, which you’ll want with all those bodies packed into the room.”

  “Oooh, I love peonies,” Soldian gushed, her eyes bright. “Are you going to include us in the wedding party, my lady? You will need bridesmaids.”

  Dareena laughed. “True enough,” she said. She hadn’t really thought about bridesmaids, as the princes had not mentioned groomsmen, but as the future monarchs it seemed fitting to have a wedding party.

  They finished going over the plans, and Dareena immediately got to work, commandeering a bevy of servants to move heavy, outdated furniture, ancient weapons, and various tasteless paintings and decorations into the attics. The ladies grumbled about this part a little despite not being required to lift anything heavier than a cushion, but they were in good spirits from being allowed to participate in the planning and did not complain too much.

  “Yes, place it there,” Dareena ordered two strapping young men who were moving a marble bust. She was reorganizing one of the many staircase landings in the Keep, replacing rusting metal armor with beautiful art sculptures she’d found hidden away in the attics earlier. The men grunted as they moved the heavy sculpture, and she backed away into the staircase to give them room to maneuver.

  As she stood there, she became aware of something rumbling down the stairs behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of a heavy wardrobe barreling straight down the stone steps.

  “Look out!” she cried, jumping onto the railing. The wardrobe shot right past her, and though she tried to flatten herself against the wall, it rammed her elbow, sending a burst of agony through her. The men dove out of the way, dropping the bust they’d been carrying. It shattered as it hit the floor, sending shrapnel flying everywhere. The two guards who had been assigned to watch over her sprang into action, catching the wardrobe before it could hurtle down the second set of stairs and hurt even more people.

  “My lady!” Soldian cried from below as the guards pushed the wardrobe out of the way. Her face paled as she looked at the mess. “Are you all right?” she asked as she helped Dareena down from the railing.

  “I’m fine,” she said, placing a hand over her hammering heart. Her elbow ached fiercely, and there was a cut on her cheek from where one of the stray pieces of marble had hit her, but she was okay. “This will bruise tomorrow,” she said ruefully as she looked at her arm, which was already beginning to swell, “but it is hardly a life-threatening injury.”

  “You are quite lucky,” Lyria said as she came down the staircase, Rantissa on her heels. The dragon born’s face was drawn into a fierce scowl, while Rantissa merely resembled a frightened mouse. “I told you this was a foolish idea,” she said.

  “Did you push that wardrobe down the stairs?” Soldian accused, pointing a finger at Lyria. “It was sitting at the top of the landing, and you are strong enough.”

  Lyria’s scowl turned thunderous. “The Dragon’s Gift and I may not be bosom buddies, like you are,” she said, “but I am loyal to Dragonfell and the royal family. Besides,” she said, tossing her red hair, “if I were going to kill anyone, I certainly wouldn’t use such sloppy, underhanded tactics. I would use a real weapon. That’s what this is for,” she said, pulling a knife from her sleeve.

  “Bearing weapons in the Dragon’s Gift’s presence!” Rantissa cried, sounding scandalized. “We already know that someone has tried to kill her once. How do we know it’s not you?”

  “That someone has tried to kill her once is precisely why I am carrying a knife,” Lyria said crossly. “The princes have ordered us to accompany her everywhere, which means if someone were to attack her, we will likely get hurt too. If you ask me, the three of you should be carrying knives as well.” She gave them all a scathing look.

  “I do carry a knife,” Dareena said dryly, reaching into the hidden slit in her skirt. She withdrew the jade dragon knife Drystan had bought her and held it up for them to see. “Thank the gods I’ve never had to use it, but it brings me comfort nevertheless.” She’d been getting Alistair to teach her how to wield it, and they’d managed to squeeze in a few lessons. “I cannot fault Lyria for wanting to be armed, and for once, I actually agree with her. We shall go to the armory today and get weapons for both of you.”

  “Not yet,” one of the guards said, placing himself in Dareena’s path. There was a stern look on his face as he looked down at her. “You need to see a healer for that arm, and your ladies need to stay put. We’ll be questioning them all, along with the servants.”

  “Damn right, we will,” Drystan said, his voice echoing from up the staircase. He stalked into the space, his eyes glowing with anger as he surveyed the aftermath of Dareena’s near-death experience. “How did this happen?” he asked the servants, who had come rushing down to see what the commotion was about. “Did anyone see anything?”

  “No, Your Highness,” one of the servants said. “I was helping two others carry a large table.”

  “And we were busy rolling up old tapestries,” another one said, pointing to the woman next to her.

  Drystan stared them all down. “One of you is responsible for this,” he growled. “I
intend to find out who.”

  “Drystan.” Dareena placed a hand on his arm, feeling sorry for the servants, who all looked terrified. “It is quite possible the wardrobe was tipped over by accident. I don’t think anyone meant to harm me.”

  “If that is the case, then why has no one come forward to claim responsibility?” Drystan demanded. “If none of you intended ill will against my mate, then you have nothing to fear.”

  When everyone remained silent, Drystan had the guards round them all up for inspection. Dareena stayed through it all, refusing to go back to her rooms even when Drystan insisted. All of the servants, including her ladies, were strip-searched for suspicious trinkets or jewelry, but that resulted in nothing but humiliation. Frustrated, Drystan sent them all away, then ordered her ladies to escort Dareena back to her room while he spoke with the captain of the guard.

  “Leave me,” Dareena said irritably once she’d crossed the threshold of her suite. “I wish to be alone right now.”

  “We cannot do that, my lady,” Soldian said apologetically. “Two of us must be with you at all times.”

  Dareena clenched her jaw. What was the point of being the Dragon’s Gift, mate to the three most powerful men in the kingdom, if her wishes could not be respected? “Fine,” she snapped, flopping onto a settee by the fireplace. “Fetch me some food and drink,” she ordered Lyria. “The two of you can finish organizing the bookcases.” She’d been meaning to start that project herself, but since she wasn’t even allowed to lift a finger, she might as well let the ladies do it to get them off her back.

  While the women worked on the tasks she’d set, Dareena tried to lose herself in the novel she was reading. But her blood was up, and all she could think about was how close she’d come to being flattened by that wardrobe. She truly didn’t think the servants were responsible, and yet, as she replayed the events in her mind, she couldn’t fault Drystan for suspecting them. Someone had knocked that wardrobe over. Heavy furniture like that was very stable and didn’t usually come crashing down the stairs on a whim.