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

by Jasmine Walt

  Lord Renflaw’s cheeks reddened. “I was only trying to counsel you against making a promise you cannot keep,” he said, sounding highly offended. “You should have spoken with me in private before saying such things to the elves. Getting their hopes up only to let them down later will only make them distrust us.”

  Dareena considered that for a moment. “Perhaps I should have,” she said, “but seeing as how there is nowhere else safe for us to speak in private, I did the best I could under the circumstances. You are a good man, Renflaw,” she went on before he could argue with her. “I do not doubt your intentions. But I will not allow you to make me appear weak in front of others.”

  Renflaw bowed his head, looking slightly mollified. “Very well, my lady.”

  Dareena allowed Renflaw to escort her back to her rooms. The moment the doors closed behind them, her ladies, who had not been permitted to speak during the meeting, erupted in a flurry of excitement.

  “I cannot believe you offered to give the elves reparations,” Soldian said. “Lord Renflaw should not have questioned you in front of the others, but I can’t say I’m surprised at his reaction.”

  “You were right to stand up to him,” Lyria said, “but those elves do not deserve a single copper from the treasury. They have suffered losses, yes, but so have we. If anyone should be paying reparations, it’s those bloody warlocks.”

  “I think you did a good thing today,” Rantissa said, surprising Dareena. “The others may not see it, but your gesture will go a long way toward easing the anger that the elven population harbors toward dragons. They will remember this, my lady,” she said with an encouraging smile.

  “That is my hope,” Dareena said, curling up on the couch again. She reached for the book she had left on the table. “Now, who is going to bring me a fresh cup of tea?”

  16

  The first week of training turned out to be both informative and grueling. Lucyan and the others spent their mornings on physical training—running, fighting, weapons training, and honing various agility skills—but in the afternoons, the recruits attended lectures and practical demonstrations on how all their warlock gadgets worked. Each recruit was given a spyglass that worked over great distances, a strange cylinder that could be used to communicate with any other spy within a five-mile radius, several different amulets and charms to protect against certain attacks and provide disguises, and a few other things Lucyan was still trying to figure out. He resolved to take these devices with him when he returned to Dragonfell, and he would procure multiples if he could. Shadley would be delighted to have extra gadgets for their own spies to use.

  On the third day, all the recruits had been made to strip naked and do laps across the small lake on the grounds. It was under the grounds of testing their swimming abilities, but Lucyan knew the warlocks were secretly checking for disguise amulets. He was very glad he’d thought to hide the disguise ring in his leg—no one noticed the small lump on his inner thigh.

  On the fourth day, the recruits were marched into the great hall to be presented to Prince Mordan. Lucyan smoothed a blank expression over his face to hide his distaste as he studied the prince. He was wiry, with a hooked nose and hunched shoulders, his greasy black hair slicked back from a face so pale Lucyan wondered if he were in fact dead, all the lifeblood sucked out of him. His dark eyes glittered as he surveyed the recruits, lingering overlong on the few women present. Lucyan felt a surge of anger as he imagined the prince raking Princess Basilla with that lascivious glare. He didn’t blame Ryolas for wanting to kill Prince Mordan—if it wasn’t such a great risk, Lucyan might have tried to do it himself.

  “These are some fine specimens you’ve got here, Lord Byrule,” Mordan drawled as he inspected the recruits like they were mere beasts. “There are fewer here than expected, however. Is it really so hard to find good men and women?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  Lord Byrule smiled apologetically. “Quite a few more than this showed up for the tryouts,” he said, “but many were disqualified. It is difficult to find mercenaries who are educated and unattached,” he added.

  Mordan sneered. “I suppose it’s too much to expect commoners to pick up a book,” he said. He turned back to the recruits, a smirk on his face. “The group of you are, believe it or not, the elite. You will do your best for the glory of our country, won’t you?” he asked in a silky voice.

  “Yes, my prince!” they shouted as one. Lucyan wanted to ram Mordan’s pompous words down his throat. As if the average commoner could even afford books! Was the prince so out of touch with his people? Lucyan would gladly have killed Mordan if he could, even if just to spare the people from his stupidity. The idea that Terragaard would have to contend with a rat like him if the warlocks won was almost more than he could bear.

  Prince Mordan continued his pompous little speech for another few minutes, and then the recruits were dismissed to enjoy a free half-day. Lucyan was relieved to finally escape the confines of the castle grounds—he was looking forward to meeting up with Ryolas again. With any luck, he’d have found Basilla by now, or at least gotten a solid lead on her location.

  “Hey, Suric,” Delara called as Lucyan came out of their quarters dressed in plain clothes. She stood just a few feet away with several other recruits. “How about you come join us for a drink?”

  “Sure,” Lucyan said, tucking his hands into his pockets. He strolled over to the waiting group and followed them through the gate and back into the city. Walking around with a group would make it easier for him to blend in rather than skulking about the city alone. He followed them to a small tavern that turned out to serve fantastic beer and meat pies, and sat with them for a little as they joked and laughed and blew off steam.

  “I’m going to run a few errands,” he said after he’d finished his pie and drained his tankard. “I’ll see you all back at the barracks.”

  “Already?” Delara pouted as she snagged his hand. “You aren’t even tipsy yet, Suric. Come and have a few more beers. I’ll even pay.”

  “Yeah, come on,” the others protested, looking put out. Against his will, Lucyan had become somewhat popular. Last week during the swimming trials, he’d saved one of the recruits from drowning, and he’d taken to coaching those he’d sparred with who were unfamiliar with some of the more esoteric weapons. He knew it was foolish for him to get involved, especially since these men and women were the enemy, but he couldn’t quite help himself. It took more effort than he wanted to admit to refuse their friendly offer and escape before they could make him change his mind.

  Perhaps falling in love had made him soft.

  The Green Mermaid was well across town, so Lucyan hopped into a cab and had it drop him off a few blocks away. Even so, as he walked up the street, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Surreptitiously, he glanced back and saw a man following from a few paces away—a man he’d seen standing at the corner when he’d boarded the cab. The brim of his hat was pulled over his face, but Lucyan recognized him—he was a corporal from the unit, likely one of several sent out to monitor the recruits.

  Lucyan fought the urge to quicken his steps, and instead made an abrupt right turn at the corner. Scanning the awnings, he spied a painted sign sporting a curvy lady dressed in lingerie. Casually, he stepped through the doors, and stifled a choke as a cloud of perfume and body odor hit him in the face.

  Now I remember why I hate brothels, he grumbled to himself as he hurried through the building.

  “Excuse me, sir,” a woman in a tight corset and little else purred. She pressed herself against him, placing her hand against his chest. “You have to pay before you can go any further.”

  Lucyan stifled a growl as he dug a coin out of his pocket. “I’m just passing through,” he said, tucking it between her cleavage. The woman huffed as he pushed her away, but she didn’t protest as he brushed past the curtain and hurried toward the back door. The sound of grunts, moans, and breathy laughs muffled his footfalls as he slipped quietly into the alley. The air out her
e smelled of refuse, but Lucyan sucked in a lungful anyway—it was still better than the brothel.

  Carefully, he made his way back to the Green Mermaid, taking a longer route and scanning his surroundings thoroughly. When he was confident he wasn’t being followed, he slipped inside, then grabbed a table in the back corner. When the server brought him his order, he placed a coin in her hand and asked her to deliver a message to Ryolas’s room. He sincerely hoped the elf was there—it was much earlier in the day than Lucyan had promised to meet him, but he didn’t want to hang around all night waiting.

  Twenty minutes later, Ryolas approached his table with two bearded men Lucyan recognized from Dragon’s Keep. Shadley’s spies, then. “I am relieved to see you back in one piece,” Ryolas whispered as they took their seats next to Lucyan. “I assume the warlocks did not see through you, then?”

  “Not yet, anyway,” Lucyan said. “The spymaster is a man called Lord Byrule—he interviewed those of us who’ve passed the tests, and the sergeant running the training program reports directly to him.”

  The man sitting on Lucyan’s left nodded. “Lord Byrule is new to the position,” he said. “The last spymaster died under mysterious circumstances.”

  Lucyan nodded. “You are…Draxton, correct?”

  “Aye.” He jerked a thumb to the other man. “And this is Corlin. We hear you’ve been working on becoming a spy yourself.” He winked.

  Lucyan gave him a lopsided smile. “While I do enjoy a bit of intrigue and excitement, I find I am becoming more of a family man as of late. I think once I return home I will content myself with running operations from afar.”

  “Can’t blame you there,” Corlin said, a knowing look in his eye. “If I had a lady like that waiting for me at home, I wouldn’t want to leave either.”

  With the pleasantries out of the way, Lucyan got right into it, debriefing the men of all he had learned. It turned out that the spy who had greeted them had been sent off on another mission, which was fine; Lucyan thought there were too many fingers in this pie as it was. Ryolas and the spies were angered and horrified to learn that the recruits were being groomed to take over their lands, but they were intrigued at the prospect of finding the device the warlocks were using to spy on their enemies.

  “It could be worth it to stick around longer and see if you can confirm your suspicion,” Draxton said thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps, but it is also dangerous,” Corbin said. “You have been lucky so far, my prince, that the warlocks have not detected your subterfuge. But they are crafty creatures and will figure it out sooner or later. In fact, I would not be surprised if they haven’t already, and are merely watching to see what you will do.”

  “Like a cat toying with a mouse,” Lucyan said, a shiver crawling down his spine. “A man did try to follow me here,” he admitted, “but I gave him the slip. I will be more careful, but I really don’t think they suspect me of anything. If I can destroy that device, it will go a long way toward helping our people win the war.”

  “If such a device even exists,” Ryolas reminded him. “And don’t forget—our primary objective is rescuing Basilla. I need your help to do that.”

  “Have you discovered where she is located?” Lucyan asked. He sincerely hoped the elf had managed to make some progress while he was away. If it was this difficult to find her, he could only imagine how much harder it would be to break her out of whatever little hidey-hole Mordan had stashed her in.

  Ryolas nodded. “We are almost certain she is being held in a villa on the outskirts of town. Draxton did a bit of digging and discovered that Prince Mordan owns it under a false name.”

  Lucyan’s pulse jumped with excitement. “That sounds like a good lead,” he said, setting down his tankard. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I still have several hours before curfew. Let’s go and have a look now, while I am still free.”

  The four of them quickly finished their meal, then hired a carriage to take them to the location. The ride took a good forty minutes with traffic, and by the time they got out, Lucyan’s blood was humming. Ryolas pressed a coin into the driver’s hand and promised him more if he waited another thirty minutes—this far out it was difficult to hire another carriage, and they did not want to be stranded if their hunch turned out to be false.

  The villa was perched in the middle of a large acreage, the perimeter surrounded with a thick border of trees that provided excellent cover. They snuck close, and Lucyan held up a hand as he felt the familiar sting of magic hit his nose. The hair on his arms rose in response to the deadly power.

  “There is a ward here,” Ryolas whispered, sensing it too. “Judging by what I can feel, it would either strike us dead or incapacitate us long enough for any guards to come and tie us up.”

  “The guards are usually equipped with amulets to allow them to pass back and forth safely,” Corbin said. “We’ll wait until one comes out, then ambush him.”

  Lucyan nodded. The four of them crouched near the entrance path, two on either side. Sweat beaded on Lucyan’s brow as the minutes passed with agonizing slowness—it had taken him longer than expected to reach this place, and they still had to get in and out. If Basilla was there, they would leave immediately, warlock spy training be damned. But if not, Lucyan could not afford to miss curfew.

  “At the very least, there must be something of great value in there,” Ryolas murmured, reading Lucyan perfectly. “Mordan would not have taken such pains to set up this ward if there was nothing worth guarding.”

  Lucyan nodded, then held a finger to his mouth to shush him as footsteps approached. A few minutes later, the man passed through the perimeter, whistling cheerfully as he walked. Ryolas flung his wrist out, snaking a glowing whip around the man’s throat and pulling it tight before he could utter a sound. The guard kicked and thrashed as Ryolas hauled him forward, then went still when the elf snapped his neck, swiftly putting him out of his misery.

  “There we are,” Lucyan said, pulling an amulet hooked around the guard’s belt after a quick search. He began to put it on himself, but Draxton hurried over and took it.

  “Better I go first, my prince,” Draxton said as he fastened it to his own belt. “In case we’re wrong.”

  Lucyan nodded tersely. They all held their breath as Draxton carefully walked through the perimeter, then let out a sigh of relief when nothing happened. Once safely through, Draxton tossed the amulet back, and they repeated the process until all four of them were on the other side.

  As they quietly crept forward, Lucyan spotted a statue of a robed woman not far from the tree line. “A-ha,” he said, tapping her head. He could smell the magic rolling off it. “This is the control for the ward. I wonder if it’s worth turning off.”

  Ryolas shook his head. “It is too dangerous to tamper with such things if one does not know the right keyword,” he said. “The statue could just as easily destroy us in the process. Best to just keep moving.”

  The three of them approached the house on silent feet, sneaking up behind a few other guards and slicing their throats before they could sound the alarm. It appeared the ward itself was their primary method of security—there were only half a dozen men to incapacitate. Lucyan took a running leap toward a window on the side of the house and used his brute strength to force it open. He climbed into an empty guest room, Ryolas and the agents right behind him, his dagger still in his fist.

  “Basilla is definitely here,” Ryolas said, his eyes sparking. “My magic is still having trouble finding her exact location, but I sense her clearly.”

  Lucyan nodded tersely. He could scent the princess as well. “This place is enormous,” he muttered as they quietly opened the door and stepped into a dark hallway illuminated only by a few candles. “We should split up.”

  “Agreed.” The four of them went their separate ways, two taking the lower level, while Lucyan and Draxton searched upstairs. They agreed to meet back in thirty minutes. Lucyan hurried up the hall, wishing that he’d thought to
bring some of those warlock communication devices. That would have been far more convenient. Stealing into the foyer, he spotted a guard standing by the staircase. Seeing no way to sneak up behind him, he palmed a throwing knife and flung it. It sank into the guard’s throat, and he collapsed to his knees, choking on his own blood as it burbled from his lips. Lucyan ran up the stairs past him, yanking his blade out of the man’s throat as he went. Another guard standing near the banister cried out as he whirled around, but a second blade from Draxton silenced him before he could say more.

  “Milton?” a male voice called as Draxton and Lucyan reached the top of the stairs. A third guard came out of the hallway on the left. “Intruders!” he cried, drawing his sword. Lucyan snarled as shouts came from different parts of the house. So much for stealth. Draxton buried a dagger in the man’s eye, but it was too late—the others had been alerted.

  “I’ll take the right side,” Lucyan barked, already running in the opposite direction. He drew his sword as another guard rushed up to meet him. Steel clashed against steel in the tight corridor, and as Lucyan saw another guard running to join him, he was tempted to incinerate the lot of them. Fire bloomed in his chest, but he suppressed it, parrying the guard’s blow with one hand while he sliced open his belly with the dagger he’d palmed while the man wasn’t looking. He didn’t want to leave any trace that a dragon had been there, if he could help it. The last thing he needed was for Prince Mordan to order a manhunt for him, disguise or no.

  After Lucyan had dispatched the guards, he hurriedly opened all of the doors in the corridor, checking inside each one. Most of them were either guest rooms or closets, and all were empty. He doubled back to the foyer, killing another guard on his way. He hoped one of the guards hadn’t thought to take the princess and spirit her out during the commotion, or worse, kill her.

  “I found her!” Ryolas’s voice echoed. Lucyan’s heart leapt with excitement, and he vaulted over the banister, rushing toward the sound of the elf’s voice. He found Ryolas and Corbin standing in a bedroom on the lower level. Behind the gauzy curtains of a large four-poster bed lay Basilla, sleeping like the dead. Ryolas was shaking her, his face pinched tight with concern.