Consorting with Dragons

by Sera Trevor

  But that was the only thing that wasn’t a mystery about him. In spite of the ease of their last meeting, Jasen couldn’t think of a thing to say. Their conversation over lunch had been enjoyable, but it was only after it was all over that Jasen realized that the whole time they’d been talking about Jasen. All of their meetings had gone that way; any of Jasen’s attempts to find out more about Rilvor had been so deftly reflected that he hadn’t even realized that it had been happening.

  Jasen had attempted to sniff out some personal details, but there didn’t seem to be much to learn. Polina claimed to know all of his personal preferences, down to his favorite vegetable, but guarded those secrets jealously, as if she expected wearing the correct flower in her hair and exclaiming her love for spinach would somehow forge a bond between them. Jasen knew better. Those sorts of details didn’t say much of anything about who a person really was.

  So what did he know about Rilvor? He was a good king, everyone agreed. He was adept at soothing tensions between the Allied Realms. He appeared both impartial and deeply caring at the same time, leaving all offended parties feeling as if their grievances had been heard, which was often all that was needed to diffuse a situation.

  Rilvor was also known to be a devoted father, which Jasen had witnessed for himself. But his deep love for his children led to questions that no one seemed willing to answer: what had the relationship been like between the king and his queen consort? Everyone said they had made a good couple. She was known as being kind and virtuous. No one had ever talked about any rift between them, and Rilvor had been heart-broken when she died. But there were the rumors—that their marriage was strained, and that’s what had caused her illness. They were only rumors, of course. But it still gave Jasen pause.

  And then there was the matter of his tragic ascension to the throne. By all accounts, Rilvor should have never been king. He was the fourth son, with two older sisters and a brother ahead of him in line for the crown. But a devastating plague had wiped out his mother and all of his siblings, and his father died from grief a short time later, unable to bear the burden of being Lord of the Drae without his love. Love had much higher stakes when it involved the Lord of the Drae—it could literally be a matter of life and death.

  Jasen was curious about all of this, but it didn’t exactly make for the sort of conversation for a light outing. What was he supposed to say? Did you love your wife? How about that dead family of yours? Could marrying you kill me? He was better off sticking with the weather.

  He urged Shae forward a little to ride more fully beside Rilvor. “It’s a nice day,” he said, feeling like an idiot.

  “Yes,” Rilvor agreed.

  “A little muggy, maybe,” Jasen continued. “It would be nice if there was a breeze.”

  Rilvor nonchalantly waved his hand. A gentle breeze wafted over them. “Is that better?”

  Jasen laughed. “Yes, actually.” It was the first time Rilvor had used his magic in front of Jasen. He wondered what the extent of his powers were. As Lord of the Drae, his magic was naturally stronger than everyone else’s, but the specific magical abilities of the Lords and Ladies of the Drae varied. Some were extremely gifted with one blessing, while others were able to access more blessings but with less power. From what he’d heard, Rilvor fell in the latter category. “What was your original blessing?” Jasen asked.

  In response, Rilvor waved his hand again. Nothing happened for several minutes, but then a small red bird flew up to the king and landed on his shoulder. Another one followed, landing this time on Jasen’s saddle. Still other birds of all different kinds flocked overhead. Squirrels and chipmunks came down from their trees and scampered along side of the horses. Even a few deer emerged shyly from the forest, following them at a distance.

  Jasen gawked at their animal coterie. His little bird friend cocked its head, as if curious as to why he found the situation at all unusual. “So,” he said when he’d found his voice. “Animal affinity, I take it?”

  Rilvor merely smiled.

  “Is this how you keep all the nobles in line?”

  Rilvor laughed. “It does not work on humans, as far as I know. My job would be much easier.” He waved his hand again, and gradually the animals left them. Jasen’s bird tweeted a farewell and flew off.

  “I spent a great deal of my boyhood on my own in the wilds of Rakon,” Rilvor commented. “I found animals more agreeable companions.”

  Jasen cocked his head. “I would think that your royal duties would have kept you too busy.”

  “I was a fourth son,” he said. “No one expected that I would ascend the throne.”

  “Is that why you were raised in Rakon instead of the Draelands?”

  “I do not know,” he said. “I was never told.”

  “That seems cold,” Jasen said before he could stop himself. He cursed himself inwardly for his bluntness. “I mean—I’m sure your parents had their reasons,” he added rather weakly.

  Rilvor didn’t respond right away. Jasen was worried that he’d mortally offended him, but then he said, “In truth, I did not mind. I much preferred the wilderness of my mother’s home country to the Court in the Draelands. There’s a strong tradition of ascetic draeds in Rakon—many of them lived in the draemirs that surrounded our castle. I spent much time in nature, learning from them.” He paused again. “I have suspected that my mother might have been dragon blessed with prophecy and knew a terrible fate would befall our family. I believe she sent me away to keep me safe.”

  “If that were true, why didn’t she ever say anything?”

  “Prophecy is more of a curse than a blessing. It is often vague, and there is no changing what is foreseen. Living life under the threat of doom is an empty existence. She may have thought it best not to inflict that upon us.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps that is just the wild speculations of a lonely child.”

  “I was on my own a lot, too,” Jasen said. “My mother died when I was twelve. Although I wasn’t alone, exactly—I spent most of my time with the villagers. My father was from, er, humble origins, so he never forbade it. And we were so isolated from what passes for courtly life in Grumhul, anyway.”

  “And how did it come to pass that your father wed your mother?”

  “Well—he sort of gambled his way into it.”

  Rilvor raised an eyebrow. “And how did he manage that?”

  “He and my mother were courting in secret before her father found out. Since my mother was the firstborn child and the heir to his estate, my grandfather didn’t have the right to dictate who she would take as her consort. But he was the one who still controlled the purse strings, and he refused to let my mother pay the consort price to my father’s family. My grandfather figured that was the only reason my dad was wooing my mother, anyway, and would give up once he realized no money would be forthcoming. But my parents actually were in love, so my dad went to the gambling tables and won more than enough to pay his own consort price, to prove that his intentions were true. The story got around that my grandfather was too cheap to pay for his daughter’s consort, so he relented out of embarrassment and gave them his blessing.” Jasen paused. “I can never decide if that story is romantic or not.”

  Rilvor laughed. “I would say so.”

  “The less romantic side of it is that it only intensified his faith in gambling. That’s the only reason I’m here—he won my place at Court with a bet.”

  “Then I will always pray for your father’s good fortune.”

  Jasen flushed a little.

  They rode on in silence for a little while, with Jasen trailing Rilvor by a few paces. Rilvor sat straight in his saddle, his form perfect—the very essence of regality. Jasen tried to reconcile the king in front of him with the small, wild boy he must have been, the forgotten fourth son of a dynasty that thought it would never need him, keeping company with the wild ascetic draeds of Rakon. Who would he be now if his family had survived? Or even more interesting, what would he be like if he wasn’t royal
at all?

  Jasen nudged his horse to quicken her pace until they were at pace with Rilvor. “What would you do if you weren’t king?” Jasen asked.

  “I suppose I would have become a draed,” he said. “That was what was expected of me.”

  “But what if you didn’t have any duties? What if something happened where you didn’t have to be the king anymore? What would you do?”

  Rilvor raised an eyebrow. “That is not possible. I am the Lord of the Drae—that isn’t a position that one can abdicate.”

  “But let’s just say you could,” Jasen said. “Would you?”

  “I think it would be difficult for a former king and somehow magically displaced Lord of the Drae to make a living to support his children,” Rilvor said with a quirk of his lips.

  “What if you didn’t have them to support?”

  “My life would be quite empty without my children.”

  Jasen made a sound of frustration. “Are you being thick on purpose? I’m trying to ask you what you would do without any responsibility.”

  “No responsibility,” Rilvor echoed. He thought about it for a moment. “So in your scenario, I command no lands, and I cannot have a profession?”

  “No.”

  “And I cannot have my children?”

  Jasen shook his head. “Sorry, but no.”

  “Could I have you?”

  Jasen’s face flushed. He looked down at his hands as he tried to think of a response. As he was thinking, he passed under a low-hanging branch, which got caught in one of the ribbons on his ridiculous hat. He yelped as he yanked on the reins to bring his horse to a halt.

  Rilvor stopped his horse as well. “What is it? What’s happened?” he said.

  “It’s this damned hat—it got caught in a branch.” Jasen struggled to untangle himself. “Who would put so many ribbons on a hat?” he fumed. “What possible purpose could they serve?”

  “Can’t you just take it off?”

  “I can try, but it’s pinned in place.” Jasen pulled out a few of the pins and then tried to yank the hat off. It barely budged. Worse than that, he could feel his hair getting tangled around the remaining pins, making him more stuck than ever. Jasen nearly screamed in frustration. “I think Rotheld must have used some sort of dark sorcery to stick this damned thing on!”

  Rilvor dismounted and approached Jasen’s horse. He waved his hand; Jasen felt the hat break free of the branch.

  “Thank you,” Jasen mumbled, still feeling ridiculous. He attempted again to extract the hat from his head to no avail.

  “Come down here and let me help,” Rilvor said.

  Jasen dismounted and stood beside Rilvor. Rilvor didn’t use any magic this time as he carefully removed the pins from the hat and Jasen’s hair. They were so close that Jasen could feel the heat of Rilvor’s body.

  Jasen tried to stand still, but the intimacy of the situation and his own lingering embarrassment made it difficult. “I told Rotheld that it was a ridiculous hat to wear for a ride,” Jasen said. “He can be so stubborn, though. It’s like he can’t stand for me to be completely comfortable. I escaped the corset this time, so naturally I had to suffer in some other—”

  He broke off as Rilvor pulled the hat free and handed it to Jasen. Jasen’s hair, now in tangles, fell around his shoulders. “You can tell Rotheld that I prefer you unadorned,” Rilvor said, his voice now deep and soft. “If I had my way, I would have you always be as I saw you the first time in the draemir, in the simplest garments, free of ornament and formality.”

  Jasen could feel his face turn even redder as he clutched his newly-freed hat to his chest. It seemed as if he hadn’t stopped blushing since they had begun their ride, which was absolutely ridiculous. Jasen wasn’t exactly inexperienced. So why was it so different with Rilvor? Why did he feel like a blushing virgin every time he looked at him?

  Rilvor brushed his fingers through Jasen’s hair. “You ask me what I would do if I were free. I would take you to Rakon with me, back to the wilderness where I spent my childhood. I would show you the woods that sheltered me when I needed escape from the dreary castle that was supposed to be my home. I would introduce you to my true family—to the animals and the birds, to the blooming wildflowers and cold, sweet brooks, and of course, the dragons. I would show you the meadows I ran through, the trees I slept under. And then we would make our home there, apart from the pressures of the world.”

  Rilvor leaned in so close that Jasen could feel his breath on his face; it smelled sweet, like honey. Jasen’s heart sped up. He felt both thrilled and terrified, because he realized at last what was different. Rilvor didn’t want a quick roll in the hay—he wanted him. But why? What made him so special?

  Rilvor ran his hand over Jasen’s hair again, his fingers combing through the tangles. “You are so lovely,” he murmured.

  And just like that, the spell was broken. Lovely. Of course. That was it.

  Jasen turned his head away and took a small step backward. Rilvor removed his hand from Jasen’s hair and frowned. “I’ve upset you somehow,” he said.

  “No, not at all,” Jasen mumbled unconvincingly.

  “Was it because I said you were lovely?” Rilvor asked. “Do you not believe that I speak truly?”

  “Oh, no,” Jasen said. “No, I know that I’m attractive. Extremely attractive. You might even say that it’s my most interesting quality.” He put his hat on and turned back to his horse. “We should probably get going.”

  Rilvor stopped him with a hand on his arm and gently turned Jasen around to face him. “Not until you tell me how I offended you.” His voice was soft, but firm. Jasen could tell that they weren’t going anywhere until he gave him a satisfactory answer.

  “It’s just—” Jasen couldn’t quite think of how to put it. “My father is enormously fat.”

  Rilvor blinked. “I must confess that I cannot see the relevance of your father’s weight on the current situation.”

  “He was very fit as a young man. Dashing, handsome. He was a complete nitwit and remains so, but he was so good-looking that nearly everyone wanted him. And then he reached thirty years of age and became about as wide as he is tall. So if lovely is what you want, please keep in mind that there is a good chance that I will not be so lovely ten years from now.”

  “I see,” Rilvor said after a moment. “In my family, we have the opposite problem. We become skeletal as we age. We begin to stoop as well. As the years pass, I may resemble a vulture more than a man. I should think that it would be good for my health to have someone who would make sure I ate. I would value that much more than loveliness.”

  Jasen lips twitched up in a brief grin. “We’d be quite the pair: the Vulture and the Hog.”

  Rilvor nodded. “I am sure many a snide comment would be made about us behind our backs.”

  Jasen’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m used to that. It wouldn’t bother me in the least.”

  “I know,” Rilvor said. “One of the many things that I cherish in you.”

  Jasen was back to blushing again. He mounted his horse so that Rilvor wouldn’t see his pink face.

  Once they were both back on their horses, Rilvor asked, “Am I forgiven?”

  Jasen glanced down at him casually. “For what?”

  That seemed to be good enough for Rilvor.

  The rest of the ride was nice enough, although their conversation fell into more casual pleasantries than real conversation. That was fine with Jasen—his mind was so abuzz with what they had already discussed that he was surprised he was capable of any conversation at all.

  They returned to the stable and dismounted. After their horses were put away, Rilvor dismissed the grooms so that they could have one more moment of privacy. “I fear this is the last time I will be able to see you before the Suitor’s Ball,” he said. “Indeed, it may be quite some time before we can meet again privately.”

  “I understand,” Jasen said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Kingly
duties and all that. I suppose you’ll have to go back to ignoring me.”

  Rilvor raised an eyebrow. “Ignoring you? Is that what you think I’ve been doing?”

  “Well—yes.”

  “I have already expressed to you how unhappy that I am about the circumstances,” Rilvor said tightly.

  The well-mannered consort inside of Jasen was shrieking that one simply must not pick a fight with the king of all people, but hadn’t Rilvor just said he preferred Jasen to be himself? “I understand your duties, but I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t hurt my feelings to watch you court other people. I know you don’t want to ignore me, but as you said, propriety demands that you entertain other consorts and not communicate with me for days on end—in other words, that you ignore me.”

  Rilvor’s gaze dropped. “That isn’t entirely fair.”

  “No,” Jasen agreed. “It isn’t.”

  Rilvor’s lips were pressed together. His normally gentle gaze had become a bit stormy. “Perhaps the fact that these young ladies hearts are doomed to be dashed will ease your jealousy.”

  Jasen crossed his arms and glared right back at him. “That isn’t fair, either. Part of the reason I hate this is because it hurts so many people. Courtship shouldn’t be a game with winners or losers.”

  Rilvor rubbed his face. “On that, we agree. And yet, we must play. Even a king is a pawn at court.”

  Rilvor looked so miserable that Jasen couldn’t help but feel guilty. “Well, I prefer mudball to chess,” he said with a small smile. “It’s much more honest, and you get to tackle your opponents.”

  Rilvor returned his smile. “From what I understand, one can also employ that strategy in the game of courtly love, as your compatriots did the other day.”

  Jasen laughed. “So you heard about that?”