The other man was staring at her with those penetrating blue eyes. There was desire there, no doubt. She knew that look well enough, but it almost seemed as if he were trying to stifle it. He was the most incredible-looking man she had ever seen, like a mythical Norse god come to life. She realized she was probably doing a shitty job of concealing just how hot she thought he was. She realized she was staring and forced herself to look back at the old man.
That was better. She could think a little straighter when she wasn't looking at him.
Then a horrible thought crossed her mind. If they found out she wasn’t who she thought she was, what exactly would they do? Kill her? Imprison her? Send her back? She didn’t know these people, but any of these options seemed possible. She decided to keep her mouth shut a little longer, play along, and let them think what they would.
“Oh,” the old man said. “You probably don’t remember me. I am Wygard Whitewing.” He crossed his arms across his chest and bowed. Then he looked at the other man. “And it is my great honor to introduce you to Corban Everfrost, King of the Icelands and patriarch of the Everfrost clan.”
Wait, what? Just a few minutes ago she was naked and tipsy, strutting around naked in her trailer home off Route 48. And now she was standing in front of a guy who looked like he was sculpted out of marble and was supposed to be the King?
How was she going to be able to keep up this ruse? She obviously looked the part, and no one had seen her since she was a child. But she didn’t know a damn thing about this place or the people in it. Maybe the real Siccora didn’t either, though. If she were going to own up, admit who she really was, now was the time.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, giving an awkward little bow before standing up straight and meeting his eyes. “I’m Siccora Wildfire.”
6: Corban
He paced impatiently in the Great Hall, waiting for his advisor. When there were feasts, when it was time to entertain huge crowds in human form, this is where they would gather. The cooks would prepare delicacies from around the kingdom. The hall would be filled with tables of revelers, the torches would be lit, and music would fill the enormous space. But now the tables were put away. The torches were black and cold. And the only sounds were Corban’s boot steps on the stone floor.
Everyone would want him to host a feast in honor of his new wife. He wouldn’t do it. He didn’t want a bride, much less one bred of the red dragons. The Wildfires were half a breath away from being mortal enemies. Their character mirrored their namesake: rash, impetuous, and volatile. How they ever kept a kingdom together was a mystery. And how the Everfrosts, level-headed and precise, had not taken over their lands and made them bow in allegiance was yet another puzzle.
He had no intention of throwing a party, or a gala, or a feast of any sort. What was there to celebrate? A forced union with a clan he could barely tolerate?
No, he had better things to do with his time, and more important things to worry about.
As if in answer to this thought, the heavy oak door at the end of the hall squealed open and in walked Wygard.
“Where have you been?” Corban asked.
“Patience,” the owl-mage said, shuffling forward. “The gathering of knowledge takes time.”
“I am patient,” Corban said. “But my patience has its limits. Did you learn anything?”
The old man’s face lit up. This was what he lived for. This, and hunting rats.
“Ah, yes, my liege,” he said. “The black snow you gave me yesterday disappeared, but not before it yielded a few answers.”
“Tell me.”
“Better I show you,” Wygard said. He raised his hands to the high roof of the hall, the heavy wool sleeves of his robe sliding down to expose his bony arms. He closed his eyes and began to murmur. As he did, the tips of his fingers began to glow white.
The hall had been dark, but as the mage worked his magic, the empty space above their heads filled with sparkling nodes of light. They shone like the stars in the sky, only bigger and brighter. There were thousands of them, far too many to count, and for a moment Corban forgot about his father and his forced marriage and simply marveled at the beauty of the light field shimmering over his head.
“What is this?” Corban asked. “It’s beautiful.”
Wygard opened his eyes and lowered his hands, but the lights remained, filling the hall with their glow. “Long, long ago, the first mages discovered the existence of other worlds,” he said. “They began to devise ways to travel between them and to chronicle their efforts. This is a map of the ones we know about.”
Some of the white lights began to turn red, only a few. “These are the worlds far too dangerous to visit,” Wygard went on. “There,” he pointed to the left at a small, shimmering light hovering just above them. “That is the place called Earth, where your new bride-to-be has lived in safety and seclusion.”
Corban didn’t care about that. He knew a little about Earth, and from the stories it was an inconsequential place where the humans were stuck in a single form, oblivious to the magical arts.
“What does this have to do with the hoof prints?” Corban asked. “The black snow?”
“Ah,” Wygard said. “You see, my King, every world has a name, though they are not all known. And every world has a…how should we say it? A signature. A stamp. Everything from that world bears its mark, if you only look closely and know what you’re looking for.”
“The snow is from another world?” Corban asked.
Wygard chuckled. “Not the snow itself. That is our own. But the hooves that touched it and corrupted it are most definitely not from Xandakar.”
“Where then?” Corban asked. “Show me.” He scanned the floating lights. Which world was it? Even if it glowed red, he would find a way to go there, to rescue his father.
Wygard cleared his throat. “That’s where things begin to get interesting,” he said. “And problematic.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, it’s possible to glean the approximate position of a world, even if we have never been there. The signature, the essence of a world, suggests where among the many universes this place should exist.” The mage pointed to an empty black void amidst a sparse cluster of worlds. “I’ve charted the origin of the sample you brought me, and it is a place that by all the lore should not exist.”
“I don’t understand,” Corban said. “You mean a place that you mages have yet to discover, some world you have visited yet.”
“No,” Wygard said. “That area is different. We know of places where the conditions are ripe for a world to exist, even if we haven’t been there. But everything about that,” he thrust his bony finger forcefully at the void, “defies everything we know. There is no light, no energy, no magic. The raw stuff of worlds does not exist anywhere near it. From all that I have studied, that place simply should not be.”
Corban stared at the black space, still not understanding the words that fell out of the mage’s mouth. A world that wasn’t supposed to be there?
“You sound half-mad,” Corban said.
“Yes,” Wygard said. “I almost feel a bit that way, your Majesty. But all is not lost. I have an idea about how to proceed.” He clapped his hands and the field of lights collapsed into one condensed ball of light, which then shrunk into a tiny pin-prick and disappeared, leaving them in the semi-darkness once again.
“Very well,” Corban said. “Tell me about this plan of—”
A crackling noise filled the air. The men turned to see a red flame appear a dozen feet away, waist-high.
Wygard took a step back, crouching as if to transform, but Corban stood his ground. Waves of heat radiated toward them as the flame grew to the size of a man. Or a woman.
“It’s time,” Wygard said from behind Corban. “She’s here.”
The red flame swirled, expanding outward, then falling back onto itself and solidifying. Corban watched as the flames became flesh, sculpting themselves into the fo
rm of woman.
She knelt on the stone floor, smoking rising not just from around her, but from her skin. Her black hair fell about her naked shoulders. In fact, she seemed to be completely naked, curled in a ball and hugging her knees. She lifted her head and opened her eyes, which smoldered red for a moment before darkening.
She stood, using one hand to shield her breasts, though they were too large to hide entirely, the soft flesh showing above and below her arm. Her other hand reached down to cover the patch of black hair between her legs, though he caught a glimpse of it. A gold necklace fit snugly around her neck, a glowing red gem lying at the base of her throat. The talisman, Corban thought.
“Siccora Wildfire,” Wygard said, stepping forward. “You are finally here.”
She was beautiful. That he could not deny. And she certainly knew how to make an entrance. Wygard was babbling something about how he had met her before, but Corban wasn’t listening. He was fixated on the woman. Something primal pulled him toward her. She was naked, but this was more than lust. Was the necklace working some kind of magic on him?
Wygard was introducing him now. She seemed hesitant, as if making up her mind about something. Then the doubt faded from her face.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. She bowed, keeping her hands strategically positioned. Then she straightened and looked him in the eyes in a bold way few women had. “I’m Siccora Wildfire.”
He gave her a curt nod. Her beauty had taken him by surprise. He’d been prepared to shun her completely, and though something in him had made him temporarily forget himself, he still wasn’t going to fall all over himself welcoming her. She was an unwanted nuisance, and he intended on treating her that way. Still, he couldn’t have her running around the keep like this.
“Wygard,” he said. “Surely we have a vacant servant’s quarters near the kitchen?”
“Oh,” Wygard said. “I thought perhaps she would be more at home in the North Wing.”
“No,” Corban said, looking her up and down. “We don’t have room in the North Wing.” Though of course that wasn’t true. He meant to make her feel as unwelcome as possible, though, short of throwing her in the dungeons. “Do as I say. And find her something to wear.”
“Yes, your highness,” Wygard said, stepping up to Siccora and taking off his white robe to drape it around her. “This will have to do for now until we find you some proper attire.” Then the mage took her by the elbow and began to lead her from the hall, casting a disapproving look over his shoulder as he went.
Corban didn’t care. What he did care about was the news of interlopers from a world that shouldn’t exist. His suspicions were confirmed. Wygard said he had a plan, and Corban was eager to hear it. But then the Wildfire woman had appeared out of nowhere. Now he would have to wait.
In the meantime, he felt himself stiff beneath his scaled armor. Rarely did women have such an effect on him, and he found it annoying. Then a thought occurred to him to make him smile.
As he stepped out of the great doors of the hall, a lone guard stood watch in the hall.
“You there,” Corban said. “Fetch Deelia and have her sent up to my chambers.”
“Yes, your Majesty,” the guard said.
He began to head to the North Wing, then turned. “Oh, and my future queen has arrived. You will find her in the servants’ area. Wait a little while after fetching my consort, then bring Miss Wildfire up as well.”
The guard bowed and went to carry out the command.
In his chambers, Corban shed his scaled armor, leaving it by the enormous canopy bed. He slipped in between the white satin sheets. His skin always felt strange without his armor, which was a living thing, melding with him when he transformed. All dragonkin grew scaled armor as they aged, each set becoming stronger and larger to fit their human forms as they reached adulthood.
Without his armor he truly felt like a human, vulnerable, but also free in a way. He propped himself up on the pillows and waited for Deelia to arrive. Soon she entered the chamber.
His consort looked as lovely as ever. She wore a wispy green gown showing her pert breasts and slender belly underneath. Her legs were bare, along with her feet. Her hair was short and blond, her eyes a soft brown. He had found her at the edge of the Hartglade Forest. Her village had been destroyed by barbarians, her kin slaughtered. She was the last of her clan, able to transform from doe to woman. He had offered her a place in his keep, and she had accepted.
Now she lay with him when he wanted and gave him all the female companionship he needed, a lesson that would soon be impressed upon his bride-to-be.
“Come here,” he said, putting his hands behind his head. His cock was hard and ready now.
Deelia silently removed her gown, seemingly unaffected by the cool air of the chamber. She moved like a deer, graceful and quiet, always seeming just a little frightened even though they had done this many times.
As she approached the side of the bed, her wide brown eyes moved from his face down his body.
“Please me with your mouth,” he said. “But make sure your bottom is high in the air, facing the door.”
She looked slightly confused at that request, one he’d never made before, but obeyed. She climbed into the bed with him and crouched between his legs. Then she lowered her head and gave him a light kiss on the tip as she arched her back and raised her bottom high in the air.
Corban smiled. He wanted Siccora to have a nice view as she walked through the door. The old she-owl had decreed that he would marry her, but he didn’t have to like it. And he was going to let her know where things stood from the very start. He would lay with Siccora. He had to, to make an heir. That was fine by him. Her appearance had gotten him stirred up in the first place. But he wasn’t going to give up his consorts, much less his favorite. His new wife was going to have to get used to that idea.
Deelia curled her fingers around the base of his cock, her touch as light as ever. She looked up at him with those big doe eyes, then formed her lips into an “O” and lowered them onto him.
He felt himself enveloped in the warmth of her mouth, then her tongue began to go to work. She began to lick and suckle him, her large brown eyes locked adoringly on him the whole time, her soft hand squeezing the base.
His blood, normally cool and calm, had already been heated by the arrival of Siccora, so it didn’t take much to send him over the edge. He moaned as Deelia lovingly sucked him, her bottom poised toward the door.
He felt the rush of pleasure rise from within, and his whole body stiffened. Then the door to his chamber opened.
He heard the voice of the guard outside say: “You may enter. He is expecting you.”
Siccora Wildfire stepped into the room. She was wearing a simple white smock, the clothes of a servant girl. She looked in his direction as the door closed, her eyes moving first to Deelia’s bobbing ass. Then her eyes met his, and he smiled at her as he came, releasing himself into his consort’s delicate mouth.
Siccora’s eyes grew wide, and something flashed in them, but it wasn’t anger.
He gave a satisfied sigh as he pushed Deelia off of him, his seed dribbling from her mouth and chin.
“I realized I never gave you a proper greeting,” he said. “Welcome to Everfrost Keep.”
7: Miranda
She was still a little disoriented as the old man led her from the icy hall. She was also worried that she’d bitten off more than she could chew, pretending to be someone named Siccora Wildfire. Just who the hell was she? Someone important, certainly.
“You’ll have to excuse the King,” the old man said, leading her down a wide corridor. “He has many things on his mind.”
All the walls here looked either made or coated with ice. And yet the one thing she didn’t feel as much as she should have was cold. She had felt the frost right when she had arrived, but since then she had felt as warm as if she were snug in a blanket. The old man, Wygard, had given her his robe, but it was thin and shouldn�
��t have been much protection against the chill. She brought her hand up to her neck and felt the stone on the necklace, almost hot to the touch. Some kind of magic was coursing through her, keeping her warm.
As they walked, she saw guards wearing blue and white scaled armor standing at their posts. Occasionally she and Wygard would pass people wearing simple white clothes, carrying trays or armfuls of wood. A few of the people they passed wore finer clothes, all Medieval-looking, and all blue and white. Everyone they passed looked at her. Some murmured to each other. She tried to ignore them, but she was obviously a curiosity. She worried that sooner or later someone would stop, point a finger at her, and call her out as an imposter. She tried to shrug off the anxiety and focus. What the hell was she going to do?
The necklace had brought her here when she put it on. It had to be the key. Maybe once she took it off she would be transported back.
Maybe this was all a dream or hallucination. Maybe it was real. But either way, it was damn sure more interesting than anything in her real life. She wondered if maybe she’d had some kind of psychotic break. Was her life so boring that she’d created this fantasy world to escape into?
This place certainly seemed real, though. And she wasn’t sure her imagination was powerful enough to cook up all the tiny details she was experiencing, from the feel of the robe on her shoulders to the faint cinnamon and wood smell of the old man. All the people had distinct faces. She looked at the hem of a woman’s dress as she passed, an intricate pattern of white roses sewn into the fabric. Her dreams were blurry, ever-shifting, and never this realistic.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the old man. “What was that?”
“Oh, I was just apologizing for the King’s manners,” Wygard said. “He can be a bit…well, chilly at times.”
“It’s no problem,” she said. The King, Corban, hadn’t said anything to her. But he had looked at her in a way she’d been looked at many times before. And she hadn’t shied away from looking back at him. He was gorgeous, his muscles rippling under the skin-tight scaly armor he was wearing. With a body like that, and his blonde hair and cool blue eyes, what wasn’t to like? But he was royalty in this place, and she still had no idea who she was supposed to be. Better to just keep her head low and try to figure out what was going on. And if things got too hairy, she could just take the necklace off and try to get back to her own world.
Dragon Blue: A Lie That's True (The Dragonlords of Xandakar, Book1) Page 4