Eight Simple Rules for Dating a Dragon

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  With a groan, Silas began to pace once again. That peace had been obliterated the second Queen Freya had ordered the kidnapping of the Eberoni princess. How could the king have gone along with it? Was Petras losing his mind, too?

  Don’t even think that.

  Silas had been at his camp close to the Woodwyn border when a carrier pigeon had brought the news from his spy here in the castle. His attempt to stop the fiasco hadn’t been quick enough. No doubt, King Leofric and King Ulfrid were already assembling their armies. They would demand the return of not only the princess, but also the elfin woman Gwennore, since apparently, she’d grown up with Luciana and Brigitta.

  And Sorcha. The thought of her brought Silas’s steps to a halt. When he returned Gwennore and the little girl, would he be able to see Sorcha?

  She won’t remember you, he thought with a sigh. She’d been only a few months old when she’d been sent away. He could hardly remember her himself, but he’d wondered about her often over the years. Had she grown up well? Was she happy? Was she courageous and smart? Like Gwennore.

  The frustration in his heart eased. The elfin woman obviously felt a great amount of love toward Luciana’s child. So chances were good that she felt the same way toward her adopted sisters, including Sorcha. He smiled at the thought of his sister growing up with the loving support of good friends. At least something in this world had gone right.

  But how strange that the only comfort he’d found today had been caused by an elf. His smile faded.

  How had she been able to hear the dragons? As far as he knew, no dragon had ever had a mental conversation with an elf. There were only a few Norveshki men who could communicate with the creatures, and they were all descended from the Three Cursed Clans.

  Why was she different? And why was she so damned beautiful? Crap, where had that thought come from?

  He’d met plenty of elfin warriors over the years. Hell, he’d killed more of them than he cared to remember. But Gwennore was the only female elf he’d ever seen. By their standards, she might be quite ordinary.

  He snorted. Who was he kidding? Her skin was a luminous white that reminded him of the sun glistening off freshly fallen snow. Her eyes were the color of wild bluebells that carpeted the forests in early spring. Her hair was as white as a cloud on a summer day. If there were such a thing as an angel, she would look just like—

  Elf, he reminded himself. She was a damned elf, not an angel.

  The first time he’d encountered an elfin army on the field, he’d been fifteen years old, and he’d laughed at the sight of them. How could men who were pretty even fight?

  But a few seconds into battle, he’d realized his mistake. A minute into battle and he had struggled to stay alive. Their graceful moves were carefully crafted for the sole purpose of delivering death. Their elegant features masked a vicious determination. And their calm demeanor was merely a camouflage for their impassioned courage.

  Apparently, an elfin woman could be just as courageous and determined. And even more graceful and beautiful.

  The door creaked open, and he turned to greet Lady Margosha as she entered, carrying a tray.

  The lady-in-waiting glanced at the closed bedchamber door. “How is Her Majesty?”

  “Better, I believe. Two of her ladies are with her.” Silas leaned into the hallway to make sure it was empty, then closed the door. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “Thank you for sending the warning.”

  Lady Margosha winced. “A little too late.”

  “Still appreciated, though.” He had been relying on Margosha for years now, even though he hated the risk she took whenever she dispatched a carrier pigeon to him.

  His conscience pricked at him again when he noticed there was more gray than red in her hair. The older woman could have retired to a nice cottage in the village, but instead, she had volunteered to wait on the queen, claiming that the younger ladies would benefit from her years of experience. Her true reason, though, had been a secret agreement with Silas to serve as his spy.

  He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to do this anymore if you don’t want—”

  “I know that,” she whispered. “But our country is suffering, and this is the only way I know to help. If anyone can save us, I believe it is you.”

  Her confidence in him was humbling. “I’ll try my best.” He relieved her of the heavy tray and plunked it on a nearby table.

  She patted him on the shoulder. “You were always a good boy.”

  He snorted. As his former governess, Margosha had usually called him a naughty boy. “I didn’t realize the queen had gotten this much worse.”

  Margosha glanced at the closed bedchamber door. “It only became apparent the last few days. I kept hoping I was just imagining it, but…” Her eyes filled with tears. “How can I watch this happen again?”

  Silas felt his gut clench. Margosha had served his mother for years, helplessly watching as she had slowly descended into madness. He’d been six years old that spring when his mother had leaped off a bridge and been swept away by the Norva River, thunderous and swollen with snowmelt.

  “It won’t happen again,” he whispered. “We won’t let it.”

  Margosha blinked back tears. “I hope you’re right.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. After his mother’s death, she’d become his governess and had helped him survive the grief. “Remember what you always told me. Never give up. Even when it seems that everyone else has.”

  She nodded with a sad smile.

  He glanced at the tray. A pot of tea and a small plate of bread and cheese. “Are you still having all her food tasted?”

  “I’ve been tasting everything myself.” She gave him a wry look. “And as far as I can tell, I’m still sane.”

  “Are you sure?” He smiled when she swatted his arm.

  “You were always a naughty boy,” she grumbled.

  “That sounds more familiar.”

  She huffed, but her eyes twinkled with humor.

  His smile faded. “I can’t believe Petras did this. Doesn’t he realize Eberon and Tourin will declare war on us? I must return the princess and the elfin woman as soon as possible.”

  Margosha nodded. “I agree.”

  “If you don’t mind, could you send some clothes to the woman? She arrived with nothing.”

  “I’ll send a few things.” Margosha gave him a curious look. “How did she come here with the princess? Is she not from Woodwyn?”

  “She’s the adopted sister of Queen Luciana of Eberon and Queen Brigitta of Tourin. And she grew up with Sorcha.”

  “Oh, my.” Margosha’s eyes widened. “I’ll be sure to send some lovely things then. But how did she manage to arrive with the child?”

  “She hitched a ride on a dragon.”

  Margosha’s mouth fell open. “That was extremely brave of her.”

  Silas nodded. Loyal and brave. The two qualities he admired the most.

  “Well.” Margosha picked up the tray. “I should take this in before the tea grows cold. And don’t worry. With any luck, Her Majesty will forget what she did today. And if not…”

  “We’ll deal with it,” Silas told her.

  “Yes.” Margosha knocked on the bedchamber door, then went inside.

  As Silas left the queen’s suite, he told himself once again that whatever happened, he would deal with it. No stupid curse would destroy his country.

  He headed to the king’s offices on the ground floor of the northern wing and found Aleksi standing outside the door, leaning against the wall as he frowned at his boots.

  “What’s wrong?” Silas asked.

  Aleksi jumped to attention and saluted. “His Majesty is not here.”

  “What?” Silas eyed the closed doors. He knew for a fact that Petras had been here earlier. “The offices are empty?”

  “Lord Romak is in the outer office,” Aleksi muttered. “He said he could fit you in for an appointment next Opal—”

  “An appointment
?” Silas growled.

  “Next Opalday—”

  “That’s six days from now. Eberon and Tourin will attack before then.”

  Aleksi winced. “Then it’s true? The little girl is the Eberoni princess?”

  “Yes.” While his friend muttered a curse, Silas opened the door and strode inside.

  The outer office was small and sparsely furnished with a wide desk on one side and a line of plain, wooden chairs along the opposite wall. It was a cold, comfortless room that offered no warmth of a fireplace or sideboard stocked with wine for those who waited for an audience with the king. With no windows, and with walls covered in wooden paneling, it was also a dark room, relieved only by a weekly candle clock on the table in the corner and the brass candelabra sitting on Lord Romak’s desk.

  Silas had never cared for Romak. Like so many courtiers, he flattered and weaseled his way into being close to those in power. When the king’s old secretary had died eight months ago, Romak had somehow produced a paper from the old secretary recommending Romak for the position.

  King Petras had gone along with it out of love for the old secretary who had served him faithfully for so many years. But after only three months, Romak had been awarded a title and land, becoming Lord Romak. His rapid ascent to power had made Silas suspicious, but he’d been too busy battling Woodwyn to return to Draven Castle. His letters from Petras had seemed normal, so he’d been more concerned with the mental state of the queen.

  “My lord general.” Romak jumped to his feet and bowed.

  “My lord.” Silas inclined his head, watching the older man carefully.

  Although Romak’s hair was silver at the temples, most of his hair was black, which indicated he was a descendant from one of the Three Cursed Clans. That was not uncommon, though, Silas reminded himself. The three clans traced their beginnings back five hundred years, so there were numerous descendants.

  A few descendants, like Aleksi, Dimitri, and himself, could communicate with dragons and with one another telepathically. Could Romak? Silas tried to read the man’s thoughts, but caught nothing. That left two possibilities: Romak either possessed no mental powers, or had erected an excellent shield.

  Silas gave him a test. What are you up to, you little weasel?

  Romak gave no indication that he’d heard as he scurried around the desk, still bent over in a subservient position. “What an unexpected pleasure, my lord. Shall I have a servant bring you some refreshment?”

  Silas shook his head. “I’m here to see His Majesty.”

  “I’m afraid he’s not in right now, but I’ll gladly set an appoint—”

  “Since when do I need an appointment?”

  Romak waved a dismissive hand as he smiled in an ingratiating manner. “I mean no offense, my lord. This is simply the best way to assure that—”

  “Are you determining who is allowed to see the king?”

  Romak’s smile froze, and his eyes glinted with irritation that was so quickly suppressed that Silas wasn’t sure he’d seen it. Romak folded his thin hands over his waist and bowed low. “I am merely trying to fulfill my duties to the best of my ability.”

  Silas noted the multiple rings the secretary was wearing, each one set with a large gemstone. Was the weasel selling access to the king? “Where is His Majesty?”

  Romak circled back around his desk. “I believe he went to the Sacred Well. He goes there quite often these days.”

  “Why?” Silas noted the way Romak’s lips tightened. The weasel didn’t like all these questions.

  “It seems to give His Majesty some comfort and peace of mind in these trying times.”

  Silas tensed inside. The Petras he knew had never been overly religious. Why was he behaving like this now? “As soon as His Majesty returns, he must agree to send the Eberoni princess back home. If he doesn’t, Eberon and Tourin will declare war on us.”

  Romak straightened a stack of papers. “We are aware of the situation.”

  “And doing nothing.”

  Romak’s fingers clenched like claws around the papers. “We will take care of the matter.”

  “You mean His Majesty will.”

  Romak’s beady eyes seethed with anger. “Of course. I know the extent of my duties. Do you? Why are you not with the army where you belong?”

  Silas scoffed. “I don’t have to explain my actions to a secretary. I’ll speak to His Majesty when he arrives.”

  “I suggest you leave Draven Castle, or His Majesty will wonder why you have abandoned your post in these perilous times.”

  Was the weasel planning to make him look like a disobedient subject who shirked his duty? Silas stepped closer to the desk. “Why are you so eager for me to leave? Are you afraid of what I might discover here?”

  Romak smirked. “Paranoia. I see the madness is spreading.”

  Silas’s hands curled into fists. As much as he wanted to plant one in Romak’s face, he resisted. For even though he suspected Romak was up to no good, he couldn’t make accusations without proof. And if he acted too impulsively, people would, indeed, wonder if he was losing his mind. “I will see His Majesty as soon as he returns.”

  “Yes, my lord general.” Romak bowed.

  Silas strode from the room.

  “Well?” Aleksi asked.

  “I should have returned months ago,” Silas muttered as he stalked down the hallway.

  Aleksi walked beside him. “Why isn’t the king here?”

  “Good question.” Silas couldn’t understand why Petras had run off to the Sacred Well. There was nothing there but a hot spring bubbling up in the middle of an underground cavern. “Tell Karlan to alert me the minute His Majesty returns. And make arrangements for a boat so we can take our guests downriver to Eberon. We’ll leave at dawn.”

  Aleksi’s eyes widened. “We’re taking the child back? Without the king’s approval?”

  “If we wait, Norveshka could end up at war with three countries. Petras will understand.”

  “If he doesn’t, you could be charged with treason.”

  “The risk will be mine alone. You’re simply following orders.”

  Aleksi huffed. “You think I’m worried about myself? I’ve faced death with you too many times to chicken out now.”

  “I know.” Silas clapped him on the shoulder. “Go on, then.”

  Aleksi sprinted down the hallway to Karlan’s office.

  With a sigh, Silas headed for the courtyard. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to risk the king’s wrath. But it was his sworn duty to protect the country, even when the danger came from the king or queen.

  As Silas stepped into the courtyard, his gaze fell on the runes etched into the stone pavement. Protection from the damned curse. He snorted. Fighting superstition with more superstition. Since the so-called curse had persisted for five hundred years, it should be obvious by now that the runes were absolutely worthless. But that had been the only solution his ancestors could come up with.

  Why did no one seek a more rational explanation? If the queen was being poisoned, then a human was behind it. Romak? Perhaps, but Silas knew from experience that things were never as simple as they seemed.

  Even though he much preferred being with his troops than a gaggle of overdressed, fawning courtiers, he would have to spend some time here. Something rotten was going on at Draven Castle, and he needed to get to the bottom of it.

  His gaze wandered to the top floor of the western wing, where the nursery was located. He’d better make sure the princess was faring well. And her fearless nanny.

  As he crossed the courtyard, a mental picture of Gwennore flitted across his mind, and he smiled. She was nothing like the vain and self-serving courtiers who inhabited the castle. There was an aura of honesty and goodness about her that was refreshing, a sense of loyalty and courage that was admirable. Not to mention she was damned beautiful.

  But how strange that he was looking forward to seeing an elf again.

  Chapter Five

&n
bsp; “I like the toys here.” Eviana splashed about in the tub in the dressing room. “But I wanna go home.”

  “Me, too.” Gwennore soaped up the little girl, who was playing with an assortment of painted, wooden toys that bobbed on the surface of the warm water.

  “Look, a big fish!” Eviana picked up one that was painted blue.

  “That’s a whale.” Gwennore touched a sleek black toy. “And this one is a seal.” Like Maeve.

  How she missed her sisters! For as long as Gwennore could remember, she’d never spent a night separated from all four of them.

  Tonight, when the full moons embraced, her youngest sister, Maeve, would shift into a seal. She’d been doing it every month at the full moon for almost three years now. Gwennore could still remember the first time, that summer night on the Isle of Moon.

  Poor Maeve had been so frightened. Brody had warned them what to expect, so Gwennore and Sorcha had accompanied their youngest sister to the nearby beach. Love and encouragement had been all they could offer, for poor Maeve had been forced to endure the pain on her own.

  Luckily, once she’d entered the water, she’d found another seal there, eager to swim and play with her. Ever since then, Maeve had looked forward to her monthly romp in the ocean. She claimed the shifting didn’t hurt at all now.

  Gwennore figured her little sister would have to make do with the Norva River this time. And most likely, there would be no other seals to keep her company.

  It had to be a miserable night there at the camp. No doubt, the party had been canceled, and the two kings were mobilizing their armies. Luciana had to be scared to death.

  Tears threatened to fall, but Gwennore blinked them away. She couldn’t afford to be weak now. For Eviana’s sake, she needed to remain strong and confident.

  “Are you done?” Olenka rushed into the dressing room. “Nissa has brought some food.”

  Eviana clutched at Gwennore’s arm. “What’s wong?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Gwennore assured her in Eberoni. The poor child was so easily frightened now. “’Tis time for ye to eat, so let’s get ye dressed.” She lifted the little girl from the tub and winced as pain shot across her back.