by Jaye McKenna
“If it would help to ease your mind, I am certain Jaire would be happy to tell you all about it — in great detail. Of course, he will also tell you all about the thrill of flying, which he still finds enthralling.”
Mikhyal smiled at that. He could just imagine Prince Jaire waxing poetic about the joy of flight.
“Or you might speak to Tristin about it,” Vayne continued. “Or Wyndra, Altan’s assistant weapons master, who was one of my first volunteers. I’d suggest Kian, but his transformation did not go smoothly. I was… still learning at that point.”
“Tristin?” Mikhyal frowned. “Tristin is a dragon shifter?”
“Ai,” Vayne said with a nod. “I transformed him at the same time I worked on Jaire and Kian. I had to, or he could never have escaped Shadowspire.”
“Of course.” Mikhyal had heard some of the tale, though he hadn’t realized Tristin, too, was a dragon shifter. Tristin had spoken only a little of his years-long ordeal at Shadowspire, and Garrik had been rather vague about the details of both his confinement and his escape.
“I shall say no more about it, for it is Tristin’s tale to tell,” Vayne said quietly. “If you cannot learn what you wish from Tristin or Jaire, let me know, and I’ll arrange for you to talk with one of the others.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Mikhyal said. “I shall consider it.”
“And I’ll make sure Edrun and Ord drop some words of encouragement in your father’s ear, too, shall I?”
Mikhyal smiled. “Ai, I think their support might prove more helpful than any argument I can muster.”
He was making his way across the Grand Hall toward the guest wing when Dirit sat up straight on his shoulder and chirped, “Well, well, what have we here? It looks like a rather excited Prince Tristin of the New Flower Bed.”
“Mikhyal!”
Mikhyal looked up to see Tristin coming across the hall. The man’s face was alight with excitement, and Mikhyal’s heart stuttered at the sight of him.
“Look at me! I’m walking! On the floor! In the castle! Look at me, Dirit! I’ve been all over the place, exploring, and now that Garrik’s secret alliance meeting is over for the day, I’m off to the library to see if I can manage to touch a book without going into fits. Imagine, being able to choose any book I like, and read it without having to feel whatever horrible things the previous owner felt.”
Mikhyal couldn’t help smiling. “You’ve learned the shielding patterns?”
“I have. Ilya was most pleased with my progress. Well. It helped tremendously to have something to look forward to. Something I could think of as a reward. You… you would still like a dance, wouldn’t you? I shall be able to attend the betrothal ceremony.”
He looked so hopeful and so happy that Mikhyal reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’ve been looking forward to it ever since we spoke of it.”
Tristin’s answering smile brought even more light to his face, if that was possible.
“How long have you been here at the castle?” Mikhyal asked. “Are you returning to Dragonwatch tonight?”
“I arrived this morning, and I’m here to stay. Garrik’s had the most lovely suite prepared for me. I’m a bit overwhelmed at all he’s done, to be honest. But you must come and see!”
“Yes, please, do,” Dirit said with a pained little sniff. “Let us take this most touching reunion to a more private venue. All these public displays are most unsettling.”
Tristin glanced about, clearly afraid he’d offended someone, but Mikhyal said, “Enough, Dirit. I don’t suppose you could be persuaded to… to go for a walk, or something?”
“A walk?” The little dragon’s ears flattened. “You don’t have to be so polite, you know. I’m not stupid and boorish, not like some people. I do know when I’m not wanted.” And with that, Dirit vanished from his perch.
“Oh, dear,” Tristin said. “I think you might have hurt his feelings.”
“Never mind,” Mikhyal said. “The properly contrite apology I shall be expected to deliver will be worth it if I can have a few hours free of his most charming commentary. He’s probably gone off to bother Prince Jaire, who doesn’t seem to find him at all annoying.”
Tristin led Mikhyal to his suite and opened the door with a flourish.
Mikhyal stepped inside, turning around slowly as he took in the polished floor, the crisp curtains, and the paneled walls. “Is this all new?”
“It is. Cousin Garrik had it done specially for me, so I’d have a place where I’d be comfortable. Every surface I might touch is new. He even had the floors torn up and replaced so I could walk on them without fear. I can hardly believe he would go to such trouble for me. I mean… he hardly knows me, and… after all the horrible things my father did, I thought… but Garrik said those things were nothing to do with me.”
Those wide, dark eyes, filled with such uncertainty, tugged at Mikhyal’s heart. “Your cousin is very kind.”
“He is. He’s not at all what I expected.”
“Neither are you,” Mikhyal said. “What I expected, I mean. Vayne said… well, he offered to transform me. Into a dragon shifter. He said I should talk to you to find out what it’s like. I had no idea. I knew he’d transformed Jaire and Kian, but no one said a word about you.”
Tristin flushed. “Garrik’s been keeping my presence here quiet, and I-I didn’t say anything at first because… because well, to be honest, I’m… a bit ashamed of allowing them to use me the way they did. I should have realized, but… but I didn’t. Ilya says I mustn’t think that way, that I was only a child, but… but I can’t help think none of it would have happened if I’d only been a bit cleverer… or perhaps a bit stronger.” Tristin wrung his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, by omission or otherwise. It was just… you’re one of the first people I’ve met who didn’t know anything about me from before. And… and I rather liked it like that, being able to make a fresh start without rumors and pretense.”
“It’s all right, Tristin,” Mikhyal hastened to reassure him the moment he paused for breath. “Really. Whatever happened in your past, it’s your business. You’ll tell me when you’re ready, or you won’t. It’s not up to me to decide that.”
“Oh… oh, th-thank you, Your Highness.” Tristin gave him a shy, hesitant smile. “I… I can tell you about being dragon, though. If you’d like.”
“I would,” Mikhyal said. “Very much. But only if you’re comfortable telling me.”
Tristin’s eyes took on a distant look, and his smile grew soft and dreamy. “You cannot imagine how glorious it is! All the world spread out below you… all the sky, your playground… I flew down the mountain this morning, and it was so beautiful.” The happiness of that memory completely transformed Tristin’s face. “Well… you probably can. Imagine it, I mean. You rode up to Dragonwatch on Garrik’s back. But… to be the one in control, to feel the wind beneath your wings and see the colors of the air currents, and know instinctively which way they will take you…” He focused on Mikhyal again. “It is truly wondrous.”
Mikhyal’s breath caught in his throat at the joy in his voice and the brilliance of his smile. “Show me?” he whispered.
“Show… show you?”
“Shift for me? If you would. I’d like to see you in all your dragon glory.”
Tristin flushed again and lowered his eyes. “Ah. Well… I… I suppose there’s no reason why not. We could… we could go to the north tower. No one’s likely to happen by up there.”
Tristin led the way, alternately hurrying and dragging his feet. The top of the tower was bathed in moonlight, and Tristin seemed reluctant to leave the shadows near the door.
“Are you sure this is all right?” Mikhyal asked.
“It’s… I can do this.” It sounded almost as if he was trying to convince himself. Before Mikhyal could tell him it really wasn’t necessary that he shift, Tristin swallowed, then took a deep breath and moved to the center of the space. “W
ould you mind terribly if I asked you to, um, turn your back?”
The sweet, shy request made a fierce protectiveness swell in Mikhyal’s chest. “Of course I wouldn’t mind,” he said quickly, and turned to face the closed door they’d just come through. He froze for a few moments, listening for any sound, but all he heard was the soft rustle of cloth as Tristin removed his garments. Much as he would have liked to catch a glimpse of Tristin unclothed, he remained facing the door until a low rumble followed by a snort had him turning slowly around.
In the spot where Tristin had stood was a dragon. It wasn’t nearly as large as Kian’s dragon form, certainly not large enough to carry a man Mikhyal’s size. Where Kian and Garrik were big and bulky, this dragon was sleek and slender, like Ilya and Jaire, built for speed and grace rather than raw power. Dark scales glinted in the silver-violet moonlight. Mikhyal couldn’t tell what color they might be in daylight, but they looked much darker than Ilya’s pale silver-blue, or Jaire’s opalescent white.
“You’re magnificent!” Mikhyal said, completely taken with the creature’s beauty. He edged closer and reached out a hand, then froze and asked, “Might I… may I touch you?”
Tristin dipped his head, and Mikhyal drew closer and lay his hand on the dragon’s neck. The scales were smooth, like a snake’s, but warm to the touch, despite the coolness of the night air. He slid his hand down Tristin’s neck in a long stroke, and then moved it to his head.
“Do you like to be scratched?” Mikhyal rubbed the delicate scales around the dragon’s snout and eyes, and Tristin’s eyes slid shut as he leaned in. A low rumble came from his throat, and Mikhyal laughed. “Are you purring?”
Tristin’s eyes opened and fixed on him. He bobbed his head up and down and leaned in closer, nudging Mikhyal’s hand with his head, clearly wanting more.
Laughing, Mikhyal indulged him, paying close attention to which strokes and scratches seemed to elicit the most favorable response.
It wasn’t long before Tristin indulged in a great yawn, showing long, sharp teeth. Mikhyal waited until he’d finished to pat his head and give his eye ridges a final rub. “You’re tired,” Mikhyal said. “It sounds as if you’ve had a busy day, and you are still recovering. Perhaps it’s time for me to see you off to bed, hmm?”
With a sleepy nod, Tristin shifted back, then squawked in surprise as he stared down at himself. He gave Mikhyal a brief, wide-eyed look of horror, gathered his clothing, and fled. The tower door slammed shut behind him, and Mikhyal stared after him, wondering what he’d said.
“Well,” Dirit said, appearing on Mikhyal’s shoulder, “that didn’t go very well, did it?”
Chapter Six
Mikhyal’s first instinct had been to run after Tristin and blurt out an apology for whatever gross insult had sent the poor man fleeing from the top of the tower. The only thing that stopped him was the look of abject despair in Tristin’s eyes. This was more than simple embarrassment, and the last thing Mikhyal wanted was to make things worse.
Back in the guest suite, he found himself alone. Drannik was either visiting one of the other Wytch Kings or had already gone off to bed. Mikhyal retired to his own room and undressed for bed, but found himself unable to settle.
“What are you doing?”
Mikhyal spun around to see Dirit balanced precariously atop the oil lamp on the dressing table. The little dragon’s tail lashed back and forth as he peered at Mikhyal. “Getting ready for bed. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Pacing about in indecision,” Dirit said bluntly. “How disappointing. Weren’t you raised to be decisive and diplomatic? Go and talk to him.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Mikhyal said.
Dirit wrinkled his snout in apparent disgust. “If you can’t even manage to communicate with a man you’d like to bed, how do you expect to deal with the southern kingdoms and the Wytch Council?”
“It’s not the same thing at all,” Mikhyal protested.
One eyebrow tuft twitched, and Dirit hopped down from the lamp and settled himself on the dressing table. “Oh, do explain, Your Royal Obtuseness. I’m eager to hear how it’s different.” The little dragon’s eyes fixed expectantly on Mikhyal.
Mikhyal glared at him. “If you want to be helpful, go and check on Tristin for me. Otherwise, go and bother someone else.”
“Oh, very nice. I do my best to assist you and it’s, go away, Dirit, go and find something useful to do.” Dirit let out an offended sniff. “We shall see how useful I can be, indeed, we shall. I’ll give your regards to Prince Tristin of the New Flower Bed, shall I? Along with a very personal message…” And with that, the little dragon flounced off, disappearing into the mirror.
“Oh for…” Mikhyal muttered several curses under his breath before extinguishing the lamp and throwing himself down on his bed. He closed his eyes, but sleep refused to come. In the darkness, all he could see was the look on Tristin’s face before he’d fled.
* * *
Tristin hadn’t even paused to dress before fleeing down the tower stairs with his clothing clutched against his middle. Fortunately, it was late enough that no one was about in the hall leading to the royal apartments, and Tristin reached his suite without frightening the servants or causing any unfortunate incidents. He closed the door firmly behind him and let his clothing fall to the floor.
What had he been thinking?
Well, he hadn’t been thinking, had he? He’d been half asleep, enjoying the feel of Mikhyal’s hand rubbing his head and neck. It had felt so nice to be touched, even in dragon form, that he’d let himself forget everything else.
Mikhyal must have been absolutely horrified when he’d shifted back. Tristin knew very well he was no prize. He’d avoided mirrors for the most part, but he’d caught enough glimpses to know that his body was still gaunt and wasted, and the scars…
In the brilliant wash of moonlight, his scars would have been so painfully visible that Mikhyal couldn’t possibly have missed them. The prince wouldn’t even want to dance with him now, and he’d been so looking forward to that.
Maybe he should have stayed at Dragonwatch, after all.
Tristin trudged into his bed chamber where he curled up on the bed and squeezed his eyes shut. The things that had pleased him so much when he’d first stepped into the suite now seemed only that: things. They wouldn’t keep him company when he was lonely. Nor would they gently rub his head and neck, or tell him how beautiful he looked in the moonlight.
A hot tear trickled down his face.
“Oh, this is rich. Honestly, you two.”
Tristin started and sat up. Dirit was perched on the foot of the bed glaring at him. The little dragon was bathed in silvery moonlight, making him look like some sort of glowing spirit.
“W-what… what d-do you w-want?” Tristin stammered.
Dirit tapped a long claw on the bedpost, and a glowing ball of yellow light appeared over his head, illuminating the room. “I want you to go and speak to His Royal Restlessness. He’s been in a dreadful state ever since he returned from the tower, pacing and muttering, muttering and pacing.” When Tristin didn’t respond, the dragon added, “He is simply wallowing in misery. It’s most uncomfortable. I shall never be able to fall asleep.”
“Ah. Well. If he’s wallowing, I’m sure it’s because I disgust him.”
“Humans.” The dragon rolled his eyes and twitched his whiskers in apparent disgust. “So dramatic. You think you disgust him, and he’s certain he’s frightened you off. Matchmaking really isn’t part of my mandate, you know, but it appears that neither one of you is bright enough to realize that you’ve had a misunderstanding.”
Tristin stared at him, open-mouthed, as he tried to work out whom Dirit was insulting. Both of them, it sounded like.
The little dragon peered at him, eyebrow tufts drawing together in a frown. “You do know what a misunderstanding is, don’t you?”
“Of c-course I do. I’m j-just not sure what I can do
about it.”
“You could start by putting some clothing on,” Dirit prodded.
Heat rushed to his face, and Tristin scrambled off of the bed and went to fetch his clothing from the main room of the suite.
“Not those.” Dirit materialized in front of him for just long enough to grab a mouthful of Tristin’s breeches and yank them from his hand. He spit them out on the floor as if they tasted bad, then wrinkled his snout. “They’re all rumpled and dusty. You simply cannot go courting in dirty things.”
“Who says I’m going—”
“Have you no sense of decorum?”
“Decorum isn’t exactly a priority when you’ve been locked in a tower for most of your life,” Tristin explained. He snatched the rumpled breeches from the floor and clutched them against himself in a vain attempt at preserving both modesty and dignity. “Anyway, I haven’t got anything else.”
Dirit swarmed across the floor and disappeared into the bed chamber, taking the ball of light with him and leaving Tristin in darkness. A moment later, the dragon — and the light — returned. “You’ve an entire dressing room full of clothing fit for a prince. Come along, we haven’t got all night. Honestly, do I have to do everything for you?”
With Dirit’s assistance, Tristin selected a pair of dark blue breeches and a grey linen shirt. When he was dressed, at Dirit’s suggestion, he brushed his hair and tied it back with a little strip of black leather.
“Yes…” Dirit circled him, hopping up on the furniture to observe him from all angles. “Of course, a proper bath would have been better, but if I’m to get any sleep at all, we simply haven’t time. I don’t expect you’ll progress to the point where that’s really necessary, not tonight. His Royal Virtuousness is far too much of a gentleman to be invading your dignity with his most impressive royal masculinity on the first encounter.”
“Invading my dignity?” Tristin sputtered. “With his—”
