Married to the Dragon

by Selina Coffey

  There was a faint stirring of hope. Perhaps Dorel did not know. After all, who would? Everyone had clustered in the Hall last night, drinking and dancing. Would anyone realize that Savin had never come back to Ellieth’s suite of rooms?

  “Why has he gone?” Ellieth asked. She focused her eyes on the mountains at the far end of the valley, snow-capped and rising into a perpetual haze of clouds. Sunlight played on their slopes.

  “He did not say, Your Highness. I truly regret that I was not able to persuade him to stay. I followed him from the ceremony,” Dorel said softly. “But he said he had business to attend to.” When Ellieth froze, she thought she heard him move closer. “Your Highness… I am sure he will return soon. The court says—”

  “The court knows?”

  Horror.

  “My Lady, it is impossible to keep secrets here.” The touch of humor in his voice made her feel like a child. “There is always someone who stands to profit by telling stories. There were those who bet their fortunes that you would enchant my elder brother.”

  “And those who bet against it,” Ellieth said quietly. She knew how courts worked; why had she thought that Elfhame would be any different?

  “For sport alone, I assure you,” Dorel said. He moved to stand at her side, and she saw him smile down at her before she looked away hastily. His voice was soft. “Who could believe that even a man as cold as my brother would not be enchanted by such a lovely bride?”

  “Thank you.” His kindness was too much. Ellieth’s fingers curled into fists on the windowsill. She did not say that she was a laughingstock. Etiquette would force him to deny it, but they both knew that it was true. Worse, she was a liability, and laughingstock or no; she had only one course of action available to her. “Would you call my servants, please?”

  “My Lady, come to the wedding breakfast with the court.” He turned and took one of her hands in his own. “Surely my brother will return before long, but until then the t’Loriens shall do all in their power to make sure you are amused and adored and the toast of the court.” He raised one eyebrow. “May I suggest something in white? Truly, it makes you look radiant.”

  Ellieth blushed at his regard. She had never been told that Elves were so free with their affections— and from Savin’s comportment, she would never have expected.

  “I’m afraid I cannot,” she said, withdrawing her hand from Dorel’s. This was most inappropriate; she was sure, and more to the point; she had no intentions at all of appearing in front of the court to be mocked. “I must go to E’lessiell.”

  “I beg your pardon, Princess?” His face flickered.

  “My place is at my husband’s side,” Ellieth said, trying not to flush. And in his bed. The sooner the business was done with, the sooner she could leave Savin in peace, to hate her. She would withdraw here, and he could stay in the mountains for all she cared; the distance would make it easier to hate him.

  “Surely, my Lady…”

  But within the hour, Ellieth was riding out of the court, Dorel’s pleas ringing in her ears. She was resplendent in white, waving to the assembled Elves with as much good humor as she could manage, and doing her best to ignore the hidden smirks of the high-ranking Elves. As her white horse trotted down the broad avenue towards the mountains at the end of the valley, she lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. Prince Savin might hate her. He might regret to be married to a lowly human. But he was not going to elude her. She knew her duty.

  When she swung down from her horse at last, it was five hours later and she was weary, sore, and ill-tempered in the extreme. Even the elegant wooden temples and steaming hot springs around her could not soothe her temper. Ellieth chafed her cold hands and looked around herself, frowning. E’lessiell was indeed lovely, but that was hardly an excuse.

  The slam of a door reverberated through the courtyard, and she did not need to turn to know that her husband was striding across the stones to meet her. Defiant, Ellieth lifted her face to look at the mountain peaks above and tried not to tremble as he stopped at her side. She could feel the heat of him, trembling in the air between them.

  God help her; it made her knees weak. She tried not to swallow.

  “Why,” he asked her, his voice clipped, “are you here?”

  “There is unfinished business in the marriage contract,” Ellieth told him plainly. At last, she turned her face to his, and saw his black eyes wide with shock. “Perhaps you have forgotten, Your Royal Highness, but I have not. Fear not.” She felt her voice go as wintry as the breath crystallizing in the air. “As soon as our business is concluded, I will return to Elfhame and leave you in peace.”

  He looked very far from amused. He looked disheveled, she saw, his hair escaping from its long queue down his back, and his shirt crumpled at the neck. For a moment, they stared at each other, and she could have sworn she saw emotion moving deep in his eyes. Then he went cold.

  “You should not have come,” he told her.

  Chapter Three

  “Why?” Savin’s roar echoed across the courtyard.

  Ellieth tried not to flinch— and not to open her mouth to defend her actions. She had given the man her reasons the moment she arrived, and— tediously— nearly every hour since, as the sky faded from blue to red-gold to deep purple. The stars twinkled above them now, icy and exquisite over the peaceful little courtyard. Tiny waterfalls of heated water steamed into the cold air, and the hot springs themselves beckoned. Everything about this place was designed for relaxation, comfort, contemplation… which was presently being interrupted by an hours-long screaming match. Ellieth sincerely hoped that there were no other patrons here seeking the guidance of the monks. They would surely not be finding the peace they sought. Contempt heated her blood. Did Savin truly not care for anyone else?

  The answer to that should have been obvious when he ran out on their wedding.

  “Tell me something.” Her voice was cool, calm, and far more elegant than she felt at this moment. In fact, she was fighting not to feel like a drab little nothing. She drew her shoulders up. “Are you intending to renege on the marriage as soon as you’ve used our soldiers in your war?”

  “You go too far, madam.” His face was as cold as winter.

  “Do I? Because it seems you are unwilling to consummate this marriage. So tell me, Your Highness, are you unwilling to perform your duty?” Ellieth’s voice trembled. “Are you so disgusted by me that you cannot bring yourself to do what every royal couple has needed to do for millennia?”

  Much to her surprise, he gave a snort of laughter.

  “False modesty does not become you,” he informed her shortly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Can you truly be unaware that half the court desires you? You are a sensation, Your Highness. I think your coloring is likely to inspire a great deal of… very tiresome copycats.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his black hair.

  “So your court desires me. That tells me nothing of you.”

  He looked away, jaw clenched.

  “You do not even have to desire me,” Ellieth fairly snapped. “I promised you that I would leave you in peace when this was done, and I will. God above knows, there are enough royal marriages that produced no heirs. But I will not have anyone say this was not done.”

  “And who would know?” he asked her sardonically.

  “Given that you left the wedding ceremony itself and came here, I imagine everyone knows!” She was yelling back now; her hands balled into fists.

  Much to her surprise, he stopped dead.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You…” Her voice trailed off. “You hadn’t thought of that? What did you imagine they were thinking, then?”

  “I needed to consult with the monks,” he said, his voice clipped. “I hardly thought at all about what the courtiers might be thinking.”

  “And you could not have waited one night?”

  “No.” He looked back at her, eyes flat. “I could not.”r />
  “What on earth could be so urgent?”

  “I prefer not to discuss it.”

  So it was to be one of those marriages. Ellieth released a slow, shuddering breath, and sat on one of the benches, folding her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. She had failed. She had been given her one chance, and she had failed— not from her skill in numbers, not from her diplomacy, but when she failed to strike a man with desire.

  Was there any way back? She had only until the conclusion of the war to win his heart. She twisted her fingers together and tried to remember to breathe. She must focus. She must find a new way.

  “Are you…” His voice was confused. “You look… frightened.”

  “Of course I’m frightened.” Ellieth forced the words out from between numb lips. She turned her face away to the snow-covered ground, and when she turned back, she gasped to see him standing by the bench. He moved so quietly that she had not even realized he was still in the garden with her.

  “Why?”

  “Because I need your goodwill to save my people,” Ellieth said without preamble.

  “What? From whom?”

  “Oh, come now, surely there is no need for niceties between us.” It was refreshing, after so much of his coldness, to put some acidity into her own words. “You know your kind could crush us the moment the dragons are defeated.”

  He flinched.

  “What is it?” Ellieth asked him, her train of thought derailed by what looked remarkably like fear. She had never seen such a warrior struck down by terror before.

  “It is nothing. Do you truly believe we would harm you?”

  “You tried to rule us for centuries,” Ellieth told him sharply. “Do you think we have forgotten? Have you forgotten?”

  “Elfhame does not turn on its allies,” he said simply. “Have your borders been threatened since the first alliance?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts. Your kind are safe until you violate the terms of our peace.”

  He was, she sensed, telling the truth. Which meant…

  “I’m here for nothing?” Ellieth whispered. She could not tell if this was better or worse, given the circumstances. Perhaps better… if it did not make her feel unwanted on yet another level.

  “You thought…” He sat heavily on the bench. “You thought that you could only secure peace with a marriage? That is why the marriage was a part of the accord?”

  “Of course!” Ellieth said, stung. “That is how politics works. Only by blood can accords be made certain.”

  “You have spent the past centuries believing we would turn on you the moment the Dragon Wars were done?” His voice was rising.

  “I… yes.”

  “I cannot believe this.” He tipped his head back. “And that is why you came here after me. That is why you insist the marriage must be consummated.”

  That, and the thought gave her an undeniable shiver of pleasure. She bowed her head to disguise the blush in her cheeks.

  “Would it be so terrible?”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “What?”

  “I…” His voice trailed off, and he met her eyes with a look of vague panic.

  “Yes?” She was going to throttle him if he couldn’t at least bring himself to be civil.

  “Please, forget what I said. My Lady, please.” He stood and backed away from her.

  Before she could think about what she was doing, Ellieth shot her hand out and grabbed his. He tugged at it, but she held firm.

  “My Lady?”

  “Your Highness.” She dragged with all her fragile might, knowing she could never match the strength of an Elven warrior. She could only bet that he would be disinclined to struggle with her, not wanting to make a scene.

  Much to her surprise, it worked. He thudded back onto the bench, making the collapse look graceful as only an Elf could.

  “Why?” she demanded of him softly. “No lies. I may never be your beloved, I may never be the bride you wanted; but at least let us be honest with one another.”

  “Honest?” He looked away. “You do not know what you ask.”

  “Clearly not,” Ellieth said softly. “I have not understood a single action of yours since we met.”

  “Ellieth.” His voice was unexpectedly warm as he spoke her name.

  “Yes?” She looked back to find his face far, far too close for comfort. Her breath caught.

  “Believe me that if circumstances were… different… I would be the husband you wanted.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Let me finish.” His voice was soft. “This marriage was not my choice, but the moment I saw you; I desired you. When I saw you with the court, I knew you would make a fine queen. And when you tracked me down here…” A hint of humor appeared in his dark eyes. “I saw that you were more than a beauty. Ellieth, someday I will be the husband you deserve. I swear to you, this marriage will be real… if you wish it.”

  “I wish it.” Was she a fool to admit as much? Ellieth leaned forward, tentatively.

  “I cannot.” He drew away from her, and swallowed when she took hold of his shirt. “Not yet. Ellieth, you must leave this place. When all is settled, I will return to Elfhame. To you.”

  Her mind was dizzy with contradictions. He looked, for all she could tell, like a man struggling with his own desire. And that gave her an idea. He had seemed alternately polite and brusque, warm with kindness and abrupt… flushed with desire, and yet cold to her. It was a mystery. That was what had drawn her, even if she could not admit it to herself at the time: not shame, not diplomatic necessity, but the puzzle of how he could seem to want her and then turn her away. Ellieth tilted her head to the side and then reached out, biting her lip, trailing her fingers down the side of his neck and inside the collar of his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” His eyes drifted closed, and his breath came short.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  He hesitated for one agonizing moment, and her breath came short— and then he pulled her close, roughly, his lips coming down on hers while she gasped in surprise. Her palm flattened over his chest, and she could feel his heart racing. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, and Ellieth gave a faint sigh of pleasure.

  When he shoved her away, she nearly sprawled onto the ground she was so surprised.

  “What…”

  “You have to leave.” He pointed behind her, his skin growing pale. “Now. Right now. Go.”

  “What?”

  “Go!”

  But it was too late. As Ellieth stumbled back, fury beginning to ignite in her blood, she saw his head wrench back, his frame go rigid. Was he growing taller?

  Surely he could not be— and just as surely, he was, stretching toward the sky. In horror, she watched talons curve, sharp and wicked, from his fingertips. Wings sprouted at his back, and his face changed slowly, a snout growing where before there had been the clear, aquiline Elven features.

  The black dragon swung its head to her, roared its fury, and leapt into the sky. With three flaps of its wings it was gone, taking flight over the valley— and Ellieth was alone, sobbing her fear into the palm of her hand as she cowered in the snow of the courtyard.

  Chapter Four

  “Drink this.” The monk’s voice was soft, gentle.

  Ellieth took a sip and choked as the liquor burned its way down her throat. It was some sort of mead, she thought— sweet and fiery. And about twice as strong as anything she’d tasted before.

  “I thought you were monks!”

  The monk laughed. His blue skin was tinged with green, and his hair was as pale as Ellieth’s own, a color matched by his white robes. He gestured to her to keep drinking, and his smile was kind.

  “Elven monks do not renounce all worldly pleasures,” he explained. Another monk carried a tray of food into the room, bowing deeply to Ellieth, and then padded out. “For instance,” the monk said, shooting a conspiratorial glance at the Princess, “we recently convi
nced the King’s cook to join our order. Our motives were… mostly altruistic. I suggest the kabobs.”

  “Thank you.” Ellieth took the offered tray and sniffed at the food. “Oh, that smells amazing.”

  She paused, hand reaching for a spoon.

  “What is it?” The monk asked her.

  “It… seems unreal.” In her mind’s eye, she could still see Savin leaping into the air, his blue skin having given way to black scales and his wings blotting out the light of the stars.

  “I can only imagine.” The monk raised his eyebrows. “All things in life, however, are better after a good meal and a strong drink.”

  “If this is the sort of help you give pilgrims,” Ellieth observed tartly, “I can see why E’lessiell is so popular. Our monks are not so… hospitable.”

  “Indeed.” He stood and paced the room as she ate. “You have many questions, I expect.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Ellieth tried not to speak with her mouth full.

  “Normally, I would have said nothing to you. We are honor-bound to help those who come to us in secrecy— it is why Savin chose us, I am sure. But you have seen the truth now. I can hardly deny it.”

  “That he’s a dragon,” Ellieth said flatly.

  “A were-dragon,” the monk corrected. “Like a werewolf, although far more dangerous. And far less common.” His brow furrowed. “Indeed, we have never seen anything like it. And not only have we not…our inquiries to the other monasteries have given us no further information.”

  “But what is a were-dragon?” Ellieth whispered. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means that he transforms, and that the transformation is not yet a thing he can control.”

  “Yet?”

  “We can only hope that he will learn to control it someday,” the man told her. His face was grave. “And be thankful, in the meantime, that dragons are intelligent creatures. Where a wolf is no more than a killing machine, a dragon may choose its target. As you noticed when Savin did not kill you on sight.”