Once Bitten: A Dragon-Shifter Fantasy Romance

by Viola Rivard

  “Snow, Ma’am,” Lidia said patiently.

  Of course.

  Though she inwardly berated herself for not realizing it, she had seen snow only twice in her life. The first time had been when she was a child, visiting her mother’s home nation of Saleta. Saleta was so far south that the climate was temperate and they experienced a brief, mild winter. She could remember being fascinated by the snow, though compared to this, it had been scarcely more than a light dusting. She hadn’t seen snow again until the day before, when the force of the sovereign’s power had frozen the air.

  The palanquin got a particularly hard jostle as they began their descent. The flier carrying them swooped low, and then evened out, repeating the pattern several times until Eloisa could make out houses and buildings below. Everything appeared to be constructed from the same gray stone, which might have seemed drab had Eloisa not spent her life in a place almost devoid of color.

  Up close, Cal’en Fasha looked more accommodating than it had at first glance. There were many windows of painted glass, though the snow accumulations made it difficult to make out any one depiction. All of them glowed with the same blue light as the city below, giving the fortress a mystical air.

  There was no sign of Lord Caleth when the palanquin landed on the atrium. She was briefly relieved, until she remembered that seeing him again was inevitable.

  She wanted nothing more than to remain in the confines of the palanquin. Everything that would lead to their meeting was already in motion. There was no path forward that didn’t include him, and she knew that if she did try to remain on the palanquin, she would most certainly be wrested from it. Knowing this did not stop her from doing all she could to delay the inevitable.

  “Excuse me, Lidia,” she said, managing to get the words past the bile that was rising in her throat. “I must say my afternoon prayers.”

  She got down on her knees and for once, spoke her prayers only in her mind. Her prayer was both selfish and self-effacing, as she apologized for all the times she was irreverent in her worship, and vowed that if Phaeda would please, please take mercy on her, she would become her most ardent follower, more pious even than Sister Verity.

  She wasn’t sure how long she prayed for, but several times Lidia had to stall for her. Eloisa could hear her speaking both in Cal’derache to a man and in Atolian to the armored woman.

  Finally, the maid came to her and placed a hand on her back.

  “Ma’am… Eloisa. It’s time for us to go now.”

  In all the time she’d been praying, no revelations came to her. She did not hear Phaeda’s voice, sense her presence, or feel her strength. All she felt was more hollow and more alone than when she’d begun.

  It was snowing outside; large, heavy flakes whipped around in the wind as they completed their descent to the ground, where they blanketed the atrium’s courtyard.

  An armored man approached as Eloisa started to step down. Lidia held up her hand and said something to him in Cal’derache that halted his advance. Eloisa gave her a questioning look, and Lidia explained that he’d meant to carry her, as she didn’t have proper footwear.

  Though the snow stung her bare ankles, Eloisa was vastly more comfortable than she would have been, being carried by a man. She could still remember Philomen’s touch, the heavy weight of his arm around her shoulders, and the feel of his fingers digging into her chin. It sickened her to think that those touches might soon feel preferable to what Lord Caleth would do to her.

  The armored woman had dismounted and was waiting for them a short distance away. Her hair was windswept and her lips were blue, but she stood poised and elegant, unruffled by the cold. Her expression was neutral, but Eloisa couldn’t resist a glance at her silvery aura, which sparked with impatience.

  None of the five armored men that flanked her turned out to be Lord Caleth. As they set out towards the fortress, the woman said in her accented Atolian that the sovereign would be waiting for Eloisa in the observatory.

  “I will first take you to your room to clean yourself,” the woman said.

  Eloisa was not in the habit of wondering what others thought of her, but she knew herself to be lacking in any grace or majesty as she shambled behind the woman, shivering and clutching a blanket around herself.

  The inside of the fortress was every bit as cold as Eloisa had predicted, but still a relief from the wind and snow. At the end of a spacious corridor, the group stopped to speak. Lidia didn’t translate what they were saying, but it seemed that the woman was giving orders to each of the men in turn.

  While they spoke, Eloisa satisfied her curiosity by going over to one of the wall sconces. Tucked into the sconce on a crystal base was the glowing sphere. From one angle, she could see only the luminescent surface, but if she turned her head, the glass thinned and she could see that the front was some sort of thick lens. Within the sphere was a small clump of moss and a beetle with a rounded carapace and a glowing underbelly.

  “Ma’am.”

  Eloisa was startled when Lidia put a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see that the men had departed and only the woman remained, her aura crackling with impatience.

  “Apologies,” she said, lowering her head.

  For the rest of their journey through the fortress, she was too preoccupied with her own dread to notice much of anything. She was so on edge that she tensed each time they passed by an open door, as if expecting Lord Caleth to leap from behind it.

  After going up a flight of stairs, they entered what seemed to be the central wing. As they neared the end of the hall, the woman finally spoke to them.

  “Your maid will stay in the servant’s quarters below. I will have someone show her there shortly.”

  Lidia said, “The princess will need me close, in order to translate for her.”

  The woman stopped walking and pointed to the door nearest to them. “Your room is here, princess.” She pointed to the other side of the hall, at the door opposite to Eloisa’s. “Mine is there. I will be in Cal’en Fasha for the duration of your courtship. If you have need of a translation, you may come to me. Knock, first.”

  Not waiting for a response, the woman pushed open the door and went inside. Eloisa was drawn to the room at once, as when it had opened, a burst of warm air had washed over her.

  The first and only thing she noticed about the room was the tall hearth, which held a roaring fire. Eloisa rushed to it, her clothes and hair dripping as the snow began to melt.

  Behind her, she could hear the woman speaking to Lidia. “There is water there, and clothes more suited for the climate. Clean her up, and I will be back in short order to take her upstairs.”

  Before the woman could depart, Eloisa turned and addressed her. “Wait. May I have your name?”

  The woman looked at her over her shoulder. “I am Jedora, Mesrn of Ha’seachjr.”

  Eloisa stared, waiting for her to explain.

  The woman’s lip curled. “Did they teach you nothing of our language or our culture?”

  “They?” Eloisa asked, her mind going at once to the Sisters.

  “Your brother? Your handlers? Whoever has been responsible for your education?”

  Lidia came to her rescue. “The princess is well versed in southern cultures and traditions, but this engagement has happened so quickly. She hasn’t had time to learn your ways, but she is a quick study.”

  Jedora looked her over a final time, her opinion of Eloisa not the least bit elevated, and then departed.

  When they were alone, Eloisa muttered, “I’m not certain of what I’ve done to make her dislike me so.”

  Lidia waved a hand. “Try not to let her worry you. She is the leader of the sovereign’s paladins. It is her job to protect him, and to be suspicious of you so that he doesn’t have to be.”

  “She is a paladin? How can a woman be a paladin?”

  Having grown up in a society of powerful women, Eloisa had no illusions about what women were and were not capable of. She thought a woma
n could compete in nearly all regards with their male counterparts, but she did not see how they could be warriors. How could a woman, no matter how good a fighter, compete with a male that could phase?

  “I won’t pretend I understand the logistics of it, all I know is what she told me,” Lidia said, taking the wet blanket from around Eloisa’s shoulders. “What I can infer is that she must be formidable, to have risen to such a rank in spite of her limitations.”

  Lidia helped her to get undressed, and then washed her with warm saltwater from a basin. Afterwards, she helped Eloisa into a dress made of tough, unfamiliar fibers. The material would have been uncomfortable on her skin, but the inside of the dress was lined with fur that was magnificently soft. It was very luxurious, but she didn’t protest.

  Boots were left for her as well, but they were several sizes too big and so she had to put her wet, southern slippers back on. They squished as she walked.

  Outside of the room, Jedora was waiting for them, along with a slender, chestnut-haired female of indeterminate age.

  Jedora didn’t bother with a greeting. “You, maid. This is Graja. She will take you to your quarters.”

  Eloisa looked to Lidia, who returned her glance with an aura of worry.

  Lidia said, “I’d rather remain with the princess until I am not needed.”

  “And you are not needed. I speak her language well enough, and you speak mine like a child. Go, now.”

  Lidia looked to Eloisa, perhaps wanting her to assert herself. Eloisa floundered, uncertain how to explain why she needed Lidia without lying. While Eloisa hesitated, Graja took Lidia by the arm and began leading her away.

  Eloisa managed to remain calm as Jedora led her down a separate corridor and away from Lidia. She knew that she needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to get through what was to come next.

  “When you meet the sovereign, you will not speak unless spoken to,” Jedora said. “You seem inclined towards brevity, and that is good. I loathe hearing your language even more than I loathe speaking it, so do not waste my breath with frivolities.”

  Eloisa simply nodded.

  “Why are you always so quiet? You’re not like any Atolian woman I’ve encountered.”

  The answer came easy to her. “I am never half so silent, it is just that so much has happened all at once. I believe I am in a state of overwhelm.”

  Jedora had slowed enough that Eloisa managed to keep pace walking alongside her.

  “Was there another you wished to wed?” Jedora asked. By her tone she did not sound interested, but she didn’t strike Eloisa as the sort to make idle conversation.

  “No.”

  “Have you children?”

  “I’ve never married.”

  Jedora waited, until it became clear that Eloisa’s response was not sufficient.

  “I have no children.”

  Jedora pursed her lips. “Then what is it you pine for? It certainly is not your brother.”

  Eloisa’s mind went to her lightlace and where she’d left it at the bottom of the bed in the room she shared with Selia. She thought of the smells of starched linens and bathing powders. In the back of her mind, she could hear the sounds of pens dipping into inkwells, tapping on the rims of the jars, and furiously scribbling.

  “Home,” she said softly. “I miss my home.”

  Jedora made a contemplative sound, and made no effort to resume their conversation until they came to a corridor with a winding staircase.

  “I hope you do not tire easily. It is almost five hundred steps to the top.”

  Eloisa nearly smiled. She did almost twice as many as a matter of daily course in the tower, and never mind The Climb.

  “I will do my best.”

  She ascended the stairs with minimal difficulty, though her muscles ached by the time she reached the top. It was not lack of practice, but lack of sufficient nutrients. She had not yet eaten since leaving the tower, and it was beginning to wear on her constitution.

  At the top of the staircase there was a small landing, and in front of it, a door. Jedora knocked twice, and received an immediate response.

  “Edrushta.”

  The voice behind the door was masculine, deep, and spoke with the easy authority of one accustomed to being obeyed.

  As Jedora pushed the door open, blue light spilled into the corridor, accompanied by a rush of cool air. Eloisa recognized the scent on the gust, and it compounded her sense of dread.

  Like a coy child being introduced to a stranger, Eloisa positioned herself behind Jedora’s back as they entered the room. She kept her feet planted on the ground as Jedora greeted him in their native tongue.

  Her heart beat wildly in her chest and the bile was back in her throat. She feared that the second Jedora stepped out of the way, she would either vomit or faint.

  Fainting would be good. I should faint.

  In fact, she could faint every time they were together. How many times could she faint in his presence before he decided she was not worth marrying? And for that matter, how could he possibly marry her if she couldn’t be conscious to speak her vows?

  When Jedora finally turned, it was to look down at Eloisa in disbelief.

  “Do you wish to meet the sovereign, or is it your plan to hide behind my back?”

  Eloisa responded honestly before realizing silence might be more prudent.

  “My plan was to faint, but I can’t seem to compel myself to do so.”

  Jedora squeezed her eyes shut and muttered something under her breath. Then her hand came up around Eloisa, pressing against her back. She stepped out of the way, making her step forward with firm, but gentle force.

  Her gaze cast downward, Eloisa found herself staring at Lord Caleth’s dark boots. She wondered how long she could get away with staring at them, and if he would assume it was some strange, Atolian custom for a woman to stare only at her suitor’s feet. Perhaps she could have Lidia tell him as much.

  “Eloisa.”

  Lord Caleth spoke her name with near-perfect pitch. She heard his whispering accent at the end, in the way he didn’t enunciate the final syllable, but instead formed it in a trailing breath. She thought it sounded as if even her name was running away from him.

  Despite her conviction to keep her eyes down, she couldn’t help but glance up as he addressed her. Once she saw him, there was no looking away. In that moment, had Phaeda herself chosen to manifest into the room, Eloisa wasn’t certain she’d be able to tear her eyes from the sovereign.

  Chapter Six

  It was a test.

  What had seemed a passing fancy not long ago was now the most logical thing Eloisa could conceive of. She was unconscious on the floor in The Cloister, and the goddess had created this elaborate fantasy to test her faith. The war in Atolia, her father’s death, her wretched brother, they were nothing more than plot devices to make the illusion seem more real. It was all to make the insane circumstances that had led to her leaving the tower seem believable. And up until that moment, it had been working quite well, but now Phaeda had gone too far and Eloisa could no longer suspend her disbelief.

  Eloisa could not pinpoint what it was that made a man handsome, but whatever well-hewn feature or divine symmetry made it so, Lord Caleth possessed it in excess. His handsomeness was so egregious that even staring at him felt sinful, but it was not enough to deter her gaze.

  Feeling perturbed and something else she couldn’t identify, she let herself peruse his body, taking him in before the illusion crumbled around her.

  His dark outfit was tailored to every contour of his body. He was as tall as she might have expected, but also lean; broader of chest and more heavily muscled than Philomen, yet not so large that he looked like an oaf.

  In her fantasies of men, Eloisa had always imagined males with tanned skin such as her own, but the sovereign’s skin was polished ivory and every bit as beguiling, perhaps more so because he looked so real.

  There was not a hint of frizz or a single lock
out of place in his ebony curls, which fell just short of touching his broad shoulders. He had no beard, but a shadow of hair ran along his sweeping jawline, framing a set of wide, generous lips. Swooped brows rested over blue eyes that regarded Eloisa with an expression she could not ascribe a name to.

  Despite the beauty of his physical form, the very first thing Eloisa had noticed was his aura. It was empyrean, the ethereal white that graced the auras of all great rulers. It framed his head, neck, and shoulders, rays flaring out like the corona of an eclipse.

  “Eshandru. Jedoraja ka f’ast et?”

  Eloisa found herself mesmerized by his mouth as he spoke. His lips barely moved, and she could see only a hint of teeth behind them.

  “The sovereign is pleased to meet you,” Jedora said, her speech falling exceptionally flat. “He would like to know if I am treating you well.”

  Eloisa had a hard time finding her voice, and when she spoke it seemed that her mouth had gone as dry as wheatgrass.

  “Not particularly.”

  As Jedora hesitated, Eloisa could almost feel the disdain wafting from her. She must have conveyed Eloisa’s response correctly, because after giving her translation the sovereign’s brows rose and he let out a short, but genuine-sounding laugh. Until that moment, Eloisa had not known that even laughter could be handsome, or that a sound could put heat into her body.

  “Cre sru sejanesh ka shta sek halshta sorujn.”

  Jedora’s lips flattened. “He says he would not have believed you if you said otherwise.”

  The sovereign lifted a hand, motioning for Eloisa to join him in the center of the room.

  “Drushta.”

  Eloisa went to him without thought, but regained her wits along the way and stopped with an arm’s length of distance between them. She was relieved when he made no effort to close the gap, because she wasn’t sure she’d have the willpower to move away from him.

  “Ketshta ka hanjeta?” he asked.

  Jedora said, “Is your room to your liking?”

  Eloisa thought back to her room, but all she could remember was the hearth and a vague impression of red carpeting.