by May Sage
“He wanted me here,” Rhey guessed. “This… he means to kill us all.”
He turned to Nathos, the only person with knowledge of such things. Could Shadow kill? Maim? Drive them insane? Whatever he’d planned, it wouldn’t be good. He didn’t want to find out.
“The bulk of us have to flee. If—when—it reaches us, it will be too late. Demelza, change and take Xandrie out of here; ride south, don’t look behind.”
If he stayed, he’d give the rest of them enough time.
He was surprised and relieved when the women obeyed without protesting; Elza turned gold and the woman he would never have jumped on her back.
Rhey breathed easy for about ten seconds, but then, he yelled as hard as he could, screaming at the two damn idiots who were going to get themselves killed. He should have seen this coming. Neither woman was good at listening to orders.
Instead of going south, Elza went north, landing atop the guard tower, glowering, her scales turning black, as they did when she was ready to spit fire.
“Stay where you are,” Xandrie yelled above them all. “You’re not welcome here.”
The shadow walked forth, ignoring her; a chilled laugh filled the air.
Elza spit her dragonfire right at the advancing figure, but while it burned the plain, the stranger remained unharmed, its shadows keeping the fire at bay.
Shit.
Then, something did stop it.
Gold.
A fine golden mist, flying from the same direction the flames had come from; Rhey found Xandrie surrounded by dark clouds, and pushing Aether right at their enemy.
It was working. Not for long, though.
Unlike the stranger, Xandrie couldn’t keep at it for long.
“She needs time and strength. Demelza can share some of hers, but that won’t be enough—she’s an apprentice without guidance, going against a master,” Nathos looked like he might burst if he attempted to think any harder. “Chants. That won’t help for long but positive energy may help.”
“You’re proposing we cheer her on?”
“You have a better idea?” Rhey roared at Vincent, who shook his head.
“Nope. Singing sounds great. Let’s get to it, guys.”
They sang ballads and lullabies, feeling helpless each time Xandrie stopped holding on, needing to catch her breath for a second. Each time, the hooded mage and its shadow advanced. To their credit, none of their men left, although they could have run south.
All of a sudden, Demelza took flight, heading west. Before she’d even cleared half of the distance, Rhey knew exactly what the two damn women were up to.
“No.”
He’d lost his mother to this damn wall. Not again.
Xandrie couldn’t hold the mage away and she knew it—they were all going to die if she did nothing, so she’d chosen to give her life, instead. It made sense; he just didn’t want to fucking accept it.
Damn woman. He shifted and let the frantic tiger crying after his mistress jump on his back, before following after Demelza, flying right next to them; he knew exactly what he wanted to do—bully Demelza into turning back—but now he’d given in to his beast, his instincts told him a very different thing. Instead of shepherding them back to Norda, like he should have, Rhey found himself floating alongside them, quieting his own heart, his own everything, and pushing as much energy as he could through the link he felt there. The link shouldn’t have existed yet, without a mating bond, but it was inside him—and his beast had known it.
The weak golden filigrees coming out of her hands went blazing gold, and he felt her breathe out more easily immediately. He followed them back and eastward, this time, feeling himself growing weak, but feeding as much as he could through the bond. If they died together, so be it.
His own flesh unexpectedly regained some energy; that bond, he did recognize. Vincent. He didn’t have to turn to know that his cousin, though far from them, and unable to fly, was also emptying himself of whatever life force he could spare, and sending it to him
Xandrie might not have managed to rebuild the wall if the foundations laid by his mother hadn’t been there. And she would never have managed to do half of it, untrained as she was, without his help, and Vincent’s, too. But between the four of them, they somehow did get a shaky, rocky, uncertain barrier going.
By the time they were done, the dark figure had run back to its woods, chased away for now. Rhey knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that it would come back.
They didn’t land as much as crash on the ground, but their men had their backs, so they felt free to collapse. It was nightfall before any of them woke up.
Xandrie was already up, and sitting next to him, when Rhey regained consciousness. The first thing he did was cup her chin in his hand, and growl a low, threatening, “Never again.”
She wasn’t going to put herself in danger like this again. She just wasn’t.
The damn woman just laughed.
“Right. Or, every single time something comes at us, I’ll just get better at kicking their asses.”
He had a few things to say about that, but first, and more importantly, he had something else to do. His lips captured hers—finally, finally—and devoured them, unwilling to let her go. Ever again.
This was everything that mattered, he felt it down to his entrails, sealing their bond forever, by right of flesh.
“I’ll wed you soon,” he swore, “But when I get you home, I’m going to feast on you and fuck you until the morrow because, Alexandria, you’re mine. And we’re alive.”
Thanks to her.
“I’m okay with fucking. Please. Pretty please.”
The woman was going to be the death of him, of that he was certain.
* * *
Nathos said their wall would hold.
“You’re sure? Because I basically had no idea what I was doing. I just pushed energy through the marks I could feel between each guard post.”
“And that’s exactly what it needed—living energy. Joda did an incredibly powerful thing, but it was fading and she wasn’t there to rekindle it. We’ll reform the guard here, but you did good. We’re safe, thanks to you.”
By the time they’d made it to Tenelar, the word had somehow already spread, and they were greeted by the entire kingdom, kneeling before their king, their Prince, Princess, and their rider. Xandrie looked awkward, but took the honor graciously, collecting each flower thrown at her on her lap.
Then, they were finally home—with three thousand servants, seven hundred residents and as many guests—but none of those mattered.
He helped her down from her horse, and wordlessly took her hand, leading her away.
“My king…” Nathos started.
“Not now. Day off. Two of them. Call me if the whole world burns.”
Alive
He didn’t think the world burning might actually have stopped either of them now. He had his hands on the woman that, not even a day ago, he might have lost; the woman who belonged to him. He wasn’t gentle, and nor was she.
Rhey had only meant to kiss her before they’d reached his door, but she jumped on him and wrapped her long legs around his hips, plastering her heat against his—groaning against her, he cursed out loud and pinned her to the closest wall, his hand seeking the warmth of her flesh under the fucking stupid armor.
“You’ll wear a shield, next fucking time,” he growled.
He wasn’t great at removing battle gear—people did these things for him. He made such a mess out of finding all the hooks and bolts that she somehow managed to stay dressed until he’d reached his den.
They were both laughing at his door, but when he pushed it open, Xandrie just gasped in astonishment.
His lair took over the entire basement of the palace; for close to a mile there was nothing but mountains of gold.
Most knew of dragon sickness and understood his need to keep his treasure where he could survey it; many a time had he slept amongst the gold in his dragon form, i
nstead of taking up the large bed standing right in front of them.
He realized that Xandrie might want to have a say about the decorating. Or, more likely, she’d have them move to a pretty, small room somewhere upstairs. The thought should have alarmed him, panicked him, but he genuinely didn’t care. Whatever she wanted, he would give her.
More shocking realizations came to mind; how long had it been since he’d counted his gold, now? Since he’d cared about it?
No need to ask; he hadn’t spared it any mind since she crash landed into his life and changed everything he knew to be truth. He was obsessed with nothing and no one now—only her. Therein lay the cure for dragon sickness.
“A little too much, right?” he said, embarrassed by his foolish display of gold, but she shrugged.
“There’s a bed. That will do very well.”
Good point.
She pulled Rhey’s lips back to hers, and he bent to take her behind the knees and hold her back, carrying her to his unmade bed. There was just a tunic and a pair of pants on her now—neither stood a chance. He had to battle her to remove her clothes, as she was just as determined to pull his from his limbs.
Fuck.
Her skin was so smooth, silky, milky, and perfect, he could have stared until the end of time, if only his woman hadn’t wrapped her small hands around his shaft, and pumped it, visibly intending to drive him to madness.
She got it.
Growling like the beast he was, he jumped to her, parting both of her legs as far as they could go, and buried his face in her soft mound of auburn hair, eating her folds. She screamed, yelled, begged, and screamed again, shouting his name so loud everyone in the castle knew their king was torturing his mate. He didn’t stop, ignoring her pleas until warm slickness drenched his beard.
Xandrie was panting like she’d just run a marathon, and although ninety percent of his mind wanted to maim him for it, he did consider letting her rest. But he’d just opened his mouth to suggest such a thing, when the woman pushed against his chest, forcing him to fall back on his mattress.
“Let’s give another meaning to ‘dragon rider,’” she said, before straddling him and pushing his throbbing dick deep inside her.
Where he belonged.
He came quickly, and wasn’t even embarrassed by it; right after emptying himself inside her the first time, he grew just as hard and took her from behind—the second time, recovering took three minutes. By the tenth, or eleventh, time, they were both spent; they collapsed, wrapped into each other like they might perish if they didn’t hold as tight as they could.
Seconds later, as he fell asleep, Rhey heard her whisper, “We’re alive.”
Fights
The morning of The Claming, there was a decided chill in the refectory when Xandrie came down for breakfast. She’d gotten used to eating alone in her own quarters, but now that she was a contender in The Claiming, she was to break bread with the women who’d won their preliminaries.
Saskia, who Xandrie had fought on Demelza’s behalf, was icy and aloof, which was to be expected. Xandrie had kicked Saskia’s ass; she had every right to shun her. But the fact the other women were looking down their snooty snouts at her was a bit disconcerting. She could see them sneaking glances at her and tittering. One unabashed snot even cut her off when she reached for the tongs to drop some black pudding onto her plate. It was no accident. The woman elbowed her way around Xandrie, almost standing on Claws’ tail.
The tiger growled, low and menacing.
“Keep your beast in check.” The woman didn’t even do her the courtesy of looking at her.
“Don’t mind them.” The voice behind her was friendly, in total contrast to everyone else at breakfast. The woman—a burnished Amazon, with hair of gold and eyes that danced and smiled—held out her hand. “Janive,” she introduced herself. “I’m a friend of Demelza’s.”
Xandrie shook her hand. “What was her problem, do you think?”
“The crowd loves you, and you’re favored by the king,” Janive told her, “but you can’t expect your competitors to be happy that you’re in the mix.”
Xandrie was relieved that Janive was so frank. Pretending something wasn’t happening, when it clearly was, only made for headaches and sleepless nights. Yet something deep down told her to be careful; she didn’t quite buy Janive’s friendliness.
When they made it down to the Arena, they were met by a clerk, who said, “For this round, you’ll be fighting guards from other houses.”
Xandrie cocked her head. “How does that make any sense? No guards fight for the king’s hand.”
“It’s a test of skill. You’ll be awarded points for technique.”
She nodded; sounded fair, and she’d rather spar with guards, in all honesty. At least they didn’t look like they’d enjoy bleeding her for fun.
Xandrie took her place in the competitors’ pit, adjacent to the ring.
Saskia was first to enter. She was fast on her feet and Melnak, the blade the king had given her, sang. Xandrie studied her. She had a tell: right before she went in for the kill shot, she feigned right. Every time.
That might be useful.
The air was filled with grunts and clashes, punctuated by sighs and applause from the crowd. When Saskia and her opponent put up their swords, a page stepped forward with Saskia’s score: nine out of ten. Saskia nodded at Xandrie as she passed, but it was more of a “screw you” nod than a greeting.
Contestant after contestant took to the ring and was dispatched by the guards with ease. No one came close to Saskia’s score.
When Demelza finally stepped forward, Xandrie felt her stomach clench. Her friend assured her that her arm was healed and she’d be able to fight, but it had only been a month since Saskia had ripped into her and Xandrie was sure the palace mages didn’t have half the skill her sister had when it came to healing. She wanted to close her eyes and look away, but honor dictated she must not. Even if Demelza failed miserably, as the women who’d gone before her had, Xandrie had to bear witness to her fierce spirit and total unwillingness to yield.
Claws nudged his head under her hand, as he always did when she was tense. She was glad of his soft, warm presence and did her best not to clench his fur in her fists each time the guard lunged at Demelza. She needn’t have worried. Demelza was every bit the kickass warrior Xandrie knew her to be. She fought with her usual ferocity and skill and left the ring with a stunning score of seven.
“Not too shabby for someone with a gimpy arm, right?” she teased her, amused by her worry.
Xandrie clutched Demelza and squeezed her tight. “I am so proud of you.”
Janive was up next. She smiled at Xandrie and Demelza on her way past, and she shed her good girl image the second the flag was dropped.
She went after her opponent with rage and skill; Xandrie could hear Vincent, who stood behind them, exclaim, and it took a lot to impress her weapons instructor, so she knew Janive must be doing well. None of them were prepared for a perfect score, though. When the page held up her card and the crowd saw a ten, they went wild.
Xandrie felt her heart thumping way up in her throat. She stepped into the ring, determined not to disgrace herself. She’d do her best, damn it. She didn’t need a ten—she just needed to get high enough to get through to the semi-final.
She didn’t dare look to the king’s box, not wanting that distraction.
She pushed the world out of her mind and drew her spirit in tight. The crowd fell away, Vincent fell away, even Rhey fell away. All she could see was her sword and her enemy. She lunged, she swiped, she tried to make the blade an extension of her arm, then her heart, remembering the dance Rhey had taught her one night, so long ago. Her footwork was shoddy compared to his, she missed as many times as she landed a hit, and she was a sweaty mess by the time the bout was over. She wanted to hang her head, but Demelza’s words rang in her ears: “Show no weakness.”
She lifted her eyes to the royal box and waited on the page
. The Elders conferred for longer than usual. Was it possible to earn a negative score? She felt the shame rise and spread throughout her. The page stepped forward and turned over the card.
The crowd exploded.
Vincent ran into the ring and threw his arms around her. She could hear Demelza screaming her name, but she could hardly see for the tears. She’d scored a nine.
The rest of the afternoon zoomed by in a flurry of knives and swords, lunges and feints, but by nightfall it was decided: she, Saskia, Janive, and Althara, a woman she hadn’t even seen fight, were through to the semi-finals.
Demelza didn’t seem the least bit concerned.
The songs of victory reverberated throughout the entire compound. Xandrie was victorious and the entire city—the entire kingdom—seemed to roar its approval.
The Ball
He didn’t know whether no one had seen fit to warn him, or if he’d scratched the unfortunate event from his memory, but the next night, they were to have a ball.
The ballroom was decked out in its most sumptuous decor. The orchestra was in the gallery, the fires roared, and the tables were piled high with truffle-drenched roasts and sculpted delicacies. Drinks were ladled from an ice-carved swan the size of a horse. By the time the king arrived, his guests were gorged and giddy, sweeping around the dance floor with some abandon.
Xandrie was at the very center of the melee.
Rhey tried not to stare, but it was impossible. She had come to the Palace in a guard uniform too large for her frame. For the most part, she’d trained with Vincent in a dun tunic that did nothing to show the curves and contours of her frame. When she fought, she’d been resplendent in her armor, which, true, didn’t hide much, and he’d seen her with nothing at all, too, but tonight, she had slid into a hip-hugging, curve-caressing slice of crimson silk that rippled as she moved, but clung to her thighs and ass in ways that made his heartbeat land squarely in his groin.
