Age of Gold Book One to Three: To Claim a King, To Catch a Prince, To Tame a Rogue (Tales of Midgard 1)

by May Sage

  “What?” she asked, turning to him.

  He’d moved a little, curled in a half circle with one of his wings pulled up.

  “Oh.”

  Timidly, Talia tiptoed to him, uncertain that she’d read him right. She watched him, careful for any sign that he’d had enough of playing with his human.

  He didn’t make another sound, so she put her palm on his belly.

  It was very different from what she could have imagined of a dragon. The scales on this side were softer than the ones on his back, as if polished. They weren’t blazing hot; just radiating a delicious warmth.

  “Well, don’t mind if I do.”

  She sat on the ground, her back against his heat.

  “Once upon a time,” she read, “in the fair Camelot…”

  Epilogue

  A boy came to find him that morning, bearing a message that made him leave the family wing and head to the one place where he’d never stepped foot without being up to mischief in the past.

  Nathos’ office hadn’t changed - it was sparse and clinically organized.

  “Your Highness. You’ve been hard to pin down.”

  No doubt. He barely spent any time in his apartments, not leaving Talia from dawn to dusk.

  “These last few days have been full, as you can imagine, but I believe I might have found details about the…matter we discussed.”

  He pointed to a leather-bound book on his desk - bound in blue, which meant that it came from Nathos’ personal collection, the only few volumes Vincent had never managed to locate.

  He lifted a brow.

  “Help yourself. Unless books are only tasteful to you when you aren’t permitted to take them.”

  “You knew?”

  The Elder rolled his eyes. “There isn’t much happening in these walls without my knowing, Prince.”

  That, Vincent didn’t doubt.

  “We were right to be suspicious. From what I’ve read, riders do come from the same families. When one sibling was chosen, before the Rift, the other children in the family were watched closely and encouraged to link themselves to a dragon. Sometimes it occurred, sometimes not. But even without the link, they did tend to exhibit the same characteristics as fully developed riders.” After a beat, he added, “And were often wedded amongst our kind.”

  No surprise at all there.

  “So their entire family…”

  “It’s not quite as simple. Their parents may be, for all intents and purposes, very regular mages. They simply had the right genes, and mixed together, the result was extraordinary.”

  The Elder was one of the dullest men he knew, but even then, he hadn’t looked or sounded quite so wary in the past. Vincent found himself asking, “Is everything alright?”

  Nathos hesitated.

  “I’m old. Very old. And tired, too. I imagined these next few years would be my last.”

  If anyone had asked Vincent whether he liked the elder, he might have shrugged. Hearing him say that, though, he wanted to roar and jump out of his skin in protest. Nathos wasn’t going anywhere.

  “What this woman represents…” he sighed. “I’ve never felt this way. I want her.” He practically growled. “I want to keep her safe and care for her. She insinuated herself into my world overnight.”

  Aleria. He talked of Aleria.

  Vincent winced on his behalf. He had his work cut out for him there.

  “Welcome to the club.”

  That was exactly what had occurred with Talia - he didn’t quite comprehend it. By gods, she’d only been in the kingdom three weeks, and now, his world began and ended with her.

  “One thousand years, and I find myself not knowing what to do.”

  To make things simple for him, Vincent asked, “Do you have a choice?”

  He spent most of his day reading, although he did it in Talia’s company. When he’d expressed his wish to read, and offered to arrange for her to visit low-town, or anything she pleased to amuse herself, she dismissed his idea.

  “I’d love to get my hands on the books you talked of.”

  So, he returned to Nathos’ office, to steal a book this time. And yes, perhaps he could have asked, but that would just have removed the fun out of it.

  Immersed in tales of old dragons and riders as he was, he might have forgotten to eat or order a drink, if Talia hadn’t been with him. She was, though, so occasionally his dragon growled to demand his attention and he knew it was time to see to her needs.

  Ringing a bell, he ordered tea.

  How comfortable they were, just in silence.

  During one of their little breaks, he shared, “You know, I believed you might have bespelled me when you first came. Turns out, I was right.”

  Talia lifted a brow.

  “Instant bonds. Dragons and riders form them two ways - the sisterly bond that linked Xandrie to Demelza, and the bond she formed with Rhey from the very beginning. As you’re of the same blood, you have the same latent ability to form both.”

  “Something Nimue said made me think all of us - Xandrie, Aleria, and I - might not be so very different, despite our different skills. She said I descended from what they called Dragonlords in the past. That got me thinking that perhaps it was another word for riders.”

  Vincent inclined his head. “No doubt. If I could pin down that woman, I’d have her write a damn history book,” he grumbled.

  Talia laughed, and there was nothing in his mind, save for peace. Now, he had to tell her that.

  “I’m grateful. Grateful you walked into my life. I was lost for a long time. My dragon and I would never have mended our differences without you. I believed him to be a monster, I gave up on him, and, in doing so, he was lost to me. I owe you everything for making me see that.” He had to smile. “He adores you, you know.”

  Talia beamed.

  “As I adore you. It’s not normal, it’s not logical, but from the very first moment I saw you, I knew you were mine. I’ll know it when I draw my last breath.”

  How awkward he was, with words such as these. “What I meant to say-”

  “I know perfectly well what you meant to say. And I love you, too, Pretty Man.”

  Miles away.

  * * *

  If he’d ever spared a thought on how death would come at him, Ash would have imagined dragonfire, blood, surrounded by a thousand enemies. Not this. Not this slow, agonizing decline, tainted by the taste of betrayal. He wasn’t dying here, alone, because of his sworn enemy; no one even knew he’d left his castle yet.

  No one, save for his kin, the man he’d trusted above all others.

  It was no coincidence when the raids had started, following him wherever he went, but he’d brushed it aside. The lands were perilous, he knew that. It meant nothing.

  He couldn’t lie to himself anymore, after the Royal Warlock had blasted the town where he’d stayed into oblivion. He recognized his own magician’s spells.

  The magician was attacking him on enemy territory; if, no, when, the dragons of Farden saw what had happened to their people, they would declare war on Absolia.

  Ash had no clue why anyone would wish that. It was insanity. There were as many dragons in Farden as there were in Absolia, according to their spies; fighting against them meant the potential extinction of their kind.

  Ash could have flown out. He was quick enough to change and get out of the way. But there were children about, bears and little dragonlings, frightened and crying for their mothers, so he’d done what he could. He’d shifted and flown, not away from the danger, but right to it, meeting it head on, and taking the worst of the blast.

  Gragnar’s blow had been fire and Shadow. A lesser dragon - one less versed in protection spells, or with a weaker bloodline - wouldn’t have survived it. Ash was still breathing now, but only just. If aid came to him now, he might see another morrow; but he’d fallen in deserted lands, unknown to anyone who might wish him well, so, instead, he was dying, thirsty, broken, and despairing for his people. />
  There ended the line of his ancestors.

  The gods were kind enough as to show him the shape of an angel before he closed his eyes. A beautiful creature with golden brown skin, and those brilliant eyes.

  “Stay with me, Rogue,” said she.

  He wished he could, but he had to go now.

  “Dammit. Sorry, Xandrie, I’m going to have to borrow your strength.”

  Hundreds of miles away, the queen of Farden cried out in surprise as an acute pain gripped her. Demelza closed her eyes, and recited every healing spell she could recall, to breathe life back into the limbs of the king of the Fiery Shadows.

  To Tame a Rogue

  Prologue

  The woman looked behind her shoulder frantically, running as fast as her exhausted legs could carry her. She would have shifted if she could, but the infinitely precious thing in her arms might have been hurt if a dragon had carried it. That wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

  As she turned back to face forward, her foot got entangled in a root, and she fell toward the ground.

  Darayn rolled on her back just in time, protecting the bundle against her chest. But the child was bothered and awoke with a piercing cry.

  "Shush, shush baby girl," she prayed, somewhat desperately.

  The last thing they needed was for their position to be revealed right now.

  Not for the first time, Darayn wished she had magic, or greater powers. Her gift was so very insignificant; there was no hope of her being able to shield the babe for long. She was just a nursemaid, nothing more. A nursemaid entirely devoted to her charge.

  When the deep horns of mourning had resounded in the castle, sounding five times to announce the king's death, she'd known what it meant.

  The king's first wife was giving birth that night; and now, the king—a great dragon of immeasurable power—was dead.

  Murder. There was no doubt about that.

  Next, they'd come for his firstborn.

  And so, she'd taken the girl and run, fast, far, putting as much distance between the court of fire and them as possible.

  If Darayn was wrong and there was no danger, she'd know soon enough. But within hours, the crown's fiercest assassins were on their track. Darayn would not have evaded them this long had she not possessed one blessing. Just the one.

  "That's it, sweetheart. Go to sleep."

  And at the sound of her voice, the heir to the kingdom of fiery shadows plunged into a deep slumber.

  There was sea blood in her family; a siren from the old days, and so her voice was her one weapon. She honed it to secure a ride at the back of a merchant's carriage at first, and then to pass through the Sands. Finally, she'd used it one last time to make a sailor take them to the Lakelands by water.

  But now, she was so very tired, so very weak, and hopeless.

  If she did not reach her destination soon, there would be no hope for the little princess.

  Please, help...

  Darayn knew little of gods and fates and any such things, but when she painfully got to her feet, she noticed that there was a man above her, watching her carefully.

  He was very tall, very broad, and quite handsome, but it was his aura that held her attention.

  No, not a man.

  A dragon.

  He rode a horse and wore fine, colorful silks. His eyes went to her, and then, to the child.

  If one thing could be true about all dragons, weak and strong, great and inconsequential, it was that they cherished little ones. She hoped that same could be said for them. The dragons of Farden.

  Farden and Absolia were enemies; the precarious peace between the two dragon kingdoms would not last, they all knew that. And for that very reason, there was no other place where the firstborn child of King Karash would be safer. No one would think to look for her there. She could grow up, get strong.

  So long as this dragon had a heart.

  “The child. It is in danger,” the male stated, observing her curiously.

  The sound of his voice awoke the little princess, who blinked and looked up at the stranger.

  Darayn nodded. “Yes, my lord.” For there was no doubt that a man thus attired was a lord. “She is…”

  "I know what she is. I can feel it. And I have lived long enough to understand what those eyes mean."

  The girl's eyes weren't amber, or hazel, or any such thing.

  They were fire.

  "Please," said Darayn.

  She didn’t use her power to sway his mind. That never worked for long. He had to feel mercy to his core, or he would betray them eventually.

  The lord dismounted from his great beast and approached slowly. He looked down at the child.

  The princess was very decisive for a babe of her age. She either liked or hated strangers. Darayn prayed that she wouldn’t despise the man on sight, and again the gods answered. The princess cooed and lifted her little chunky hands toward him, begging to be picked up.

  The dragon smiled and extended his arms.

  "I have buried a brother. I shall say that I return with a niece,” said Nathos Xaxan, earl of the Durandan, elder of Farden, advisor to many kings. “Saskia. Yes. The name of my mother suits her well enough."

  Alpha

  Demelza lifted her sword to block the ruthless attack, and grunted when the blade hit so hard that her feet slid back.

  “What’s the matter, princess?” Saskia Xaxan asked with an evil grin. “Need a little break to catch your breath?”

  She did, actually, but her sparring companion’s tone was so full of condescension, Demelza glared.

  “I can do this all day.”

  Damn pride. It was what had caused all this trouble in the first place. Saskia had asked if there was anyone with enough guts to train with her in the mornings, and in the name of her house, her ancestors, her station, she’d had to volunteer.

  Sometimes, Demelza was her own worst enemy. She was all for keeping fit, but no one needed to go quite so hard at the butt crack of dawn.

  There would be no stopping until there was a clear winner. Playing defense would only prolong the agony, so Demelza withdrew her blade, fading back to find her footing, and immediately leaped forward again, attacking with a battle cry.

  Saskia laughed, like she was finally having fun, and riposted. On most days, she and Saskia were evenly matched, but the other female was a morning person, damn her. She evaded Demelza on the left, before anchoring her sword deep in the ground of the outdoor fighting ring and, using its hilt to support herself, kicked Demelza right in the face before she'd had time to pivot.

  Elza could taste blood in her mouth. "That was fucking nasty."

  Saskia winked. "Come on, you must like it, given how you let me kick your ass so often."

  The beast inside Elza growled in warning, making the beautiful, bloodthirsty blonde laughed. "Aww, your dragon has something to say?"

  It was bad form to shift during a duel in human form, but Saskia wasn't one to care for such things. She was amused because she knew that if it became a fight between the two female beasts, she'd annihilate Demelza without breaking a sweat.

  The black dragon was larger than any beast in the land, even Rhey Vasili, their king; but she also distinguished herself by being particularly fast and vicious.

  Better to face the woman, sadistic as she was.

  "Seriously, let's finish this, I need food. Three hits."

  Saskia inclined her head. "Three hits," she repeated in agreement.

  Her smile entirely disappeared as she concentrated. She'd had the better of her this morning but when one was to look at the number of times their swords had respectively found a clear mark, Elza and Saskia were matched.

  They paced in circles, eyeing each other, calculating their first moves.

  "Ladies."

  Their heads snapped in the direction of the intruders. Nathos. Saskia's eyes softened and now her smile was genuine, void of hostility.

  "Uncle," she said, greeting the elder with a b
ow of her head.

  "Niece. I thought I might find you here. I come to ask a favor of you. I have matters to discuss with Vincent Vasili here, but I was due to see the folks of Durandan in the evening. I have no wish to delay the meeting, for some might have ridden for days to be present. Would you go in my stead?"

  "Of course," she replied. "With the leave of my queen."

  Saskia was part of Xandrie's council, like Demelza. According to their charter, they were not supposed to wander the realm without her permission. The expression was purely rhetorical, however; Xandrie had explicitly stated that they were welcome to go as they would and do as they pleased.

  Elza smirked. "So, Durandan. It's far to the south, is it not? You'd better get going."

  And she'd better get to breakfast.

  "Not so fast, Demelza Thorns. We have a duel to settle."

  "And we'll settle it when you're back. Preferably in the afternoon, when I'm actually awake."

  It wasn't that she didn't enjoy a good fight. She just preferred it past noon.

  "Or," said Saskia, "we could settle it with a race to Durandan."

  Elza stilled. Tempting. She'd seen Saskia's beast in action, but never over the course of a great distance. Demelza's dragon was used to long travels; she'd visited Xandrie on a regular basis, all the way to the High Lands, far beyond the borders of Farden.

  Surely, she could beatSaskia? And besides, she'd never seen Durandan, the lands of Nathos Tiberian. It was east of a Vasili holding, belonging to her cousin; warm beaches and sea breeze.

  "Do you live near the coast?"

  "I'll lend you a swimming costume."

  Dammit. So tempting. "All right. But we're eating first."

  The other woman didn't argue, and in no time they were raiding the kitchens.

  "What's you misses doing here?" Cook demanded to know. "Your ladies will get out of the job if you go about picking up your own food when it suits you, you know."

  Saskia snorted. "I think not," she protested. "I have every intention to never learn how to make a bed, clean a bathroom, or tie a corset. Brenna will always have a job with me."