by May Sage
Absolia wasn't very much until celebrations; they made them as sparse as possible. Ash only had had a single celebration in his entire existence.
"That's just tragic. When were you born?"
He inclined his head.
"The day, season."
"Fourteenth day of summer?"
She nodded. "All right. Every fourteenth day of summer, I'll send you a gift. We do monthlies here, because there's been so many deaths of women and all."
Ash frowned. "Your women die?"
"In childbirth, yes. So many of them."
Ah. That, he understood. "Too much dragon blood in the line," he said.
He could feel all eyes on him now, particularly those of Elza.
"Long ago, our ancestors would only wed dragons. Within a few generations, many women were dying because their children were too wild and attempted to rip their way out of their wombs. And then, my...great-great grandfather, I believe, made a truce with the three main races in the land. He was to wed a bear, a wolf, and a dragon woman, so as to keep everyone in the kingdom happy. And the dragonwife died birthing his child, but the bear and werewolf both lived through the birthings. The phenomenon has been studied and the cause was confirmed."
"Aleria guessed as much," said the mage woman of immeasurable power. "She'll want to speak to you."
Aleria.
That name rang a bell.
Now that he paid attention, so did the eyes of the brunette.
He watched her closely, and then his attention went back to the queen. They were visibly sisters...
The ancient was right. There were no coincidences.
"Talia?" Ash guessed, pointing to the mage. And now, he pointed to the queen. "Xandrie?"
He had everyone's attention again.
"I am bound to Damion Astria."
Truce
At first there was silence, and then, cries. From one sister, frantic cries. Xandrie hugged her knees and bawled her eyes out in front of a confused mate who did his best to reassure her, hugging her.
From Talia, there was question after question. How, when, how was he, how come they'd never heard from him, and so many others. Ash didn't want to have this conversation with them. It wasn't his place, and he said as much.
"You will excuse me, I am not one to betray my companion's confidence. Let it only be said that none who know his trials could possibly blame your brother for staying away from the Northern Var."
His reply was begrudgingly accepted by the sisters, but Rhey was not so easily satisfied. "Would he have been able to return home, had he wished to?"
If the king of Farden was attempting to trample over Ash's last nerve, he certainly was succeeding. Perhaps he was mistaken for a coward because he had not attempted to rush into a fight yet. Rhey was pushing his dominance around, like a ruler attempting to assert his authority. Ash couldn't have that now.
"Lies are the tools of weaklings, Vasili. I have been honest in all of our dealings. And yet you seem determined to find reasons to antagonize me. If it's a fight you're angling for, should we head outside and get it over with? Just you and me. No weapons, no fire, no shifting. Let's have some fun, shall we?"
Ash had seen it a thousand times, with wolves, bears, and dragons. When two males or females holding the same status, with the same dominance level, crossed paths, it was rare that the encounter didn't end in a duel of sorts. If he was honest, Ash had also itched to punch the dragon king from the moment he'd seen him. He'd only remained diplomatic because of his sister, and the fact that there was one of him against three firelords, a rider, and an enchantress.
But a one-on-one fight? That, he certainly wouldn't say no to.
Rhey was surprised and visibly pleased. A slow smile started at the corner of his lips.
"Oh, no, no, no," said his wife, crossing her arms across her chest. "We do not need that question answered. You'll be impossible if you win, and cranky for years to come if you lose."
The king twisted on his heels to face her and tilted her chin up.
"As you wish."
Ash tried his best to keep a straight face and not remark upon the fact that the great Rhey Vasili did as his wife dictated.
"There will be no fighting."
"Glad to hear it," Ash stated. "And in that case, I'm sure we can agree to remain civil, can't we?"
No one spoke that way to the king, he could tell, given the way his people tensed, as if expecting him to explode. But after a long breath, Rhey inclined his head. "For now, and so long as you're not deceiving us."
"Marvelous." In an effort to remain honest, Ash added, "By the way, I should mention that there's a high likelihood of my brethren flying toward your kingdom as we speak." He tilted his head to Elza, "Hence why I was attempting to get your charming cousin to release me as soon as possible. I was hurt, earlier. Damion would have felt it and responded accordingly."
The queen and her sister exchanged a hopeful glance. "Damion is coming here?"
The sister's mate, finally sheathing his sword, replied to her. "Yes, more than likely at the head of a dragon army, in case you missed that little fact. As if we needed more of a mess at our borders. Gods, orcs, and now this?"
Ash blinked in confusion. Saskia was quick to enlighten him. "You've just missed the scoop. To give you the short version, we have two goddesses on our land. One servant of shadow and one of Aether. They've been sent to test us, and if the Aether one gives up on us by returning to her home first, the gods will lift the walls around the continent and let all the orcs in, before destroying us all to start things anew in these lands."
Shit. Were they serious?
Ash, and the rest of his kingdom, had always believed in being prepared for the worst, expecting an attack, a war, anytime soon. But if all the billions of orcs outside the energy walls protecting their lands were let in, it wouldn't be a war. It'd be a massacre.
"The long version," Ash said. "I need the long version."
And so, he was told tales of gods and enchantresses. The shadow goddess had come to issue a warning and give hope to Talia. Ash stiffened. If the walls were open for a moment, to the north, the dragons might be able to make it, but what of the rest of his people? The bears. The wolves. Ash may turn into a dragon, but he did not forget the fact that he'd been brought to life by a werewolf. The pack was family. He counted many bears among his guards, and some among his friends.
This wouldn't do at all.
"Truce," he stated. "We should make a truce. Join forces until this threat passes. Find the goddess, whatever it takes. Come to her aid."
"See!" said Talia victoriously, poking a finger in her mate's ribs. "Even he says help her, rather than lock her up so she can't go home."
That seemed obvious to him. Absolia had no device in their possession that could effectively bind an enchantress, let alone an actual goddess.
"Truce," Rhey repeated tentatively. "I have sent scouts to every kingdom. They've been told to find her, and if they manage, help her to the best of their abilities, before reporting to us with a location."
"I shall issue the same order," Ash replied. "And now, I must be on my way."
He would not ask to take leave of Rhey, making it clear that he intended to go or stay at his leisure; but leaving without any farewell seemed poor manners, so he took three steps until he stood in front of the other king, and extended his hand.
Rhey looked at it, before taking it, his grip firm as he shook it.
"Till we meet again, then."
"Farewell, until then."
Ash then turned to Elza. She'd remained almost silent since they'd walked into the room an hour ago. Now, he saw that she was frowning, no doubt still displeased about his omitting to tell her who he was.
"Thank you for the timely rescue."
"My pleasure."
Her lips thinned. Ash knew enough of women to realize that she was definitely pissed.
"Wait a minute, we're going with him. Right? I have to see my brother."
"My being escorted by Farden royalty may not end well."
If he was seen as a hostage, they would attack before Ash had a moment to issue an order. Besides, there was still the matter of Gragnar.
"But..."
"I will inform Damion of your desire to see him, and should he so wish, he'll come greet you. Or write."
Or he'd ignore the information altogether, returning to his affairs. Damion's wounds were deep, and very much tied to his family, however innocent his sisters might have been in the affair.
Neither sister seemed satisfied with that answer, but their mates were reasoning with them. Ash ignored the matter to redirect his attention on his own family.
"You're sure you don't want a throne?" he asked the blonde.
"Not even if it's pretty."
It wasn't. Ash sighed.
"I will enquire about your mother. You're welcome in our lands. Your lands. And I so wish to see you again."
She shrugged. "Well, I like traveling. See you on your next birthday, little brother. Don't get killed, then."
There was much else to say. He should have thanked the elder who'd saved Saskia and exchanged more words with Demelza. Tell her who she was, what she was. Explain that he wanted her more than his next breath and told her why he couldn't act upon that desire. But Ash found that he did not have the strength for it. If he turned to her and talked now, he might soothe her pursued lips and wrap his hand around her neck before tasting her skin. His dragon was pushing for it, demanding it.
He could not give in. He was lord of Absolia, and so he would be until his last breath, now that his sister had declined the throne. He was the true ruler. And so, it meant that he would soon have to do the one thing he'd avoided for three quarters of a century, since his coronation.
Choose his three spouses.
He turned his back on his mate and walked toward his duty.
Anger
Demelza had never been more pissed, or frustrated, mostly against herself. She had no reason to be pissed. None whatsoever. So what if he'd hidden that he was the freaking king of Absolia? She got it. They were strangers. She'd basically kidnapped him; no wonder he hadn't opened up and given her his whole family tree. But she was deeply hurt nonetheless. What killed her was that he hadn't lied, even once, so she had no actual reason to be pissed. If he'd said, I'm called John and I'm from the Northern Var, she could have called him a lying scum and moved on with her life. Instead, he'd said a few things, and let her make her own conclusions. And she'd come to the wrong conclusions. How stupid was she? He'd said he was no rogue, that he had people. She should have known.
And now, he was leaving. Above everything else, she was pissed at herself because she hated, hated, the fact that he was leaving so soon. She wanted him, dammit. In her mind, she'd been practically certain that they'd talk to Rhey, clear things up, and then she could have got him to herself, binding him on her desk and having her way with him for hours upon hours. Maybe even days.
The chemistry between them was off the charts, the air between them had been charged with an ungodly amount of lust and longing.
And he was just leaving. Nice to see you, bye. What a complete a-hole. Demelza wasn't what one would call a femme fatale, or any such thing; she didn't feel entitled to a man's dick simply because she wanted it, but she could tell the attraction had been mutual.
Oh, well. She'd forget him soon enough. In all likelihood, he didn't know how to find a clit, like most men. Soon enough, she'd be playing with one of her old lovers and forget that Ash Dracul existed.
Two weeks later, Demelza was contemplating the notion of hunting the man down and beheading him. Needless to say, she had not, in fact, forgotten his existence. If he made it to "the one that got away" years hence, she was truly going to have to murder him. She might do so regardless.
Elza screamed as her sword-arm repetitively went down, faster and faster, hitting Saskia's shield until it cracked.
The other dragoness swore out loud, before leaping forward, shield still up, crashing it against Elza's jaw. Sass then brought her own sword to Elza's flank; Elza deflected, evading the edge of the blade just in time not to get slashed. She growled. "I thought this was a friendly spar!"
"Yeah? Well, your bashing my arm in didn't feel very friendly," Saskia retorted.
She might have had a point.
"Shall we call it even?" the blonde suggested.
Demelza blinked. Had Saskia ever attempted to get out of a fight? Like, at any point in her life? And more concerningly yet, Elza did not, in fact, want to call it even. She wanted to keep hitting her sort-of-friend until her frustration went away.
But she muttered, "Whatever. Sure. I'm hungry."
Saskia laughed. "Aren't you always. All right, then. Food's on you for bruising me."
Saskia put the shield away. Shit. Underneath, her arm was black and blue. Had she truly done that?
"Sorry," Demelza apologized sheepishly. "Here, come, I'll heal you."
She took the other woman's arm in hers and pushed energy through.
Most dragons had elemental magic; fire, mostly. Elza also had gifts with water, and when she healed, that was the element she called to her. Normally, it was a seamless process for her. When she'd been studying the arts of healers, her tutors had called her gifted, naturally prone to healing those around her.
But now, she could feel something blocking her. She'd healed wounds far worse than little bruises in the past but pushing elemental magic through felt harder than her most difficult spells. Her mind fought against it. It didn't want to heal anymore. It wanted to burn.
What the fuck?
"What's the deal, anyway? You've been on edge for days."
That was saying it mildly. And it couldn't have anything to do with Ash Dracul. She refused to even consider the possibility that he might have that much influence on her. That would be ridiculous. And unhealthy. Who even did that? Obsessing over men they met for two seconds. What was half a day in the life of a two-century-old dragoness?
"I'm fine."
Saskia snorted. "Yeah, right. I can see that. No biggie. You don't want to speak to me, don't. Honestly, it's wise. I have zero empathy. Just speak to someone, so you don't murder anyone you like without meaning to. Trust me, been there, done that. Not fun."
Demelza could actually imagine Saskia impulsively burning someone to a crisp and saying "oops" while looking at the ashes.
"I'm not getting into it with you," Elza stated.
But maybe Saskia wasn't wrong. She should speak to Xandrie, or maybe simply take her for a flight around the country until she'd regained her senses.
"With me, specifically," Saskia noted, smirking knowingly. "I get it. That brother of mine should come with a warning label. Hotness on thick legs, beware."
Elza cursed herself. Damn her big mouth.
"Firstly, ew, incest is gross," she said.
Sass shrugged unapologetically. "Not my fault, I wasn't raised with the guy, I didn't develop a natural distaste based on acquaintance. Don't worry, though. I definitely won't do someone I'm related to. That would be gross."
"And secondly, this is most definitely not about your half-brother. I'm just pissed without reason. We're dragons, that's what we do, occasionally. Go fiery and angry and needing to blow steam."
The woman wasn't buying it. "No, that's what I do. Because that's who I am. You're the collected, beautiful, attentive healer who likes to help people. Not punch them. There's something going on. If I didn't know better, I'd say your beast wants out. She's pissed and wants you to pay attention to her."
Elza watched Saskia closely as they walked to the kitchen together. The woman was a lot more attentive than most gave her credit for. And she might be correct. Elza had felt her dragon push to the surface a lot more than usual recently, and each time, she'd made an effort to shift, in order to let her have time to
work out her issue. But maybe her dragon didn't want to stretch her wings. She might be more interested in communicating with her; something Elza didn't do often.
Hm. Wouldn't hurt to try.
Beta
Ash flew to the borders of Farden to find no one; not one warrior had been sent to his aid. For a moment, he wondered if Damion had opted to keep his wound a secret; he might have left it if he'd felt that he'd been healed after the blow. But it was unlikely.
Ash made for Absolia, flying straight home, to find dozens of dragons flying over his fortress. The beasts were fighting, claws and fangs extended, while hundreds of warriors were crossing blades on foot.
War. And a civil war by the looks of it.
Ash flew right to the guard tower that topped every other building and mountain in his kingdom, his black dragon clutching it with his huge talons, and he remained there, observing all his subjects, taking the scene in.
At the city walls, he saw his mother's pack fighting bears. Gragnar stood with the wolves, standing right next to Ash's mother. No sign of Damion.
It wasn't hard to guess what had occurred. His mother had always been power hungry. In his youth, she used to insist that he should take years to play around, enjoy being a youngling, rather than take the rule of the country at twenty-five. "You're too young, you shouldn't have such responsibility," she'd say. "I can carry on being your regent for as long as I'm needed."
But he had accepted his responsibility as soon as he'd come of age. He would have enjoyed a few years to himself, certainly, but he'd seen what his mother had done with the country. She shamelessly favored the wolves in all things. If Ash had delayed his coronation, he would only have had ruins to rule over: the dragons would have revolted against Milena Dracul sooner than later.
And so, every year since, his mother, as one of his advisors, had still subtly attempted to regain some control. Rejecting her council had become a habit Ash had never thought much about; shrugging her off was easy enough. Her most vocal protest was that he wasn't fit to rule over wolves or bears without being tied to either clan: it was his duty as king to marry.
