“Careful, dragon,” she warned crossly. “Roles can easily be changed.”
“The scouts are returning if you two can stop eye-fucking long enough to hear the report,” Fyra snapped harshly as she approached beside Blane’s massive horse with her much smaller one.
Ciara listened as a fast approaching group of horses rushed towards them. Hope flared in her chest, but there was an emptiness to it. If it were her brothers, people would die. If they came to her rescue, a lot of misled people would be slaughtered, and it didn’t sit right with her. They were mythical beings, once thought to be extinct and yet here they were. She didn’t relish their deaths or having blood on her hands.
“They’re ours,” someone shouted and the people around her relaxed, cheering as hooves thundered towards them. “They’ve ridden hard and will need to rest soon, my king,” the rider continued.
Her hope deflated, and her shoulders slumped as the sliver she’d allowed in was dashed with the announcement. She started to turn forward, but Blane held her in place.
“Indeed; if they’ve ridden hard to reach us, we will set up camp once we are out of the mist. Let’s not keep them waiting too long for that respite, shall we?” Blane’s deep voice rumbled from his chest, and Ciara swallowed the anger that built inside her that she’d dared to hope it was her people coming to save her.
Ciara turned her head, ignoring Fyra’s angry glare as she watched the multitude of warriors joining the ranks of those who had marched with her to this point. Hands clapped together as brothers in arms welcomed each other back from wherever they’d been. There was so many that were joining them that her eye could barely see as the flood of men moved into the group.
“I told you, we are many,” Blane whispered as her gaze lowered before rising to glare at him. “We’ve trained every day since your people slaughtered ours. We’ve bred an army strong enough to defend any land we inhabit.”
“And we’re not afraid of dying,” Fyra added. “Just like you, but we prefer to do it in battle, bathed in the blood of the Horde.”
“You are Horde, idiot,” she replied icily. “You’d do well to remember that when you kneel at Faery’s chosen king’s feet.”
“I know only one king, and I serve him in every way.”
“I bet you do.”
“Enough.” Blane’s hands bit into Ciara’s flesh as he lifted her, righting her on the horse until she was forced to view the men swarming them.
“You’ve mated?” one of the men with emerald green eyes asked as his huge warhorse pawed the ground in front of Blane’s.
“I give you Ciara, Princess of the Horde,” Blane growled as the men studied her. Her hood was pulled from her head as the man studied her carefully. “My prisoner, the only acknowledged daughter of Alazander and the full sister to the reigning Horde King.”
“So your trip to their stronghold was fruitful after all. That is excellent news,” the man said.
“Indeed,” Blane agreed as his hands came up to wrap around her waist. “Very fruitful indeed,” he spoke crudely as his hands lifted to the cloak and pulled it away from her body, as if he was allowing them to see her for more than just his trophy.
“And have you fucked it, yet?”
It?
Ciara glowed with anger and let them take in her in full royal Fae form. Her power radiated around them, and the man hissed as he stared at her writhing brands. Fuck them; fuck all of them, including the jackass behind her.
“She’s very…accommodating,” Blane hissed, and Ciara elbowed him and winced, catching his armor instead of where she had wanted to. She didn’t make a sound even as she felt the bruises forming on her elbow. “Shall we?” he growled as he dropped her cloak, not bothering to fix it.
She pulled it around her like a blanket, a covering to hide her from the steady gazes. She pulled the hood over her head and straightened in the saddle, not touching Blane in any way as he spurred the horse on.
“She’s as beautiful as the rumors said,” the man continued as he fell into a natural gait beside them.
“The rumors weren’t all true,” Blane admitted, and Ciara smiled as she wondered what he would tell his friend. “She was a maiden until I remedied that.”
“A virgin? The whore of the Horde was a virgin? I wonder if she prefers her cock in other ways.”
Anger flared in her chest, tightening it as Blane and his friend discussed her like she wasn’t even there, or had feelings; like she was some creature who was merely there for their abuse and nasty comments.
“It’s said she prefers to be fucked in the ass,” Fyra injected herself into the conversation. “You should take a turn at her, Kerrigan. I’m sure Blane wouldn’t mind sharing the slut.”
“I don’t fuck monsters,” Kerrigan hissed. “I’m sure our king had his reasons for what he did with her, but I prefer my women pure of heart and mind, and she’s nothing more than a cold, murderous bitch.”
“Mistress of the night and nightmares, that one is,” another male mumbled.
“And you’re nothing but cowards who hide in the mountain and marshes badmouthing women while they are forced to hear your rubbish,” Ciara snapped. “You must be so fucking proud of yourselves.”
“Enough, Ciara,” Blane warned.
“You’re right, it’s enough,” she agreed. “Careful sleeping with the enemy, she fucking bites.”
“I know she has teeth,” Blane whispered against her ear. “But I have fucking fangs.”
“Good, you’re going to need them,” she announced.
“And why is that?” he countered.
“Because I’ve decided to go to war with you, asshole,” she snapped harshly.
“And you think you will win?”
“No, but then I’m stupid enough to think going to war means winning. Win or lose, you’ll feel it.”
“Are you threatening my people?” he asked, seething as his arm tightened around her, forcing her back against him even as she pulled away again.
“No, just you,” she growled with a wicked smile flitting across her lips. “I don’t blame an entire race for one asshole, like you. I know who to blame, and I know who to fight.”
“Careful, Ciara,” he mused. “You won’t win against me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The camp was made, and Ciara had the joy of being tied to a pole in the middle of it. She didn’t complain, didn’t argue with Blane as he’d tied her hands in front of her, and then hung them on the hook Fyra had helped him erect.
She was exhausted from traipsing across the marshes and meadows until she’d feared falling from the horse. She’d awoken to Fyra’s nails digging into her flesh as she’d helped Blane remove her from the horse’s back. Anger had yet to leave her, which meant she glowed like a beacon of rage in the darkness for everyone to see.
Kids approached her, staring at her as their parents collected them as if she’d eat their hearts from their chest, still beating. To these people, she was no more than an animal, less even than that. She shivered from the cold, watching Blane as he directed people with Fyra at his side.
She’d noted the woman was still pining over him and that whatever was between them hadn’t run its course yet. The way Fyra touched him said she wasn’t trying to end up in his bed and for all Ciara knew, they were probably together still. They acted like it; people didn’t even notice or speak of the closeness the two shared.
Shit, maybe they were marching to their wedding? Whatever, they deserved each other. Perhaps they could pick out matching headstones for when her family came to get her back. She knew they would, and that if they hadn’t done it yet, it was for a good reason.
A boy moved into her line of sight, not even old enough to wield a sword yet. He had messy dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. His clothes were in tattered d
isarray unlike the other children, who had been washed and dressed well, he had been looked over.
He stepped closer to her, staring at her brands as they pulsed beneath her flesh. Every royal Fae had them, but hers were the only to ever be violet, like her eyes. As a youth, they’d been gold like her father’s, until he’d torn her apart one too many times. Eliran, her medically-inclined brother and healer, had yet to figure out why they’d changed.
“You’re alone here,” the child said as he looked around the camp and then back to where Ciara watched him.
“Aye, I am,” she admitted. Very alone.
“I lost my mother, and then my father left too,” he said sadly, and Ciara frowned.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered past the frown she wore. “Does no one else take care of you?” He was filthy, which she could see now up close to him. He had dark circles under his eyes, and yet he puffed his little chest up and spoke clearly.
“I’m not a child,” he bragged.
“No, no, of course, you’re not,” she said softly. “You’re a warrior. A fierce one,” she smiled as he nodded emphatically. “And you’re not afraid of me?”
“You’re tied up, and a woman. I fear no woman,” he said as he produced a stick he’d held behind his back.
Ciara swallowed as she watched him hold it up and swing it at her. Her flesh stung as it slapped across her stomach. He continued hitting her until her knees gave out and the branch slapped across her face. She stood again, knowing this child was filled with rage, rage instilled in him from birth.
She took it without using the power she could because she didn’t want to hurt him. He was a child after all, even if he thought himself a man. Her eyes held Fyra’s from across the multitude of people and watched as she turned away from the sight of Ciara being beaten by the child.
Blane stood with his back to her, speaking to the men who had returned from Gods knew where. The branch caught her flesh from the knoll in the stick, and she hissed. So much rage in a child barely old enough to swing the branch. Blood covered her stomach, which caused him to stall as he stared up at her.
“Feel better?” she asked softly.
“I hate you,” he cried before he started up again. This time he used the jagged side with the wood raised from the broken branches. “I hate you!” he screamed with tears running down his cheeks. “You killed them! You killed my mother!” His voice broke, scratching with the edge of youth he’d lost.
Ciara’s eyes filled with tears, but they weren’t from pain. They were for him, the pain he’d yet to learn to live with. Something she’d had to learn at his age as well. The pain she could endure, but hatred, hatred was something this child harbored bone-deep inside of him.
“You’ll pay for it, you all will!” he screamed, and Ciara didn’t speak, she didn’t need to. Nothing she said would sway this child, nor the anger of his loss. The stick was pulled away, and Blane pushed the kid as he growled at him.
“It’s not his fault,” she whispered as she lifted her swollen eyes to his with anger. “He’s only a child,” she hissed as if she thought he would harm the boy.
Blane’s eyes narrowed at her, his lips moved and then stopped. Ciara could feel the blood dripping from her ear, where she’d been hit more than once. The dress she’d worn was ripped, revealing the abrasions to her midsection.
“They were all warned not to harm you,” he snapped.
“He’s angry and looking for a target, one you gave him. You want war, you got it. Your people will raise arms against me to gain your approval. Words mean nothing when the enemy is hanging from a pole unable to defend. You want to be angry? Be angry at yourself and not the child. He lost his parents. He was reacting as he has been taught to. You want to punish someone for his actions, punish me, Blane,” she offered vehemently.
“He just attacked an unarmed woman, and yet you’re defending him?” he shouted, and Ciara nodded.
“He hasn’t learned to hide the pain like the rest of us,” she whispered as she gazed at the child, who had turned white as a ghost. “He blames me for them because he’s only reacting to what you are all doing. You all blame me for what happened, and I was no older than he is when it happened. I was a child. Yet I am being blamed for what occurred, and yet you expect him to act differently?”
“I expect men not to beat women tied to a pole. I expect men not to beat women at all, ever.”
“Then stop tying me to a pole!” she offered. “You did it last time, and it ended no differently. You yourself said I’m the enemy. You talk down to me, and you treat me like I’m some unfeeling animal that you bedded down with. Tell me, Blane, who is the fucking animal here?”
“Get her down and take her to my tent,” he ordered, and Remy stepped up, carefully removing the rope that held her hands.
She pushed him away from her as her power radiated through the camp. She could have easily stopped the child, but not without harming him. Her cuts closed, her skin healed, and as they watched, she turned it off. Not enough to draw her brothers to her, but enough power to let them know she wasn’t a delicate fucking flower, but instead, a powder keg that was about to ignite.
Murmurs erupted through the crowd as she allowed Remy to march her to the tent she’d share with Blane. Once there, Ciara shed the cloak and glamoured on a full dress with tights beneath it, and a pair of panties. She glamoured a pelt of fur, some silk blankets and a tiny mattress, one large enough to only prevent her from back pain come morning. She fell onto it, curling into a ball as she closed her eyes against his stare.
“You’re using your powers,” Remy pointed out.
“Enough for me to not need Blane, but not enough to be found,” she admitted. “Now get out.”
“Fang didn’t know what he was doing,” he said hesitantly. “His mom committed suicide when her mate was killed in battle, and then the man who had tried to save her was removed from the camp after he beat the child. You didn’t have anything to do with their deaths, Ciara. You were just something he could take it out on. He was barely big enough to walk when it happened.”
“I know I didn’t kill them,” she whispered. “I’ve never killed anyone yet.”
“Yet,” he replied.
“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” she asked, opening her eyes to look up at him. “I’ve never been in a situation where I had to protect myself or depend on myself. You guys put me here, and everyone in this camp blames me for something that happened that I had nothing to do with. Sooner or later, it won’t be rocks or sticks, and I refuse to die here.”
“You could have prevented him from hurting you, so why didn’t you?” he asked carefully.
“He’s a child. To use my magic to defend myself would have hurt him. He didn’t deserve to be hurt for his anger. I know the need to place blame where it isn’t deserved, and I had no desire to hurt a mere lad who needed to vent. That much anger has to come out, or it will eventually be directed in ways that are not healthy.”
“Your father, he hurt you,” he continued as he sat on the bed.
“That’s none of your business,” she hissed angrily.
“No, you’re right, it’s not. But I’m trying to see it from your eyes, Ciara, and I can only do that if you tell me. You didn’t make a noise when you were cut open; most warriors would scream for the Gods to take them, to end it, and you didn’t bat a pretty little eyelash over it. Why?”
“I was taught to suffer in silence, to accept pain and show no weakness. I am Horde, after all; I guess we’re created to endure it. Now, I’m exhausted from being dragged all over the outer realm, so if you don’t mind?”
“He cut you open,” he whispered as his eyes narrowed. “Your father did, right?”
“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to cut you open!” she screamed as she pulled the covers over her head and
buried her face in the mattress, fighting a silent scream.
“You’re a worthy queen, Ciara, for what it’s worth. I’d be proud to have you as mine.”
She turned over to ask him what the hell he’d meant by that, but he was already gone. She frowned at his hidden meaning and then heard Fyra’s laughter as it mingled with Blane’s. She sat up, staring at the open space between the small tents flaps and the ground, only to see boots stationed there.
Soon, soon she’d leave them and make her way home. Soon wasn’t fast enough at this point. She had to get back to her family, had to help them save Ryder from whoever had taken him, and she didn’t want to miss the wedding even if she didn’t like them. But their marriage was monumental and something that would be recorded in the history of their kind, if they even had a future.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It took them three days to reach the dragon wells, which turned out to be a giant pool in the ground with a waterfall that fed it. No water flowed past the pool which had been laden with thousands of plumeria blooms. The entire area the camp had been set up in was filled with the fragrant blooms.
Remy walked her through the camp, her silent guard as she took in the wedding preparations. Women sliced fruit and tied ropes to bottles of alcohol that they dropped gently into the ice-cold pool. Twin statues of dragons stood in front of the pool, with petals spread as far as she could see around the water’s welcoming blue depths.
“It’s beautiful,” she said absently.
“Glad you approve.”
“Who is getting married?”
“Some lucky bastard and his girl,” he announced.
“You guys spend a lot of time outside of Faery, don’t you?” she asked softly.
“Enough to get supplies so that we don’t raise awareness of our presence here,” he agreed. “Why do you ask?”
Claiming the Dragon King: The Elite Guards Book Two Page 17
