Kane (Alexander Shifter Brothers Book 1)

by Selina Coffey

  “So your court desires me. That tells me nothing of you.”

  He looked away, jaw clenched.

  “You do not even have to desire me,” Ellieth fairly snapped. “I promised you that I would leave you in peace when this was done, and I will. God above knows, there are enough royal marriages that produced no heirs. But I will not have anyone say this was not done.”

  “And who would know?” he asked her sardonically.

  “Given that you left the wedding ceremony itself and came here, I imagine everyone knows!” She was yelling back now; her hands balled into fists.

  Much to her surprise, he stopped dead.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You…” Her voice trailed off. “You hadn’t thought of that? What did you imagine they were thinking, then?”

  “I needed to consult with the monks,” he said, his voice clipped. “I hardly thought at all about what the courtiers might be thinking.”

  “And you could not have waited one night?”

  “No.” He looked back at her, eyes flat. “I could not.”

  “What on earth could be so urgent?”

  “I prefer not to discuss it.”

  So it was to be one of those marriages. Ellieth released a slow, shuddering breath, and sat on one of the benches, folding her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. She had failed. She had been given her one chance, and she had failed— not from her skill in numbers, not from her diplomacy, but when she failed to strike a man with desire.

  Was there any way back? She had only until the conclusion of the war to win his heart. She twisted her fingers together and tried to remember to breathe. She must focus. She must find a new way.

  “Are you…” His voice was confused. “You look… frightened.”

  “Of course I’m frightened.” Ellieth forced the words out from between numb lips. She turned her face away to the snow-covered ground, and when she turned back, she gasped to see him standing by the bench. He moved so quietly that she had not even realized he was still in the garden with her.

  “Why?”

  “Because I need your goodwill to save my people,” Ellieth said without preamble.

  “What? From whom?”

  “Oh, come now, surely there is no need for niceties between us.” It was refreshing, after so much of his coldness, to put some acidity into her own words. “You know your kind could crush us the moment the dragons are defeated.”

  He flinched.

  “What is it?” Ellieth asked him, her train of thought derailed by what looked remarkably like fear. She had never seen such a warrior struck down by terror before.

  “It is nothing. Do you truly believe we would harm you?”

  “You tried to rule us for centuries,” Ellieth told him sharply. “Do you think we have forgotten? Have you forgotten?”

  “Elfhame does not turn on its allies,” he said simply. “Have your borders been threatened since the first alliance?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts. Your kind are safe until you violate the terms of our peace.”

  He was, she sensed, telling the truth. Which meant…

  “I’m here for nothing?” Ellieth whispered. She could not tell if this was better or worse, given the circumstances. Perhaps better… if it did not make her feel unwanted on yet another level.

  “You thought…” He sat heavily on the bench. “You thought that you could only secure peace with a marriage? That is why the marriage was a part of the accord?”

  “Of course!” Ellieth said, stung. “That is how politics works. Only by blood can accords be made certain.”

  “You have spent the past centuries believing we would turn on you the moment the Dragon Wars were done?” His voice was rising.

  “I… yes.”

  “I cannot believe this.” He tipped his head back. “And that is why you came here after me. That is why you insist the marriage must be consummated.”

  That, and the thought gave her an undeniable shiver of pleasure. She bowed her head to disguise the blush in her cheeks.

  “Would it be so terrible?”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “What?”

  “I…” His voice trailed off, and he met her eyes with a look of vague panic.

  “Yes?” She was going to throttle him if he couldn’t at least bring himself to be civil.

  “Please, forget what I said. My Lady, please.” He stood and backed away from her.

  Before she could think about what she was doing, Ellieth shot her hand out and grabbed his. He tugged at it, but she held firm.

  “My Lady?”

  “Your Highness.” She dragged with all her fragile might, knowing she could never match the strength of an Elven warrior. She could only bet that he would be disinclined to struggle with her, not wanting to make a scene.

  Much to her surprise, it worked. He thudded back onto the bench, making the collapse look graceful as only an Elf could.

  “Why?” she demanded of him softly. “No lies. I may never be your beloved, I may never be the bride you wanted; but at least let us be honest with one another.”

  “Honest?” He looked away. “You do not know what you ask.”

  “Clearly not,” Ellieth said softly. “I have not understood a single action of yours since we met.”

  “Ellieth.” His voice was unexpectedly warm as he spoke her name.

  “Yes?” She looked back to find his face far, far too close for comfort. Her breath caught.

  “Believe me that if circumstances were… different… I would be the husband you wanted.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Let me finish.” His voice was soft. “This marriage was not my choice, but the moment I saw you; I desired you. When I saw you with the court, I knew you would make a fine queen. And when you tracked me down here…” A hint of humor appeared in his dark eyes. “I saw that you were more than a beauty. Ellieth, someday I will be the husband you deserve. I swear to you, this marriage will be real… if you wish it.”

  “I wish it.” Was she a fool to admit as much? Ellieth leaned forward, tentatively.

  “I cannot.” He drew away from her, and swallowed when she took hold of his shirt. “Not yet. Ellieth, you must leave this place. When all is settled, I will return to Elfhame. To you.”

  Her mind was dizzy with contradictions. He looked, for all she could tell, like a man struggling with his own desire. And that gave her an idea. He had seemed alternately polite and brusque, warm with kindness and abrupt… flushed with desire, and yet cold to her. It was a mystery. That was what had drawn her, even if she could not admit it to herself at the time: not shame, not diplomatic necessity, but the puzzle of how he could seem to want her and then turn her away. Ellieth tilted her head to the side and then reached out, biting her lip, trailing her fingers down the side of his neck and inside the collar of his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” His eyes drifted closed, and his breath came short.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  He hesitated for one agonizing moment, and her breath came short— and then he pulled her close, roughly, his lips coming down on hers while she gasped in surprise. Her palm flattened over his chest, and she could feel his heart racing. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, and Ellieth gave a faint sigh of pleasure.

  When he shoved her away, she nearly sprawled onto the ground she was so surprised.

  “What…”

  “You have to leave.” He pointed behind her, his skin growing pale. “Now. Right now. Go.”

  “What?”

  “Go!”

  But it was too late. As Ellieth stumbled back, fury beginning to ignite in her blood, she saw his head wrench back, his frame go rigid. Was he growing taller?

  Surely he could not be— and just as surely, he was, stretching toward the sky. In horror, she watched talons curve, sharp and wicked, from his fingertips. Wings sprouted at his back, and his face changed slowly, a snout growing where
before there had been the clear, aquiline Elven features.

  The black dragon swung its head to her, roared its fury, and leapt into the sky. With three flaps of its wings it was gone, taking flight over the valley— and Ellieth was alone, sobbing her fear into the palm of her hand as she cowered in the snow of the courtyard.

  Chapter 4

  “Drink this.” The monk’s voice was soft, gentle.

  Ellieth took a sip and choked as the liquor burned its way down her throat. It was some sort of mead, she thought— sweet and fiery. And about twice as strong as anything she’d tasted before.

  “I thought you were monks!”

  The monk laughed. His blue skin was tinged with green, and his hair was as pale as Ellieth’s own, a color matched by his white robes. He gestured to her to keep drinking, and his smile was kind.

  “Elven monks do not renounce all worldly pleasures,” he explained. Another monk carried a tray of food into the room, bowing deeply to Ellieth, and then padded out. “For instance,” the monk said, shooting a conspiratorial glance at the Princess, “we recently convinced the King’s cook to join our order. Our motives were… mostly altruistic. I suggest the kabobs.”

  “Thank you.” Ellieth took the offered tray and sniffed at the food. “Oh, that smells amazing.”

  She paused, hand reaching for a spoon.

  “What is it?” The monk asked her.

  “It… seems unreal.” In her mind’s eye, she could still see Savin leaping into the air, his blue skin having given way to black scales and his wings blotting out the light of the stars.

  “I can only imagine.” The monk raised his eyebrows. “All things in life, however, are better after a good meal and a strong drink.”

  “If this is the sort of help you give pilgrims,” Ellieth observed tartly, “I can see why E’lessiell is so popular. Our monks are not so… hospitable.”

  “Indeed.” He stood and paced the room as she ate. “You have many questions, I expect.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Ellieth tried not to speak with her mouth full.

  “Normally, I would have said nothing to you. We are honor-bound to help those who come to us in secrecy— it is why Savin chose us, I am sure. But you have seen the truth now. I can hardly deny it.”

  “That he’s a dragon,” Ellieth said flatly.

  “A were-dragon,” the monk corrected. “Like a werewolf, although far more dangerous. And far less common.” His brow furrowed. “Indeed, we have never seen anything like it. And not only have we not…our inquiries to the other monasteries have given us no further information.”

  “But what is a were-dragon?” Ellieth whispered. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means that he transforms, and that the transformation is not yet a thing he can control.”

  “Yet?”

  “We can only hope that he will learn to control it someday,” the man told her. His face was grave. “And be thankful, in the meantime, that dragons are intelligent creatures. Where a wolf is no more than a killing machine, a dragon may choose its target. As you noticed when Savin did not kill you on sight.”

  “And so he hides away here,” Ellieth said softly.

  “He was seeking our help before the wedding brought him back to Elfhame,” the monk told her.

  “And so he returned.” Ellieth looked down at her plate, miserable. When her husband had needed her understanding, she had followed him into the one place he could be safe.

  “Yes. Now, we have seen that the curse is at its worst when he is in the grip of emotion,” the monk said softly. “Anger, fear…” His eyes met hers wryly. “… or desire.”

  It was the last piece of the puzzle. Everything fell into place, and Ellieth felt her mouth open in a little O of surprise. Savin had begged her to go, not because she disgusted him… but precisely for the opposite reason.

  “I have to find him,” Ellieth whispered. “Or… no, that’s a horrible idea. Is it? I have to apologize.”

  “I think he would understand that your intentions were not to hurt him,” the monk opined. “He will be back soon enough.”

  “When, do you think?”

  “It may be some time. But I think it would be wise for you to remain here. After all, it does no harm to the court to think that you are spending quiet time with your husband. And it would do you some good, I think.”

  His grasp of the court system was surprisingly astute, and Ellieth raised an eyebrow. Her curiosity, however, was not assuaged.

  “Why will it be so long?”

  “That, I am not at liberty to say.”

  He looked away, toward the distant mountains that rose beyond the borders of the Elven kingdom, dwarfing even the snow-capped peaks on which E’lessiell sat.

  “Please know that I wish only what is best for His Highness,” Ellieth said tentatively. “If we are to spend the rest of our lives together…” Her voice trailed away. “Please, tell me that he will not be harmed by this curse.”

  “No, although he must be careful not to be harmed by his own people.”

  “He’s the dragon that’s been seen in the valley,” Ellieth breathed.

  “And the war, previously beginning to wind down, came once again to the forefront of everyone’s mind… while the heir to the throne withdrew from peace talks and neglected his duties.” The monk’s voice was soft. Too soft.

  “What are you suggesting?” Ellieth asked him slowly.

  “I am suggesting that this is a condition unlike any we have seen before. The intelligent races do not often shape shift, and those conditions have almost always become the stuff of legend. If this is natural, then why does it strike only now? Why does it strike between two races at war, and why at the crown Prince of one of them?” He looked over at her. “It is a great deal too convenient for my tastes.”

  “Do you think that the dragonkin seek to destabilize Elfhame?” Ellieth frowned at him.

  “What do the dragonkin have to gain from this?”

  “A weakened enemy, and…”

  “By one warrior? In a war they themselves sued to end?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Ellieth looked down at her lap. She was just taking another bite of food when the answer hit her. “Dorel?”

  “A quick study, I see.”

  “No, it can’t be Dorel,” Ellieth told him. “Dorel is kind; he’s sweet, he’s…”

  “The sort of person who could pull this off without anyone suspecting what he had done. Which is precisely what he needs if he’s to take power. He knows his father is honorable to a fault. He’d never inherit if there were… suspicions.”

  “So, what, he’s planning for his brother to be shot down, and…”

  “And he knew what Savin would do if he could reach the dragon court,” the monk murmured. “After all these years… true negotiations at last.”

  “Savin’s gone to the dragon court.” Ellieth’s mouth dropped open. “He has, hasn’t he? He’s going to ask for peace.”

  “Which of course, by a recent order, I would bet anything Dorel endorsed… would be treason to Elfhame.”

  “Oh, my God.” Ellieth stood, running her hands through her hair.

  “I have to warn him.”

  “My lady, the court of the dragons cannot be reached without wings.”

  “They’re expecting an army, aren’t they? They’ll see one rider and wonder— enough, maybe, to grant me an audience if Savin is there.”

  “Or they might kill you outright.” His face was unreadable. “Or you might be convicted of treason yourself.”

  “What does it matter?” Ellieth asked impatiently. She stopped, took a deep breath. “I know it matters,” she said finally. “But he’s… he’s alone. And if I let him die, and let Dorel do this; I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “So you, also, believe it was the younger son?”

  “It’s too perfect not to be him. He wanted me to stay at Elfhame,” Ellieth said furiously. “He was so understanding, and he seemed like he was so
kind, so helpful— but every word he spoke only made me more ashamed.” She paused, then added grudgingly, “It was very well done. I suppose I should congratulate him.”

  “Your Highness, the Prince asked that we keep you safe. Away from him.”

  “You told me yourself, he’s no danger.” Ellieth considered. “And he wants to stop the war now. I should help. It’s my duty to help. That, of all the things I can do, will help us gain the loyalty of the Elves.” Her cheeks flushed as the Elven man looked at her, but eventually he nodded.

  “I see.”

  And so it was that Ellieth set out, the midnight air cloaking her as she rode out of the Elven lands on a dark horse, her hair covered and her face bent to hide it from any Elven patrols that might guard the borders. The monk’s whispered blessing rang in her ears, chilling her: Your Highness, it would be remiss of me to pretend that I believe this can succeed. But may any and all deities watch over you, and may luck guide your footsteps.

  Chapter 5

  Roars echoed in Ellieth’s ears, and she staggered, pressing her hands against the sides of her head. She was terrified, wind-burned and dizzy, awed from her trip up the mountainside.

  “A human?” The dragon on guard had asked her. It sounded amused.

  “I’m here with the black dragon,” Ellieth had said, her fingers balled into fists. There was no going back— her horse had bucked her and bolted as soon as the dragon uncoiled itself from the rocks at the base of the mountain.

  “Oh? The one who smells of… Elves?” It leaned close. “You smell of Elves, too. So the rumors are true: the Elves and the Humans join forces against us.”

  “They need not,” Ellieth said, as bravely as she could. “The war could be ended by peaceful means.”

  “The black dragon said the same.” And before she could say another word, it snatched her up in its talons and began to climb, wind whistling past and the air growing ever colder.

  “Ellieth?” A black dragon. Savin. Its head swung around to her, and its voice was low and gravelly.

  “I came to warn you,” Ellieth told him. “Your brother… the monks think he has done this to you.”

  “I thought as much.” Savin bared his teeth in what passed for a dragon’s smile. “Dorel is not quite as clever as he thinks he is.”