King's Bride: A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy (Drakoryan Brides Book 5)

by Ava Sinclair

  “Look at you,” I say. “The witches have gone Inward and you squander magic to make yourself beautiful.”

  “So, you find me beautiful do you?” A brow arches on the perfect face beneath the hood. He sighs. “I’m afraid it’s no use, Prince Rargi. My heart belongs to a strapping young soldier, for the moment at least. And even if I did fancy you, you’re about to take a mate.”

  Only Ezador, Oracle to the Kings, could get away with such impertinence.

  “Careful,” I say. “Lest I track your soldier down and tell him that beneath the glamor is a wizened old man.”

  “Bah…” He waves me off. “Let me have my fun, Prince Rargi. There is so little to be had in these times that the only solace I find is in my looking glass.” His tone grows serious. “I feel her approaching, your virgin. Do you sense her?”

  I don’t know. I look back at the crack on the wall. “I’ve been thinking on how she was left to wander in the woods under a spell, nearly starved. They say she doesn’t remember her time with the ShadowFell.”

  Ezador’s reply is quiet. “Yes. They do. They do say that.”

  “They also say she’s weak and thin. It’ll be like bedding a pile of twigs. How will she be able to handle a dragon’s lust?”

  “They are not so frail as they seem, these humans. And remember, this one survived her time with King Seadus.”

  “Don’t call him that.” I wheel around, not even trying to hide my anger. But the oracle is unfazed. “Why not? Like it or not, Prince Rargi, Seadus is indeed king of the enemy horde. He has found the deep magic. You will have to deal with him both as a dragon and a man.” He turns away. “In more ways than one.”

  “Speaking in riddles again, are we?” I’m irritated at myself for taking the bait. It’s what he wanted, after all.

  “Life is a riddle, my arrogant prince. Sometimes the answer comes in the most unassuming forms, and lessons from dark places we never knew existed.” He waves a hand, using the magic that keeps him beautiful to open the door. “You should get to the throne room. The others are already seated and ready to meet the bride of the future king.”

  Chapter 5

  Zara

  The entire village of Branlock could fit inside this room. I would be overwhelmed if I did not already know what these men are. They are dragons. Dragons need space, room to prowl, room to curl their long bodies around corners, room to thrash their serpentine tails and curl their long necks upwards so they can look down on the likes of my kind.

  This is the largest castle, Isla tells me, because in the old days the Drakoryans were seeking to control their shifts. Uncontrolled emotion could cause them to turn from man to dragon without warning, and the rooms and tunnels of the Mountain of Kings were made especially large to accommodate two arguing brothers who might shift into beasts in any hall or hallway. There is something in the royal bloodline, she says, that makes their shifts harder to control.

  “Even if it was made for dragons, it seems like too much room.” I can’t stop thinking of how massive the mountain was as we approached.

  “That too, is for a reason,” my sister explains. “In the early days, it was not uncommon for princes to each take a bride, or even more than one if they chose. Not all the princes could be king, so from time to time there were battles determining who would hold the Mountain of Kings. Those who lost became lords. They got their own mountain, but only one family could rule.”

  “But today brothers take but one bride,” I say. “Why?”

  “Because long ago the witches determined the number of hungry dragons could reach unsustainable levels, so the order was reversed. Sharing a mate meant each dragon could father a son, but the population would grow more slowly.”

  “Getting a lesson in Drakoryan history?” Lady Lyla of Fra’hir joins us, looking resplendent in a red velvet gown. The front is stretched tight over her swollen belly. She is heavy with child, and her belly is larger than I’d think for just being halfway along and find myself wondering if Drakoryan babies grow larger. I glance at my own stomach, flat as a board. I can’t imagine it swelling so.

  “You’ll need a knowledge of this culture, now that you’re to be queen,” Lady Lyla says, and I raise my eyes from her swollen middle. Like my sister, she looks content, despite the fact that we are at war.

  “I will try, my lady,” I say.

  I find myself introduced to more and more lords and ladies. They clasp my hands and compliment me on my bravery. It seems everyone in the empire has been apprised of what I suffered in the grip of the ShadowFell, how I was put under a spell and left to be discovered by the Drakoryan, how when it was determined that only witch magic could save me I was taken to the Mystic Mountain by those unaware that I secretly housed the powerful magic that opened it from within.

  I had expressed fear to my sister before coming here. Were it not for me, the ShadowFell would not have been able to enter the Mystic Mountain and access the deep magic of the pools to become half-man as the Drakoryan are.

  I smile politely as I am introduced to family after family, each with seemingly more knowledge of my ordeal than I have.

  A horn sounds, and everyone stops talking. “Lords and Ladies of the Drakoryan Empire!” I can hear the voice of the castle crier, but cannot see him. “Make way for the sons of the fallen King Vukurcis, long may he reign in the heart of man and dragon. Make way for the Princes Bymir, Rargi, Yrgi, and Oneg.

  The lords and ladies bow their heads but do not bend the knee; that gesture is reserved for the king. Even though I am to be their mate, at the moment I am just another subject with her head lowered in obeisance, although I do raise my eyes as they pass.

  They are large and wear the traditional leather skirts, but with ornate tunics bound about the middle by belts etched with dragon insignia. Their legs are muscular and booted. Each wears a prince’s crown, but on the seat of a conspicuously empty throne is the king’s crown they will fight for. I have to remind myself that they will also fight for me. It still seems as unreal as a dream.

  The princes’ thrones are on either side of the empty one that belonged to the fallen king. Two brothers go left, two go right, and only when they are seated does the crier tell us to lift our eyes and look upon the Sons of Vukurcis, which I have already done.

  A man walks up the steps now, or glides. His motions are so fluid as to make it hard to determine how he’s moving, and when he turns I cannot help but stare at the most beautiful face I have ever seen.

  “Ezador, the king’s oracle,” my sister whispers in my ear. “He uses magic to make himself comely. But don’t let his youthful beauty fool you. He is cunning and wise and as respected as the kings he’s served.”

  I crane my neck to see. The oracle’s silvery eyes scan the room. I feel a sudden shiver as they lock on me. A smile plays on his full lips and my heart twists. It’s a comforting smile and I feel suddenly calm and at ease. I know he’s working magic on me from where he stands, but I do not care. I am strangely grateful for it.

  “Lords and Ladies of the Drakoryan Empire…” His words rise and fall like a melody as he stretches out his hands. “As decreed by law, when the ashes of the old king have blown to the four corners of the valley, from his seed a new king will rise. But not just a new king, but a new queen—a virgin captured, a virgin saved, a virgin exalted to the throne as bride to all and queen to one.”

  “Bride to all, queen to one.” The crowd repeats his words and the oracle stretches out his hands again. As he does, I gasp. I can feel the warmth of a hand on mine. It’s his hand, and yet he is at the front of the room. I see mine raised as I’m lifted from my seat. I look helplessly at Isla, who nods for me to approach the dais.

  My heart thuds against my too-sharp breastbone. I feel small as I look up the aisle, towards the powerful princes who sit two abreast on each side of the empty chair.

  While the princes all recognized the old king as father, they were actually sired by four different brothers. King Vukuris outlived
his brothers, just as he outlived the queen. In the men before me, I see the same small build. But I also see the differences in parentage.

  Isla told me they are seated in order of birth, so the one farthest to the left would be Prince Bymir. He has a close-cropped beard, brown like his hair that curls to the top of his shoulders. His nose is slightly hawkish, giving him a predatory look. His mouth is wide, and I think he would have a big smile. But he is not smiling. His arms and chest are broad under his tunic. One hand grips the armrest of the throne as I approach.

  The second born is Rargi. His hair is dark blonde, his beard brown and cut short like his brothers. We passed murals on the way to the throne room. One depicted his mother, Queen Rina. With his lighter coloring and sculpted features, Prince Rargi looks more like the queen than any of the others.

  Prince Yrgi is third born. His dark hair is worn in a knot that sits high on his head. His elbow is on the armrest of his throne, and of all the brothers he studies me the most intently, his dark eyes curious and smoldering. He is the most powerfully built, with a thick neck and thighs like tree trunks. I flush when the skirt he’s wearing tents as I get closer. My sister told me this happens, that Drakoryans are lustful and the males do not hide it when the staffs between their legs grow hard with arousal. Still, it is unnerving; I wish Prince Yrgi would look away. When he doesn’t, I focus on the last prince.

  The youngest, Prince Oneg, looks exactly like the images of the young King Vukuris I saw on the murals. He has ebony hair, his mother’s sculpted features but a stronger jaw and the same serious eyes. He wears a small goatee that frames full, sensuous lips. His eyes are dark like Prince Yrgi’s, but where the third-born prince still watches intently, Prince Oneg’s eyes sweep over me almost disdainfully before he looks away.

  At the foot of the dais, I curtsy low and then look up at the four sons of Vukurcis.

  “Do you know what it means to be a queen of the empire, child?” The oracle has moved to my side.

  “No,” I say, “not beyond that it is my duty to the people who saved me.”

  The oracle turns, speaking as much to the assembly as to me. “To be a queen is to be a mother, not just to the future king, but to the empire. The Deepening for a Drakoryan Queen is so much more than the Deepening for other brides, for she becomes the recipient of not just the knowledge of her new people, but all their cares and fears, all their hurts and hopes, all their victories and losses. The queen, above all else, understands. She is the vessel that holds, and the vessel that gives. And she will be the most loved and protected female in the Empire.”

  He turns to me then, earnest. “Are you ready to do your duty to the Drakoryan Empire? Are you, Zara of Branlock, ready to do your duty not just for the Drakoryans, but for your fellow humans who live under dragon rule?”

  Nooooo.

  I hear the word hissed in my head and with it comes a heat that makes me tense. I hear a rumble and look to the dome of the hall. Is it shaking, or is it my imagination?

  “Zara of Branlock.” The oracle’s voice is louder. “Are you ready to do your duty, to receive the full protection of the Drakoryan Empire?”

  The only word I hear is protection, and that is what I want now more than anything else as I struggle to hide the fear of the voice in my head.

  “Yes,” I say loudly. “Yes.”

  The hiss and the rumble recedes, but I still feel the emotion behind it. Somewhere, someone has heard my vow, and he is angry.

  Chapter 6

  Prince Yrgi

  How many maidens have my kind snatched from rocks? The time for that is over with the resettlement of our human subjects to the Drakoryan Empire. Yet in this maiden’s eyes I still see the age-old fear of our kind. She knows the dual nature of the men who will claim her.

  When I see how small she is, when I think of her in the dark clutches of King Seadus, of his intentions, my protective urge heats my blood. A Drakoryan’s desire to protect is tied to his desire to mate. I do not know if my brothers have the same reaction to the small female standing before us. I only know that I cannot look away.

  “Welcome to the Mountain of Kings.” Bymir addresses the diminutive woman.

  “Thank you, your Highness.”

  “Do you remember your time with the enemy, little one?”

  She raises her eyes to him. “No, Your Highness. I only remember being taken.”

  Bymir nods. “No one will take you again. This castle is an impenetrable fortress. You will be protected here. In the Mountain of Kings, the enemy cannot reach you.” He stands and we all stand with him.

  “We will fight for you now, Zara of Branlock. The victor will not only claim you, but the crown. Come nightfall, you will lie for the first time with a man. A king. Are you ready to do that duty as well? It is a vow you must make now, not just before us, but before the assembly. It is a queen’s vow.”

  She has been instructed on what to do.

  Zara of Branlock slowly turns to face the room. As she does, I can see how her long hair, the same shade as her sister’s, falls in glossy red waves down her back, all the way down to her buttocks. Her posture is stiff. She knows she is to speak loudly enough so the room can hear her.

  “I am prepared to do my duty as bride and as Queen for the Drakoryan Empire.” There’s enough force behind her words to carry them through the room, where they rebound in a small echo. Her voice seems bigger than she is, and the effort appears to have deflated her somewhat. Her shoulders slump as if in defeat. This is truly a woman ready to do her duty, but because she knows it is expected, not because she has chosen it.

  “We too, are ready to do our duty.” Bymir looks out at the assembly. We will take to the skies now, brother against brother. May we honor the legacy of those who battled before us.”

  We leave by a door behind the dais. The lords and ladies will exit through the great hall. The lords will shift into dragons in the massive tunnels and carry their ladies to the high cliffs that would take days to reach in human form. Zara of Branlock will ride with Lady Isla of Za’Vol.

  For them, it will be an easy journey. For me and my brothers, it is difficult. Something changes in a Drakoryan prince when the intention to battle for bride and crown are officially announced. The lust for both physical release and power is magnified beyond what other Drakoryans feel. So is the rage.

  We will each exit through different side tunnels leading to separate ledges, where we will shift just before the battle. It takes all our will not to shift in the main tunnels. As I depart, I see my brothers ahead of me in the tunnel leading to the ledges. We glance at one another with loathing. The sound of our ragged breathing echoes off the walls. Our blood is like molten fire in our veins. I can see it, glowing under my skin. I can feel the dragon pushing against this human form, eager to burst through in flame.

  I grit my teeth, imagining the pleasure I would feel if they were locked on to Oneg’s wing, or Bymir’s throat. I clench fists that will soon be huge feet armed with curved claws, relishing the chance to slice through the vulnerable webbing of Rargi’s wing. I bring my hand to my head, imagining the crown resting there. My cock bobs against my skirt. I imagine sinking it into the warmth of the trembling virgin.

  Bymir has moved into the side tunnel leading to his ledge. Ahead, Oneg breaks into a sprint. I can hear him gasping. I can feel the heat off his skin from here. No words have passed between us today, but we all know our youngest brother poses the biggest threat in battle. He is eager to separate from us. He makes it his tunnel just in time. I hear him roar as he makes his way to the ledge. Rargi is the next to disappear from view. I resist the urge to pursue him into the passageway. The desire to fight is strong, and I am relieved when I find my own tunnel and see the light at the end of it.

  I am almost at the ledge when the flame overtakes me. I feel it burn me from inside out, searing away my human vocal cords before I can scream from the pain. I see only the white heat and then I am the flame, sucking in the air around me as I shoo
t through the tunnel.

  Next comes the feeling of being pulled inward, of being molded and cooled, like molten rock as they hit the water. The passageway is moist, and there’s a hiss of steam as flame shapes into dragon form, solidifies. I am dragon. I am power. I am hungry for victory. I look down to see my huge clawed feet. My wings are folded tight to my body. My serpentine tail flicks behind me, striking the walls.

  I emerge onto the ledge and see my brothers, their eyes reflecting the same ancient hunger. It’s the hunger to rule. The hunger to mate. The hunger to win.

  Chapter 7

  Prince Oneg

  I should not have to battle them. I should not have to share their colors. They know I am the trueborn son of King Vukuris. The others may call him father, but the king sired but one, and it is me.

  The cliff face curves beyond the ledge where I stand, the winter sun glinting off my scales. They are royal purple, like my brothers’. Victory will change that. When the new king is crowned, when he next shifts he will be the same gray as armor, the color of kings.

  It will be me! Do you hear me? It will be me!

  My mind screams to my brothers, who whip their heads around, extending their necks as they answer my challenge with roars that shake the rocks. On the viewing platform below, I catch sight of the lords and ladies. I hone my dragon sight on the tiny maiden who will be queen, but I do not care about her. A king cannot afford to be romantic, especially not in time of war. I will bed her quickly, then leave my brothers to woo and seduce the bride what I have opened with my cock. Let them ply her with patience. Let them court and flatter some silly village maiden. By then I will be in the war room, planning to avenge the death of father — my father!— as only a trueborn son can.