A Novella: Curse of the Night Dragon, #1

by S. K. Alden

  Nÿr held out the key, slid it into the lock, and then stopped. "What's inside here?" she asked, clearly curious.

  Kirin smiled and shook his head. "Not telling. You have to see for yourself."

  He watched Nÿr turn the key until the old lock clicked. The door opened surprisingly smooth and silent.

  And then she gasped as the room inside came into view, gently lit by the oil lamps he'd set earlier.

  He watched her face go blank, then transform in wonder as she took it in, seeing the fireplace, the rug, the bookcases, and the long oak table complete with blown-glass study lamps.

  "What is this place?" she breathed.

  Kirin took her hand and guided her inside. The answer was complicated, but he had already decided not to burden her with its entire history.

  "It's a room my brother and I used when we studied under the schoolmasters. Old cousin Connal showed it to us years ago." He smiled, trying to keep the rest of the story at bay.

  In truth, it had also been used by his mother when she was in training, and it had become old Connal's favorite haunt after her death.

  It had also been the very place where he and Gilleath had last spoken to their grandfather before he fell in battle...and young Gill had abruptly become King.

  But he and Gill had decided that the room deserved a new life, free from the memory of people long dead.

  So they had agreed Kirin and Nÿr should share it as a place of their own, away from prying eyes and social expectations.

  "I thought we might both like a place with some privacy," he said. "You can use it whenever you want," he went on, nodding at the key he'd given her. "No one's been up here for years. Well, except Maeg’s maids—she insisted on sending them up to clean this morning." He watched now as Nÿr turned a slow circle. Had he guessed correctly? Would she like it?

  Or was he presuming too much?

  Nÿr stopped and stood still, as if mesmerized. "The bookcases...!" she breathed.

  He gently took the oversized medical tome out of her arm. "Which chair do you want?"

  She considered the study table and put her hand on the back of the first chair, wood with a comfortable stuffed cushion on the seat. "This one is fine," she murmured, looking stunned. He realized she'd probably never had a room of her own.

  He set her book down, then stepped around to the chair at the other end, dropping his scroll case from his shoulder and setting it on the tabletop.

  "You have reading...I have construction plans to look at." He shrugged. "I thought we could both use the study time," he said.

  She smiled. "Both of us, bent over our papers, working into the night?" The idea seemed to amuse her, so he kept going.

  Nervous, he showed her the wooden drawers for her paper and pens, even a place for his drafting supplies. He turned up the flame on the table lamp, then searched his pockets for his flint.

  He held it up. "Shall I light the fire?" He hadn't meant to say it so softly. It had just come out that way. Then again, this would be the answer that told him whether she liked the place and wanted to stay.

  She nodded, looking completely speechless.

  He smiled in relief and bent to the task. The little fire crackled to light, but before he could stand, he felt a touch on his shoulder.

  She knelt beside him, her hands gently cupping his face, and she leaned forward to kiss him.

  Not one of those chaste, safe for public viewing kisses, either.

  It was fervent enough to slowly push him off center and onto his backside.

  "You have studying," he said, not really resisting another kiss.

  "You want to stop?" she asked, not really pausing.

  And after a week of nothing but proper and virtuous behavior between them, their spot on the plush rug in front of the fire was far too tempting.

  "Not," he said. "In the slightest." With that, he acted on his need to claim her...and he didn't hold back. He rose, one strong arm quickly turning his lovely lass to her back and he surged over her. His desire turned to a devouring kiss and he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. But he was welcomed and she met his kisses with a sureness that fed his warrior's heart...she wanted him, opened herself to him with exquisite warmth, and showed him that she was not afraid to follow his need.

  He pulled back then to catch his breath and took a moment to press his forehead to hers and caress her jaw with his thumb, murmuring her name one time, though he was far too overwhelmed for words.

  "Hush," she said, her voice deeper than usual. Her hands found the buckle on his bandolier, releasing it, then the clasps on his over-vest and the ties on his over-shirt...

  Sky above, the lass knew her way around his gear.

  Cneasaí... She'd surely divested many a lad of his battle armor to get to his wounds...

  All the better for me, Kirin smiled and then stopped her, got the flat of his hand under the hem of her Cneasaí smock and had it over her head in a flash.

  She laughed, and together they made rapid work of each other's outer gear-stripping away the clothing that identified them as commander and cneasaí, until they were down to their underthings and saw each other only as lad and lass.

  From there on they took their time in a slow, passionate final disrobing of each other, stopping to explore skin and curves and muscle with eager hands and ardent mouths. This room was warm and comfortable, after all. Nothing at all like the rustic, freezing guard room of their first, rushed encounter. And he liked that she had a willingness to show him what she wanted. She made it abundantly clear where they were headed, and Kirin was all too happy to oblige, though he genuinely made an effort to hold his strength in check and be considerate.

  At least right up until the time that she urged him not to be.

  Stone gods, lass. Yes...

  ...

  Kirin woke with Nÿr nestled against his shoulder, a soft blanket from the nearby chair draped over them. The fire had burned to embers, but it was enough.

  Enough for him to see her face, serene and relaxed.

  He could survive the rest of this long year, he decided, if what happened next was the thing he hoped for.

  He wanted to see her wake up next to him, wanted to know if the closeness he hoped for was really there. Because all the rest of it aside, that was the thing he was missing. Years of fighting and surviving the curse had brought this realization to him. He wanted the passion, yes. But he was also starved for the peace of simple tenderness and privacy to balance all his years of duty and service.

  She moved and woke sooner than he expected.

  He nearly held his breath.

  She blinked at him and her expression went from questioning to...an utterly adorable look of wide-eyed wonder and acceptance. They were here, together, and she liked it. She nuzzled his jaw, and he kissed her forehead. She burrowed closer.

  Relief flooded his heart. Yes. This is right.

  "I love you," she murmured, her voice still sleepy and sated. Her hand reached across his chest and rested on his shoulder with a sweet gentleness that touched his soul.

  "And I you," he said in a quiet voice, eyes closing in relief. "So much more than I can say."

  They were going to be all right, he realized. And getting on with his life was not going to be so hard. In fact, he had a feeling it was going to be downright interesting.

  Find artistic inspiration for this story on my Pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.com/skaldenauthor/

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  Coming soon, Fate of the Raven Guard, book two (novella) of the Curse of the Night Dragon series.

  Sneak peek:

  Chapter One

  Kirin, Prince of Snowmount, stood on the open parapet of Ravenrock wrapped in a fur-lined leather cloak, his wealth of black hair streaming behind him in the icy wind.

  Beside him stood his oldest nephew Fjall, eager for his first chance at ravenspeaking. The lad was in the early stages of growing his first scruff of beard and stood tal
ler than most lads his age—the top of his head nearly up to his uncle's shoulder, and he was just losing his child's frame and starting to fill out with some muscle. He was young, to be sure...but Kirin could see the promise of the lad. A few more years, some training and some weight...and Gill's son would make Eathom himself proud.

  "You remember everything your father said?" Kirin asked, watching his nephew stride forward to look over the edge.

  "Of course." And then the lad stopped himself and backed up to take position again at his uncle's side. "I mean...yes, sir."

  Kirin suppressed a grin. He recalled being Fjall's age...so eager to learn and do new things...and so impulsive and easily distracted. He was certain he and his brother had driven their trainers mad with it—which was one reason he had only one prince in his charge today and not all three.

  Fact was, Fjall might not be ready for this, but he was older than Kirin had been when he first encountered a Mountain Raven. And Snowmount had only six capable Ravenspeakers. They needed more.

  Yet bringing the lad into the open and giving him public responsibilities was not without risk. The war might be over and new King crowned in Seacliff...but there were still evil creatures in the dark corners of the seven lén who would hunt a Son of Eathom to his death, and Gill was not easily letting go of his protective instincts. He loved his children with a fierceness that Kirin knew well.

  Because he'd known it himself ever since he could remember.

  So Kirin was taking his training duty very seriously. He scanned the cold landscape around them—winter had come to Snowmount in a series of northern storms that blanketed the Mountain with a thick layer of snow. Foot patrols were curtailed by deep drifts and dangerous ice, and lookouts were stymied by gloomy cloud cover.

  In the rare daylight hours when skies cleared, those who could speak with ravens were essential: for ravens could fly reconnaissance across the lands around the mountain and bring back critical news.

  But the skill to be Ravenspeaker was found in a rare few: those with some connection to the fallen Lady Breitte—Fjall’s grandmother. Fact was, Snowmount had only six capable Ravenspeakers. They needed more.

  So Kirin had proposed Ravenspeaker duty for the lad, and Gill had reluctantly agreed. But Fjall had been born several years after his grandmother’s death. There was no guarantee that the ravens would take any notice of him.

  Yet Kirin was willing to try.

  "Well, you've had plenty of advice about this." Kirin winked at his nephew. "It's time to give it a shot. You ready?"

  The lad nodded, his expression sober.

  "Hold your position here," Kirin murmured. He walked a few paces away and looked up, scanning the cloudless blue sky. After a moment he raised his gauntleted arm and stood still.

  "How do you call them?" Fjall asked.

  "You don't," Kirin answered. "They just come along on their own when they see a Ravenspeaker. They know who we are."

  "How will they know me?" Fjall's expression was worried. It was his first day in training, and while he'd seen his father and uncle speak with ravens countless times, the ravens had never yet graced him with a single word.

  "That," Kirin said. "Will be lesson one. Introductions." Kirin lifted his chin toward the northwest. "Here's one—see him?" A sleek black body with outstretched wings soared overhead, wheeled about, then fanned its wingtips and began descending.

  Pre-order for Fate of the Raven Guard is available now!

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  Did you love Curse of the Night Dragon: A Novella? Then you should read Fate of the Raven Guard: A Novella by S.K. Alden!

  Prince Kirin commands the Mountaineers during deep winter weather, putting his trust in the raven flock for reports. But when the flock can't find his cousin in River Bend, Kirin pays a visit to that rough and tumble city where everyone is on edge. What he finds endangers loved ones much closer to home.

  Read more at S.K. Alden’s site.

  Also by S.K. Alden

  Curse of the Night Dragon

  Curse of the Night Dragon: A Novella

  Watch for more at S.K. Alden’s site.

  About the Author

  S.K. Alden lives in the Pacific Northwest and writes very early in the morning. Coffee is involved.

  Read more at S.K. Alden’s site.

  About the Publisher

  An independent publisher in the Pacific Northwest.