To Claim a King (Age of Gold Book 1)

by May Sage

  Rhey nodded his agreement.

  “I don’t know much, but the book this came from was extremely well guarded - under lock, key and magics. I couldn’t even take it out of the archives. It’s actually just a history book…talking about the Rift.”

  Rhey turned to his friend. The Rift? No one talked of it. They learned, as dragonlings, that humans, Elves, Fae and other races blessed by Aether lived together in peace, a thousand years ago. Then, all of a sudden, the Dragons had separated themselves from them. The end. No one was allowed to ask questions; the teachers didn’t even know the answers.

  “Before the Rift, when we all partied under the same roof, there apparently were what that book called Dragon Riders. Most were Elves, some were Fae, and occasionally, humans too. It says that Riders were born - not made - and never showed any skill until they’d bonded with one of us. It says they bore marks - runes - just like our pretty little friend’s.”

  His brain was going to explode. Dragon Riders? What did that even mean?

  “We’re wild creatures - not horses.”

  “Indeed. And we’re wild creatures that are going mad, feral. Riders were mortals with the ability to calm us. According to that book - I think it was written right after the Rift - those who disliked our race, or figured that we would be weakened without our riders, ended up murdering the potential riders before they’d bonded, while they were still vulnerable. The King at the time, Demelza’s grandfather, I think, went on a rampage, killing everyone who’d done this, and made us leave. He wasn’t wrong, I’m sure. Honestly? I don’t recall much. I’ve only remembered this bit because, well, it was a secret, and secrets are valuable.”

  Rhey nodded. That explained the Elders’ reactions; they’d wanted their secret to stay hidden, and getting rid of Xandrie might have seemed like the easiest way to do so.

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  Vincent tilted his head.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. What would be the point? Anything I know would just invite more questions. I say, let her discover what she’s capable of herself.” Then, clapping his hands, Vincent yelled above the sounds of weapons clashing, “Alright, enough you two! You’re going to hate your muscles on the morrow. Go take a warm bath and relax.”

  Xandrie’s eyes shone when she turned to Vincent, but then, her eyes landed on him, and she froze, averted her gaze, and blushed.

  Rhey smiled in response. He was apparently not the only one affected…then he remembered they were only fighting because Demelza wanted to train for the upcoming tournament - the one where his wife would be chosen for him.

  It was his fault, really. If he had chosen someone to saddle himself with over the last ten years since he’d taken the throne, the elders would have left it alone, but he hadn’t.

  Perhaps it was her fault, for having been fifteen at most, a decade back, and for not having entered his Kingdom until now.

  Dragons weren’t known to be hesitant, particularly not when it came to their treasures. They saw something they wanted, and they took it. The moment he’d met her, his beast decided she was theirs to have, and not being able to act on the dragon’s demand burned his very soul.

  Something was changing, he wasn’t sure how or why, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Xandrie consumed his thoughts the way gold had, not even a month ago. Now, instead of bathing in his pool of coins, instead of counting his gold when he was in his den, he laid on his bed and thought of the woman’s eyes, or such things.

  Alright. Sometimes, maybe he thought of her ass, too. She had a very, very fine one.

  “You fight well,” he said - the first words he’d addressed to her in three weeks and five days. He’d seen her eleven times, since - she’d seen him only once: now.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Elza kicked my ass, and I know it. Thank you, though.”

  Rhey stared at her until she relented and lifted her eyes to him.

  “I do not offer flattery, woman. I am king; other people flatter me.” She might have rolled her eyes if he didn’t say it with a self-depreciative smile. “I said you fight well. Accept it.”

  Another blush. The damn woman had to stop or he’d give another meaning to Dragon Rider.

  “Thanks.”

  He smiled a little, and her mouth popped open, which made the length between his legs stand to attention.

  Down, you. That wasn’t an invitation to fill those pretty lips.

  The dragon inside him protested, thinking that this reasoning was idiotic. Damn horny beast.

  “You may want to try another weapon; it didn’t suit you. Also, spread your legs a little wider to gain more balance.”

  Yes, spread your legs…

  He told the dragon to shut it, and sighed.

  “Giving out free advice, Rhey?” Demelza asked, her amused smirk making him believe she knew exactly what his mind thought of their little human rider. “That’s not like you.”

  It wasn’t. He excelled in fighting because he knew everyone’s weakness. Alerting them of their errors wasn’t his usual policy.

  “Perhaps you’ve already perfected your style,” he lied.

  There was plenty of ways Elza could improve, but as much as he liked her, despite the fact that they were the best of friends, he wouldn’t wish to see her growing stronger. It went against the principles of most Kings; he’d empower a potential enemy.

  Demelza’s family had ruled before his, and they would rule again, if he ever failed. A while ago, he hadn’t believed it mattered. Since that Council meeting, where a bunch of idiots had almost sent an innocent girl to the dungeon because of their fears or their agendas, he understood what it meant to be King. His Kingdom’s very soul rested on his shoulders, and he didn’t want to see it changing hands.

  So regardless of any history, or affection, everyone who had a claim to his crown was a potential enemy. Everyone.

  Except the human born woman standing in front of him. This one, he and his dragon were in agreement about. She was safe. She was theirs.

  At the back of his head, he reminded himself of the Claiming - and thoroughly ignored his own warning. It mattered not. They could have her, just the once, before his fate was sealed, couldn’t they?

  Yes, the beast told him, baring his teeth in a resemblance of a smile. Just once.

  Rhey sighed, wondering why his own damn dragon thought he was foolish enough to not hear him lie.

  Wild

  The Claiming was finally upon them and the palace was abuzz with energy. Xandrie allowed Demelza’s maidservant, Galdia, to dress her hair, while she watched the women of Farden stream across the drawbridge and into the arena, their cutlasses, broadswords, rapiers, and flail maces borne proudly on their shoulders. It was going to be a blood bath. She could only pray her dear friend was ready to slice and dice her way through the competition.

  Galdia, a heavily pregnant maid, rattled on as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “We shall call the child Galden after me, if he’s a boy, and Arin after my mate, if she’s a girl.”

  The truth of the matter lay between them, unspoken, but Xandrie felt no weight, no dread, no foreboding from the maidservant. Galdia faced her own possible death with such cheer, it was an inspiration.

  There was a knock at the door and before Galdia had moved to open it, Demelza stuck her head into the room. “Got a sec?”

  Xandrie waved her in, surprised and delighted to see her friend - she would have thought that she’d be out of door, down to the Arena, surveying her competition.

  “Close your eyes,” said Demelza.

  Trusting her friend implicitly, she did as she was bid, and heard the door squeak on its hinges, then the swish of Demelza’s arms against her steel breastplate, but there was another, gentler sound, a padding of giant paws. She felt her adrenaline tick up; no, it wasn’t possible, right? She hardly dared hope. She’d made the journey between the Var and Farden - almost a day of flight. It already blew her mind that Demelza had made such
a trip every week to meet her; her friend wouldn’t have gone that far and back, just for an animal.

  “Open,” said Demelza, and there he was.

  She hardly could believe her eyes. Claws, her darling tiger cub, pressed his head into her lap, purring up a storm.

  “I figured he needed you as much as you need him, but I’m telling you, think twice before loading a tiger onto your back. The guy has gained some serious muscle.”

  “How on Eartia did you bring him back all the way?”

  “Well, I had to coax him into a cage - and he didn’t like that very much, but each time I said that he’d see you again, he relented a little. Vincent came with me, and Rhey officially authorized it, so that the Elders wouldn’t fret overmuch. We convinced them tigers were common pets nowadays.”

  As Demelza spoke, all smiles, Xandrie ran her hands over Claws’ massive shoulders, marveling at how much he’d grown.

  “I owe you,” the words were failing her. “Whatever, whenever. This kindness means I’ll hide a body with you, if you so require.”

  “I shall recall that pledge, Alexandria. When I say the word, bring the shovel. Right, I really ought to show my face now. See you down there.” Demelza pecked her on the cheek and marched out of her room.

  “What a beauty,” Galdia said, bringing a hand close to Claws’ silken fur. A low growl warned her away, and she wisely retracted it before his jaw could close on her fingers. Claws was a softie - to her, and to Demelza, by extension. The rest of the world, she wouldn’t vouch for.

  “You’ll look quite fierce, strolling in the Arena with a wild beast by your side,” she told her.

  “You think I can bring him with me?”

  Galdia just shrugged. “Can’t see why not, so long as he doesn’t take to dragon flesh. The King allowed it, or so the mistress says. Now, let’s get that silly dress off. If you’re going in with a tiger, might as well thoroughly look the part.”

  Xandrie was relieved when the woman found soft leather breeches, a tunic and a silver trimmed coat to adorn her; it was still noble attire, she could tell.

  “There. Much better.”

  It was, and more comfortable, too. Xandrie’s reflection showed the woman she’d known for her first twenty five years and seven months on Eartia, but her bushy hair was soft, and elegantly plaited to one side of her face, her green cloak was a deep teal, rather than an almost-grey, and there was no hole or dent that she could see. Just an upgrade on good old Xandrie.

  “Now, do you need me to show the way, or will you find the Arena?”

  “Down to the town square, right and downhill,” she recited, and therefore was allowed to go on her way unescorted.

  A little later, she realized her error - perhaps having someone with her might have saved her from quite so many glances; everyone she passed stared at her like she’d grown a second head. At first, she thought it was because of what she was - the human His Highness had brought to their Kingdom was bound to cause some talk - but when she’d almost made it to the Arena, a child detached its little hand from his father and trotted towards her; the entire crowd seem to hold its breath. So, that was what they were wary of - her tiger, not her. She shook her head; there went her assumptions.

  “Avgar,” the father yelled, rushing to their side, but the happy little boy reached them too quickly.

  Xandrie dropped to her knees, and kept her hand firmly on Claws’ head, fixing him under her gaze. The animal couldn’t literally roll his eyes, but his expression said it all - really? He seemed to ask. You think I’d eat a cub? Idiot.

  “Hey there,” she smiled at Avgar, who blushed and showed off his set of dimples. “His name is Claws, and he likes it best when he’s scratched between the ears.”

  Avgar asked shyly, “Can I?”

  Could he? She thought so. She wasn’t quite a hundred percent certain, though, and testing her belief with a six year old may possibly not be the best of ideas out there.

  “I believe you may. Approach slowly, alright?”

  The crowd circling them released their breath alongside her, when Claws leaned into the child’s touch and released a deep, happy growl that wasn’t a purr.

  “He doesn’t have the presence of a pet,” a man close by told her.

  She thought she recognized him; she’d seen him with a handful of well-dressed officials Demelza had told her were the Elders of the Realm; the wise men who formed the King’s council. “This is a wild animal, and yet, he listens to you.”

  She shrugged, “I cared for him as a cub.”

  The man nodded, deep in his thoughts, but a woman - dressed in armor, visibly ready to fight for the King’s hand - pulled his sleeve before he could add anything else.

  “Nathos, they’ve called for registration - we’re already late.”

  They went on their way, and so did Xandrie. Vran, the child’s father, accompanied her, as Avgar wouldn’t be parted from his newfound, furry friend.

  “So, is it true that you hail from the Northern Var?” someone asked to her left.

  “Are you really one hundred percent human?” someone else tried.

  She replied, and just like that, the matter was closed - introductions followed an invitation to sit with them. Xandrie did have a place reserved with the nobles… but she refrained from saying so, and went with them, glad to have some company.

  “I’m a half-blood,” a woman who’d introduced herself as Lucie said. “Bear and Dragon. It’s not unusual around there - there’s plenty of bears amongst the guards, and a few wolves, too.”

  “So, it’s not only a dragon Kingdom?”

  “It’s a shifter Kingdom,” she replied with a shrug. “The dragons just rule it - and with good reason. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all tough. I can take any Elf, any Fae, and most fiends you throw my way, but only dragons can fight dragons and live to tell the tale.”

  Xandrie frowned; did Demelza downplay her skills that much with her, then? Because while she still lost against her, it wasn’t by much.

  “Oh, we better pay attention. The Claiming’s starting.”

  Lily

  Everyone’s head was turning towards the tribunes high above, adorned in red and gold - the King’s, she guessed, rightly, as Rhey soon appeared, an elegant cloak carelessly thrown over his shoulder and a long scroll in hand.

  “This is the first moon of the ninth month, and as the Elders have dictated, the Claiming Tournament shall commence.” He looked at the scroll, and a deep frown marred his expression. Then, a few people gasped, and others laughed, as the King closed the parchment, and threw it behind his shoulder. “That was long and boring. It’s a hot day - don’t forget to drink plenty of ale and have fun. Betting is outlawed, which is bloody stupid if you ask me, because it means we can’t tax it. My friend Wendar over there is probably running some illegal gambling, if you’re keen,” he waved to a man, who got up and bowed deep, as everyone laughed. “Old boy? Put one coin on the pretty blond, would you?”

  Xandrie smiled her shook her head. She’d never seen or heard of a noble behaving that way - so refreshingly. He tamed the goofy smile. No. She wasn’t going to find him charming, on top of everything else. She wouldn’t.

  “Now, let the damn Claiming begin.”

  The lightheartedness didn’t last. Xandrie had never seen such violence. Sure, there were battles in the Northern Var and she’d been witness to amputations, lethal gashes, and beheadings, but the sheer, bloody rage these women brought to the Arena was a sight to behold. Some bouts lasted many long, heart-clenching minutes, but most were over in a couple of swipes of a well-trained sword.

  It was obvious that the Claiming was skewed in favor of the nobility, as Demelza had told her. It was they who had the superior weapons, the dedicated trainers, and the time to hone their craft to a point. The women of the lower class limped, crawled, and hobbled out of the ring, their dreams of Queenship in tatters.

  Demelza took her turn in the ring. From the moment she raised her flamberge, sh
e comported herself with skill and dignity. The flame-sword was known for its wicked reverberations, but Demelza wielded it as though there weren’t a thousand jolts of reverb traveling up through the hilt and into her shoulders. She was an artist. Neither did her friend go for the easy victory; she fought with passion and precision, but invited her opponents to strut their stuff.

  Demelza had explained her strategy to Xandrie, and she was visibly sticking to it. She was going to fight to send a signal that she was not to be fucked with, but she saw no need to humiliate anyone who’d had the guts to appear before the highest in the land and fight. Their families were in the stands; these women would have to go home and tell tales of battling for the King’s hand. She wanted them to do so with pride. No one who fought her left the ring demoralized or with more than a scratch. She danced with them until they relented, then a bowed as they exited. No surprise, then, that she was the crowd’s favorite.

  Demelza had won every bout she’d fought and come out top of her ranking when she was paired against the statuesque blonde Xandrie recognized; the one who’d led that Councilman away from her earlier. The crier identified her as Saskia Xaxan.

  Saskia was clearly of noble birth; she held herself in a way that made that clear, and she wore shining armor that made Xandrie smile.

  Honestly, these things that all these women, her friend included, were adorned in could hardly pass as armor, come to think of it. It was made of metal, sure, but it seemed crafted to flatter their figure rather than to stop a blade from piercing their skin. Saskia’s was worse; most of her breasts and stomach were exposed.

  Xandrie wondered if it was she that the King had meant, when he’d said he wanted to put money on the pretty blonde, and right then, she wanted the woman to lose. Badly.

  Not that it would make a difference - to win the first round, they simply had to win one single fight. She’d bet anything that the woman had won her fair share.

  “Saskia,” Demelza greeted, bobbing her head. “You look well.”