Korven's Fire: Dragon Prince of Wye

by Nancey Cummings

  Pent up energy took him to the training facility. He had not spared or trained in hand-to-hand combat for two years. Olver and Derix practiced with him enough to defend himself but it was the hard exhaustion he needed now. He needed to kick the living shit out of something. Preferably Ragnar’s pretty face but a training dummy would suffice.

  He flowed through the martial forms, one into another. His limbs struck the dummy, absorbing the blow. It did not hold the same satisfaction as a true opponent.

  He knew his grandmother meant well. Her instincts were to isolate and turn inward, which served her well when she’d inherited a kingdom in turmoil. Her will and cunning kept order on Wye and solidified her reign. Her methods worked a generation ago but now they were old fashioned and more harmful than helpful.

  She thought removing his title and credit would matter to him? No. To be disinherited would mean to be removed from the people he loved: his parents, his cousins, even her.

  That gave him pause.

  But if he followed his heart, if he chose Adelle and their nestling, he could live as an ordinary male. No title. No duties and politics. Just an ordinary male and his family.

  Really, it was no choice at all.

  “You call that a sweat?” Ragnar took an opponent's form on the mat. He held out a hand, palm up, and motioned for Korven to attack.

  The males moved with swift and violent attacks. Each countered the other. No blow struck true or too hard. No deflect perfectly avoided the strike.

  “Cousin, you shame us,” Ragnar said, mirth radiating on his face. “Olver has trained you better than this.”

  Korven surged forward, striking a flurry of blows. Ragnar countered each one. There was a reason his cousin was head of his security. For all this play acting and blustering ego, Ragnar was a skilled warrior.

  “Rumor is the queen will try to bribe you.”

  “Threaten, most likely.”

  “Will it work? Will you give up the Terran?”

  Korven gritted his teeth. There was nothing to give up. Adelle was his. The mother of his nestling. His.

  “If you will not have her, I will take her. She seems a sweet enough Terran fruit to pluck.” Ragnar grinned broadly, as if pleased with his generosity. The thought of anyone touching what was his—

  His fist connected solidly with Ragnar’s classically strong and chiseled jaw.

  The faux-prince flew backwards onto the mat in the most satisfying way.

  Ragnar slowly sat up, rubbing his jaw. “You think she will not accept me if I am roughed up? No, cousin, I think she prefers her males to be a bit rugged.”

  Korven moved, fists ready to deliver a new series of blows. Ragnar held up his hand in surrender. “Peace, cousin. I only meant to take your temperature.”

  What did that mean? Korven was burning alive. The only one who eased the fire in him was Adelle.

  “The queen would speak with you before the celebration.”

  “She sent you to deliver a message? Or to see how serious I was about the female I love?”

  Ragnar climbed to his feet. “Truth, cousin. I do not know the queen’s intentions. I was commanded to fetch you and so I have. And I was curious. Your female is amusing.”

  Korven growled a warning.

  “But she is not for me,” Ragnar concluded.

  “Stay with her this evening,” he said. “She will know no one and I know Lady Frei will toy with her like a feline with a rodent.”

  “Is that a Terran expression? I like it.” Ragnar slapped Korven’s back. “Fear not. I will escort your female and protect her from the monsters of the court.”

  ***

  The summons, no matter if delivered graciously or on the smiling face of a cousin, was still a summons.

  Korven found his grandmother waiting in the teahouse in the gardens. It was a favored spot of hers. The drac flitted about as she fed them scraps from the table.

  “Have a good luncheon, grandmother?” Korven bowed and kissed her hand.

  “Tea? It’s that minty muck you raved about.”

  “Not your favorite?” he asked, accepting a cup.

  “Is it favorites you want to talk about?” She gained a thin smile. “I’ve tolerated a lot from you because you are my favorite grandson, financed that foolish tour of the Interstellar Union, but you’ve taken too many liberties. The Terran is completely unacceptable.”

  The tea was bitter but he swallowed it. “She is my mate and my wife.”

  “No,” the queen said flatly. “Chose another.”

  “There is no other.”

  “I forbid it.”

  Korven bowed his head slightly. “Am I a subject of the crown before I am your grandson?”

  “You are both. Do not think you can manipulate me with guilt.”

  “You think so little of me that I would abandon the female I love and our nestling?”

  “I think you enjoy spending the crown’s credit, my credit. If you do not break it off with this female, I will cut off your allowance. No more playing about on your yacht with Ragnar and that motley troop of yours.” She leaned back in her chair, spine straight. A smiled played about her lips, satisfied that she struck a blow. “You’d have to find employment or do you think that Terran would earn enough to support you and the nestling? Enough to finance your schemes?”

  The tea sat cold and bitter in his stomach. His grandmother had valid points. If he was cut off, how would he support his growing family? “Everyone in the universe works. I will work.”

  “With what skills?” She gave a snort. “You were trained to be a diplomat and a husband for a political match.”

  “I am a navigator.” The court on Wye may have expected him to be nothing more than a politician but he’d spent the last two years learning an honest trade on the Firestar. In that moment Korven realized that he gained so much more independence from his years of wanderlust than he or his grandmother had expected. More than the distance, more than being on his own and making his own decisions, more than learning new languages and cultures, he learned how to survive on his own merit.

  Yes, he would work and support his family because his grandmother unknowingly gave him the ability to do so.

  His grandmother could threaten him all she liked. She had nothing he wanted.

  Adelle and the nestling were all that he wanted and Prince Korven always got what he wanted.

  He rose and moved to bow but the room swayed. Confused, he stumbled forward, clutching the edge of the table before his weight tipped the item.

  “Oh, Korven. You are too much like your father: willful and stubborn. You will see I know best.”

  His knees buckled and he sank to the floor.

  Blackness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Adelle

  A selection of gowns, along with a stylist for hair and makeup, waited for Adelle when she returned to Korven’s room. Searra pulled her into an embrace before taking her leave. Stunned, Adelle squeaked but said nothing. The day had been too strange.

  Adelle selected a simple cream white and grey gown. The white bodice emphasized her chest without being lewd and draped elegantly in the back. The grey skirt clung to her hips just right and stopped at her ankles. It was simple and perfect. She waved away the more complex gowns with elaborate beadwork and fussy skirts. So much work went into the gowns’ creation that it seemed wasteful but Adelle knew, logically, that she could only wear one. The others were created to be discarded. Rich people really were crazy.

  Only so much could be done with her short hair but the stylist had a blank canvas when it came to the makeup. Wyer women dusted themselves with a shimmering powder that accentuated their scales. Fashion was cut to allow for the best display of scales, so plenty of midriffs and high thigh slits.

  A white paste coated Adelle’s face, neck and exposed skin, including hands, arms and her back. The paste matched her flesh color as it dried. Then powder was applied. So much powder. Apparently since Adelle had no natural scales, sh
e could wear every color, so the stylists decided to use every color. She shimmered iridescent like a rainbow.

  Holding her hand up to the light, Adelle admired the sheen of color.

  Adelle added the sunstone medallion as the last touch. It hung low, the chain pulling towards her cleavage.

  “It is an unusual choice,” the stylist said, fussing with the delicate silver chain. “Are you sure.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” She didn’t want to accept the medallion from Korven at first but now she felt incomplete without it.

  Stomach a flutter with nerves, she jumped when a knocked sounded at the door. Ragnar, dressed in a formal suit similar to what he had worn on the Firestar, and looking every inch a noble lord, escorted her the celebration.

  “No one has told me,” she said, “exactly what this thing is. A feast? A ball?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Illuminating.”

  The celebration was held in a grand ball room. Lanterns and floating lights brightened the space. Sunstone embedded in the navy blue ceiling reflected the light like a thousand stars. If she didn’t know that they were inside a mountain, she would believe they were under the open sky.

  The crush of people, voices speaking above the music, the aroma of decadent food, laughter, free flowing wine and the dizzying swirl of wings, scales and color, made Adelle’s head spin. So much color and flesh was exhibited. Every Wyer female was on display, wearing ornate gowns with elaborate bead work, collars and even trains of fabric that dragged along the ground, the Wyvern females even more so. Not only were their gowns just as complex and, undoubtedly, expensive, they flexed and fluttered their wings.

  This was completely beyond her kin. Worlds beyond.

  “Don’t leave me,” Adelle said, clutching Ragnar’s hand when he started to move away. If Ragnar left, her doubt and fear would overwhelm her and she’d chicken out.

  “I am instructed to escort you this evening until Korven could join us.” His eyes gleamed. “But he will be furious to hear how you begged me to stay because I am the one you like best.”

  A female approached. Adelle recognized her as the willowy woman with the cold eyes from the throne room. Clad in a blazing yellow dress that covered just enough to be tasteful but exposed large swathes of her reddish orange scales. The gown was covered in what seemed to be butterflies. Thin, iridescent wings fluttered in the breeze, making it seem as if the gown itself breathed.

  She wore a necklace with a delicate chain, a sunstone pendant, teardrop shaped, sat at the base of her throat. The simplicity was in stark contrast to the rest of her appearance. She had not chosen that piece of jewelry. It was a gift.

  The female noticed Adelle’s gaze and she stroked her pendant as if it were a treasured possession. A gift, then, that she meant to flaunt.

  “Lady Frei,” Ragnar said, giving a short bow.

  Frei plucked at the sunstone medallion Adelle wore, lips curled in a sneer. “A child’s trinket.”

  Adelle jerked back, tension momentarily pulling on the chain before Frei released her grip.

  “Nothing to say?” the female asked. Her wings, a delicate spun gold, stretched and fluttered.

  “That’s enough,” Ragnar said, stepping between the two women.

  Whatever stage fright of intimidation Adelle felt from being out-classed by Frei fell away. She did not need Ragnar to fight her battles for her. She might not be elegant or wealthy and she stuck out in this rarified event like a sore thumb, but she knew a bully when she saw one. And her tongue worked just fine.

  “Listen, you cunt faced bitch—”

  “Oh, how embarrassing for you,” Lady Frei said, shaking her head. “Korven will choose a proper mate this evening,” Frei said, unmoved by Adelle’s words. “An appropriate mate. Someone he can bring to functions and trust not to embarrass him. Someone who can help him in his duties.”

  “What duties?” Adelle said, mouth getting ahead of her better judgment. “He’s a navigator on a starship. I’m his mechanic. Can you repair a gravity drive? Keep the heat exchange from melting a hole through the hull? Or can you just spend a lot of credit and be snobby?” Her gaze swept over Lady Frei, unimpressed.

  “I am the one his family prefers,” she hissed.

  “And I am the one he loves,” Adelle retorted.

  “Love.” Lady Frei rolled her eyes. “The trinket matches your childish beliefs.”

  The highborn lady sashayed away. Adelle moved to go after her, to pick a proper fight, but Ragnar held her back with a hand on her shoulder.

  “And to think I once thought her beautiful,” he said.

  “What a bitch.” Fury permeated every part of her being. She wanted to chase after the high and mighty Lady Frei and snatch that necklace off her throat. Maybe choke the bitch with it. Yeah, that sounded good.

  Anger helped shore up her emotions. She loved Korven. He loved her. Simple.

  But they were not simple people. Korven swore he would choose her this evening. But what if he gave in to his family’s pressure and picked that snob of a lady? Then Adelle would be relegated to the role of Baby Mama.

  She never thought those words would apply to her. Would he stick around? Her hand rested on the gentle swell of her stomach. It was too early to show or feel anything but the gesture brought her comfort. Nine months to carry. One year to present the sex of the child. Two years, tops. She could make it through two years of being the Baby Mama.

  But how often would Korven visit his child? How painful would it be knowing another woman slept in his arms?

  No. She wasn’t that strong. Three years on the mining colony would be easier.

  Ragnar rubbed the flat of his hand between her exposed shoulder blades in a gesture that was meant to be comforting but felt wrong on a fundamental level. “He will choose you.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said. If Lady Frei intended to shake Adelle’s confidence: mission accomplished.

  “I do know. In fact, this afternoon I offered to take you if he decided to pass and he punched me for my consideration.”

  “Take me?” Adelle spun, fixing him with her gaze. “I’m not a plaything you royal brats can pass around.”

  He shrugged, unconcerned with her scorn. “I like you well enough and I’m always learning interesting new words from you. Cunt faced bitch. Colorful. I like it.” He nodded, agreeing with himself.

  “Where is Korven?” she said, chewing her bottom lip. She scanned the crowd. So many people and none the one she wanted.

  He promised to chose her and he would never hurt her. His words felt empty as she searched for him.

  A hush fell over the crowd. The music ended and conversations ceased. The queen entered the room, followed closely by Princess Searra.

  Queen Lasar was dressed in a fine golden gown of a simple cut. It served her figure well and stood out among the garish and overly complex fashion of the court. Princess Searra wore a gown of similar style but in a muted green. As their procession passed, the queen kept her eyes straight ahead. If she knew Adelle was in the crowd, she gave no hint.

  Searra gave a wink and stroked the diamond necklace at her throat.

  A platform rose from the middle of the room. The queen stepped onto the stage, commanding every pair of eyes in the room.

  “My people,” she began. “Thank you for celebrating the return of our beloved grandson, Prince Korven. As many have already heard, he matured during his travels.” A murmur ran through the audience. Adelle could feel the eyes on her. “He bravely endured the Fever. Alone.”

  Now that was bullshit. Olver, Derix and Ragnar had helped him, the serum had helped him, and she had helped him. Korven was the opposite of alone but the facts did not suit the narrative the queen wanted to portray.

  “As is our tradition, a royal Wyvern when they reach maturity is married to a suitable mate, one chosen by the family, the ones who love them best. Prince Korven is no exception. He will select his bride tonight.” Lasar stepped off the platfor
m. It sank into the floor and rose up once more, this time holding a containment cell.

  A gasp rippled through the court. The walls of the containment cell flickered amber. Inside the cell was Prince Korven, pacing, that angry expression back on his face.

  Lasar wrestled back the court’s attention. “The females chosen by his mother, Princess Searra, were given a small token, a sunstone pendant. Only those with the pendant can pass through the barrier. Prince Korven may select any female who can pass through the barrier.”

  The smile of triumph on the queen’s face made Adelle’s gut twist. What a dirty, loathsome trick. She sought out Searra, pleading for an explanation without saying a word.

  The princess touched the necklace she wore and then looked purposely between Adelle and the containment cell and back again.

  Lady Frei was the first to cross the barrier. Two other females joined her.

  Jealousy stabbed at her, removing her doubt and fears. She loved Korven and love was not without risk. Love was worth the risk. Didn’t she tell him when they were stranded together that she knew he would never hurt her? She meant physical hurt, at the time, but she knew those words applied to emotional hurt. Korven would never hurt her.

  He chose her.

  And she wanted him and the home they’d build together.

  But he was trapped in a cell and she couldn’t get to him.

  Adelle’s eyes darted around the court, looking for a solution. If only she had a tool, her omni tool or something, anything—

  Princess Searra met Adelle’s gaze and tapped her own chest. No, tapping the necklace.

  Adelle’s hand went to the sunstone medallion Korven gave her, the medallion that meant so much to him because the token was from his mother.

  Surely not.

  The queen wouldn’t make such a blunder.

  But what if the barrier was just keyed to allow sunstone to pass through?

  Adelle strode forward, shoulders back and head high. The court whispered. Let them.

  “What are you doing, Terran,” Lasar said.