by Jasmine Walt
“Commander,” Tariana said, her tone all business. “You know the soldiers at this base best. Who would you recommend for the strike forces?”
“I’ve already gathered our best men,” the commander said. “They will meet us in the training building in thirty minutes.”
“Excellent.” Tariana smiled, then dug into her food with gusto. Like Alistair, she was a fast eater—there was no such thing as a slow eater in the military. When Alistair was first sent for training, that notion had been quickly stamped out of him. The officers timed how quickly the recruits ate, and if he didn’t finish by the time the bell rang, he didn’t eat. He had to make a conscious effort to slow down at home, or his plate would be empty far before the meal was over.
After they finished, Commander Rommar escorted Alistair and his sisters to the training building. It was a large, open, single-room structure filled with weapons and training equipment. Roughly three hundred soldiers stood at attention at the front of the room, ready and waiting to fight at their general’s command.
“Soldiers,” Tariana addressed the room in a strident tone. “As you have already been briefed on the situation between our kingdom and Shadowhaven, I will cut straight to the point. I am putting together a series of special strike forces that will be used to carry out raids and attack strategic locations in warlock territory. The men and women I select for this task must be fast, stealthy, and able to blend in. You have been brought here because Commander Rommar thinks you are up to the task. Today, my siblings and I will be testing you to see if you live up to his expectations. Are you ready?”
“Yes, ma’am!” the soldiers shouted in unison.
“I can’t hear you!” Tariana yelled.
“Yes, ma’am!” Their voices boomed in the space, vibrating the walls.
The commander ordered the soldiers out to one of the fields, where a series of obstacle courses had been prepared. There were four in total, each designed to test strength, speed, and agility, and Alistair and his sisters were stationed around the field to monitor the soldiers’ progress. As Alistair watched each man and woman, he made note of who was particularly skilled. All of them were able to make it through—some barely, while others excelled. It was the latter that they were interested in.
An hour later, they narrowed the three hundred down to around seventy-five. These were run through different tests, the last of which included fighting Tariana in dragon form. Alistair and his sisters stood outside the circle as they watched the soldiers, now around forty in number, face off against their sister, lunging at her with swords and spears while she lashed out with claws and flame.
“Hang on a second,” Alistair muttered. He leaned closer to Xenai. “Do you see that soldier there, off to the left?”
Xenai looked to where he was pointing. “What about him?”
“He’s supposed to be dragon born,” Alistair said. “But watch what happens when Tariana spews fire.”
They waited, and sure enough, about a minute later, Tariana let out another gout of flame. The human soldiers ran for cover—their armor was fire resistant, but they could still burn if the fire touched their flesh—while the dragon born held fast, unperturbed by the flames. But the man they were looking at shied away and made some kind of gesture with his hand.
“You there!” Alistair cried, striding into the circle. Tariana snarled at the interruption, but he held up a hand. “Stop this exercise immediately!”
The soldier he’d shouted at froze, his eyes going wide with fear. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, coming to attention as Alistair approached. The rest of the clearing had gone silent, all eyes in their direction. Alistair could feel Tariana’s gaze burning into his back, as if to say, You’d better have a damn good reason for interrupting my training exercise.
“You are Officer Hartmouth, correct?” Alistair demanded. “Of the House Hartmouth?”
“Yes, sir.” The officer nodded stiffly.
“House Hartmouth is dragon born.” Alistair waited a beat. “Dragon born do not fear fire. And yet I just watched you jump out of the way when my sister breathed fire a moment ago.”
“I wasn’t trying to avoid the fire,” Hartmouth protested, but he was sweating now. Alistair could smell the sour scent of fear wafting off him. “I was trying to avoid her claws.”
“Really?” Alistair moved closer, taking in a deep whiff. He wrinkled his nose as he caught an acrid scent coming from the man’s shiny, slicked-back brown hair. “What sort of hair balm is that?”
“It’s not regulation, that’s for sure,” Ara said, circling the man. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she looked him up and down. “Look at him,” she sneered. “He’s practically quaking in his boots.”
“Enough,” Xenai said. “This man is obviously a spy.”
“I am not a spy!” Hartmouth protested, his cheeks turning bright red. “Using hair balm might be against regulations, but it is not treason!”
“No, but impersonating an officer is against the law,” Commander Rommar said in a hard voice.
“There is an easy way to see if he is lying,” Alistair said. “Take off your clothes, soldier.”
The man froze. “Excuse me?”
“Take them off now, or I’ll have you whipped for insubordination!” Alistair barked. His sisters gave him surprised glances—he wasn’t usually the type to snarl or make threats. But this was war, and they had no time for niceties. Especially not if this man was what Alistair thought.
Reluctantly, the soldier stripped, removing his armor and then his clothing. “Underwear as well,” Alistair ordered. “And that chain you’re wearing around your neck.”
The soldier’s cheeks colored. “The chain is a gift from my mother. I never take it off.”
Ara moved in, quick as an adder. Hartmouth cried out as she kicked him in the kidney, then again in the back of the thigh, driving him to his knees. “You’re not a Dragon Force soldier,” she snarled, ripping the chain from his neck. “No soldier of ours would dare talk back like this.”
The man’s face flickered before Alistair’s eyes, and the other soldiers gasped as his true form was revealed. Instead of the virile, muscular soldier, a thin man with a bald head and a bulbous nose knelt before him.
Tariana let out a roar of anger, then changed back into human form. “A spy in our ranks?” she seethed, stalking forward as she wrapped a cloak around her naked form. Her eyes blazed with anger as she grabbed the man by the jaw, forcing him to look up at her. “Where is the real Officer Hartmouth?”
“Dead,” the man rasped, his lip curling into a sneer. “I slit his throat when he was out taking a leak in the woods. He was careless.”
Tariana lifted the spy by the neck and threw him. He landed hard on the ground, a good thirty feet away, his cry of pain echoing in the silence. “Have him put in chains,” she ordered Commander Rommar, who was pale with shock. “I want every soldier on this base strip-searched, starting with these men here.” She turned back to the recruits. “Now!” she barked.
The soldiers hastily removed their clothing, placing it in a pile at their feet as instructed. One made it halfway through before he tried to bolt, but Alistair caught him by the throat and slammed him to the ground. Gritting his teeth, he held the soldier down, and after a quick search found the ring on his left pinky that held the illusion spell. Ara discovered a third, and they were all sent off to the dungeon to await trial and execution.
“It’s a good thing they were merely spies, and not warlocks themselves,” Alistair said to Tariana afterward. “They could have done quite a bit of damage if they wielded any real magic.”
Tariana snorted. “The warlocks never send one of their own as a spy,” she said. “They train humans as operatives and give them magical devices. Fortunately, none of these three had anything that could do real damage.”
The soldiers left behind were muttering to themselves, angry and shocked that their fellow comrades had been killed and replaced with spies.
“Well?” Tariana demanded, drawing their attention again. “Are you just going to stand around and complain about what the warlocks are doing to us? Or will you join me, and hit them hard where it matters most?”
“We will fight!” a soldier toward the back roared, his voice filled with anger and passion. He snapped to attention, heedless of his nudity, and saluted Tariana. “We will follow you into the depths of Hell itself if that’s what it takes to beat back these warlock scum!”
The other soldiers followed suit, saluting their general. “To war!” they cried in unison. Tariana grinned fiercely, and Alistair’s chest swelled with pride. Their numbers might have been halved, but the Dragon Force was still the fiercest military in Terragaard. And Shadowhaven was about to find out just how big a mistake they had made.
5
Dareena woke the next morning to find Alistair long gone. He’d joined her and Drystan the previous night, not long after Lucyan had left, and she’d enjoyed a nice snuggle with the two of them before drifting off to sleep. Alistair had already told her he’d be leaving early to go to Glastar with Tariana, so she’d half expected this. And yet, she felt an ache in her chest when she sat up and looked around at all the empty space in their big bed.
“Mmm.” Drystan curled his arm around her waist and lifted his head. His sleepy eyes opened fully as he searched her face. “Are you all right, darling? You look out of sorts.”
Dareena sighed. “I’m just missing your brothers,” she admitted, running her fingers through Drystan’s dark hair, which was so like her own. “It would be nice if the four of us could spend more than one night together before rushing off to war again.”
Drystan pushed himself upright so he could pull Dareena into his arms. “I know it seems like there is nothing but strife and trouble in our lives right now, pulling us all in different directions,” he said as she leaned her head against his strong chest, “but this is merely a chapter in our lives. Things have not always been this way, and we will not be at war forever. Once we defeat the warlocks, we will be at peace again, and the next thing you know you’ll be clawing at the castle walls to get away from us.”
Dareena laughed. “Never that,” she said, lifting her head to plant a soft kiss on Drystan’s lips. He tightened his arms around her and kissed her back, slow and languorous, running his hands up and down her bare back. The tension and worry bled out of her, replaced by the warm ripple of arousal that tightened her stomach and made her core pulse with need. “I would never tire of having the three of you around me. After all, I’ll need someone to look after all our babes.”
Drystan chuckled. “Is that what we’re to be, then?” he asked, lifting her onto his lap. His cock pressed insistently against her core, and she moaned as it slid against her clit. “Your governesses, while you pop out babes and run the country?”
“It sounds like a good idea to me,” Dareena said breathlessly as Drystan cupped her bottom with both hands. He squeezed, kneading the globes of her arse, then lifted her up and impaled her on his cock. Dareena moaned as his thick shaft filled her, bracing her hands against his broad shoulders as pleasure speared her. Drystan’s fingers dug into her flesh as he lifted her again, sliding her up and down his cock. His eyelids were at half-mast as he gazed up at her, those amber irises glowing, and he leaned in to nip at her neck, finding the sensitive spot that drove her wild.
“Harder,” she gasped, clutching at Drystan as she rode him. He drove his hips up, pushing his cock even deeper inside her, and she came, crying out his name as a wild rush of pleasure filled her.
“I love it when you say my name like that,” Drystan panted, his eyes gleaming as he worked her up and down his cock. “Do it again.”
“Drystan,” she moaned again. She pushed her weight into her legs and bounced up and down, working him hard and fast, pushing him closer to the edge. “Come for me, my love,” she breathed, squeezing him with her inner walls.
“Yes.” He buried his face in her neck as his cock pulsed. Dareena held him fast as he jetted his hot seed into her, loving the way his big, muscular body shuddered beneath her. Never in her life did she envision having such power over a man like this…and she had not only Drystan, but his brothers, too.
Her heart had never been so full.
“I can’t wait to meet our son,” Drystan said afterward, stroking her belly as they spooned. One of his arms was wrapped around her side, and his broad chest pressed against her back. “Do you think he’ll have our hair? Or will he be a redhead, like Lucyan?”
“I’m not sure, but I do know he’ll have your eyes,” Dareena said, smiling gently. She giggled as Drystan traced a circle around her belly button, the motion tickling her, then winced when her stomach let out a loud rumble. “Either way, I think the babe is hungry. It’s high time we got up and broke our fast.”
Drystan heartily agreed. He called for breakfast, and the two of them cleaned up and donned dressing gowns while they waited. Soon enough, servants came into the suite bearing rashers of bacon, poached eggs, potatoes, and fresh rolls with butter. Dareena’s mouth watered at the sight of all the food laid out on the table, and though she felt a pang knowing that Lucyan and Alistair weren’t there to enjoy it with them, her need to eat ultimately won out over her melancholy.
“What are your plans for today?” she asked Drystan as they ate.
“My first order of business is to figure out what to do with all this blasted treasure,” he said. “We were only able to fit a third of it into the treasury. The rest is stored in an oubliette in the south tower and covered with heavy stones.”
“That sounds like a good enough place to me,” Dareena said. “Those heavy stones…can they be moved by human hands?”
Drystan shook his head. “Only by dragon strength or magic. And only you and I, and my brothers, know the location. Still, I am worried the warlocks may try to get their hands on it. They could have spied on us while we were hiding the treasure, and they might send operatives to sneak in and take it.”
“Even if the warlocks found and unearthed the gold, they would still have to carry it back past the guards, over the moat, and through the gates. Considering the amount of gold recovered from Dragomir’s lair, that is no mean feat. It is highly unlikely even the strongest warlock could pull that off.”
“Warlocks are a clever race,” Drystan said darkly. “Full of tricks and spells, and one never quite knows what they are capable of. But yes, you are right,” he conceded. “It would be nigh impossible, and they will likely be focusing their efforts elsewhere.”
“Do we need the gold for anything?” Dareena asked. “You said that a good portion of it is in the treasury.”
“Yes, and it is more than enough to cover our needs for the foreseeable future.” Drystan smiled. “The three of you saved my hide the day you decided to follow those warlocks.”
“We saved all our hides,” Dareena reminded him, running a hand down his arm. “We are in this together, remember? These burdens are not yours alone to bear.”
Drystan gave her a wry look. “I am the worrywart of our family,” he said. “Alistair only looks at what is in front of him, and Lucyan sees too many steps ahead. Who else will think about these things but me?”
“True enough,” Dareena said, “but I am here to think of them with you. So long as we are not in need of that gold, I say that none of us should venture near the south tower. If the warlocks are truly spying on us specifically, rather than on certain sections of the castle, they will not discover its whereabouts so long as we do not go there.”
Drystan nodded. “And we will not speak of the hoard to anyone,” he said. None of the soldiers who had helped transport the treasure knew its location; Drystan and his brothers had taken care of it alone, during the night, and had made damn sure no one was watching.
They were just finishing their meal when the steward knocked on the door. “Your Highness, my lady,” he said, bowing. “I am sorry to interrupt, but I must speak to Lady Dareena
about an important matter.”
“That’s all right,” Dareena said before Drystan could answer. “Is everything all right?”
“Oh yes,” the steward said. “I am not here to report any trouble. Rather, I’d like to introduce you to three new members of our staff. Your ladies-in-waiting.”
Dareena frowned. “I didn’t ask for any ladies-in-waiting,” she said. She glanced at Drystan. “Did you order this?”
“No,” Drystan said, “but Tarius is right to bring this up. It is unusual for a woman of your status not to have attendants. Now that you’ve returned, it is time to properly establish your household.”
“Too right,” Tarius agreed. “Your predecessor had seven ladies-in-waiting, but they have all long retired, so I have been searching for new ones. Three have volunteered, and they just arrived at the Keep today.”
Dareena bit her lip. She really wasn’t keen on having a gaggle of ladies follow her around all the time, but on the other hand, Drystan was right. If she was to be the new Queen of Dragonfell, she needed to look and act the part, and that included having ladies-in-waiting. It would have been nice if she’d been given the opportunity to select them herself, but she couldn’t blame Tarius for showing initiative. It wasn’t as if she’d had any time to devote to such a task anyway.
“All right,” she said, pushing her plate away. “I’ll receive them here. Please send them in.”
“Very good, my lady.” The steward bowed, then opened the door. Three young women filed in, all slim and beautiful, and Dareena gasped as she got a good look at the redhead leading the way.
“Lyria Hallowdale?” She recoiled as she met the dragon born noble’s insolent stare. No, surely her eyes were playing tricks on her!
“At your service,” she said sardonically, dipping into a curtsy. Resentment practically oozed from the woman’s pores, and Dareena couldn’t exactly blame her. Lyria was the daughter of Lord Hallowdale, the baron of Dareena’s hometown. She was a spoiled brat, but beautiful and wealthy, with long red hair and a willowy figure. Everyone had been certain she would be Chosen at the Dragon Hunt, but Tariana had not liked the dragon born female’s attitude and had passed over her in favor of Dareena. Dareena imagined that, for Lyria, learning that Dareena had become the Dragon’s Gift only added insult to injury. She’d likely been looking forward to tormenting Dareena when she’d returned home, only to find out she would never get the chance.
