Burn (Dragon Souls)

by Fletcher, Penelope

  “Mikhail explained the whole dimensional time slip thing to me. Honestly, I stopped listening after your name came up and I realised I was being taken to you. It helped me get over the shock of talking to actual, well, you know, Dragons.” Cathryn clutched her hand. “Then I just wanted to see you to make sure you were safe. I missed you so much.”

  “I missed you too.” Marina squeezed her fingers. “But he shouldn’t have brought you here. I didn’t ask him too.

  “Mikhail doesn’t strike me as the kind of male who asks before he acts.” Cathryn smiled knowingly. “Reminds me of somebody I know.”

  “I can send you back.” Marina tried to keep the disappointment from her face. “If you really want.”

  “I want to make sure you’re settled before I arrange the nightmare of returning home.”

  “The passage over is a bit rough.”

  “Rough? I nearly fainted.”

  Marina snorted. “I did.”

  “No!”

  “Oh, yes. I fell off Daniil’s back and nearly ended up a smear on the side of AshMount.”

  “Gosh.” Cathryn held her hand tighter. How many times had her friend come close to death? How many more times would fate let her slip away? “Over dinner I heard talk of the assassination plots against you. Rumours have started that you want to claim the Crown and rule the, um, fire breathers?”

  “I’m going for the Wreath. To rule the Wyvrae.”

  Marina smiled at the puzzled tightening of Cathryn’s eyes as she tried to pull a reference of what the Wyvrae were from the wealth of information she’d been inundated with.

  “The ice breathers,” she clarified.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m still not seeing how you’re going to do this. I love you, but I know your weaknesses. The administrate responsibilities that come with the appointment of a monarch are pretty extreme. I don’t see how ... uh ... why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You’re right. There are aspects on ruling you’re much more suited to than I am. You’re infallibly practical. Sharp. You have a keen eye for detail, which would come in handy when negotiating new treaties with the fire breathers.”

  Pleased and flattered, Cathryn lifted her chin.

  A predatory glint deepened Marina’s dark eyes. “You’re cunning. Perceptive.”

  “Yea–” Cathryn took a large mental step backwards. She stopped playing with hair, and looked for the true meaning behind the compliments. “Whatever scheme has entered your feeble brain discard it.”

  “Even if I’m Queen you won’t back down or mince your words. A problem with the aristocracy here is that none of their servants have enough backbone to stand up to them. It’s almost as if the ability to disagree has been bred right out of them.” She made a swopping motion with her hand.

  “I’m sure that you’ll find capable staff who will call you on your shit.”

  “Like you.”

  “Yeah, just like.... Wait. Not me. After I make sure your crazy arse isn’t stabbed to death, I’m taking my fine self home. This place is not feminist friendly.”

  “You’d truly leave all this behind?”

  “All what? The testosterone in that throne room nearly choked me. I’m barely keeping my shit together as it is. Besides, you know I’m up for a promotion at work.”

  “You’d turn down a job as Regent of my queendom to manage a clothes boutique?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you I work for a multi-million pound fashion designer?”

  “Semantics.”

  “I’m CFO!”

  “Then you can manage my treasury. It’s perfect.”

  Cathryn froze. “I beg your pardon?”

  “When I’m Empress, the Ice Realm will still be mine. Koen prefers the lagoon waters to the ice plains. Someone must rule when I’m gone. My extended vacations are unavoidable. Koen needs seclusion.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially and her eyes twinkled. “He’s a bit of a loner. Anyway, I trust no one more than you and Daniil to take care of my people when I’m gone.” Her expression turned smugly satisfied. “See how well I delegate?”

  “I know nothing about ruling a territory, Rina. Nothing.”

  “Daniil does. And you can learn. I am. I learn a lesson about how to be a good leader everyday.”

  Cathryn screwed up her face. “Is this some kind of demented fix up? Marina, listen carefully. I am not crushing on Daniil.”

  “Are you suggesting I’d give you power of hundreds of thousands of people just to hook you up with an amazing catch?”

  Cathryn’s dry expression said that was exactly what she expected.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Marina woke alone.

  Cathryn slinked off to her own rooms sometime in the night, shoving Marina’s sprawled limbs off her. They’d reminisced for most of the night and early morning hours before falling into a deep sleep.

  Marina dozed for a few hours until the sunlight streaming into the room became too bright to ignore.

  Pasha bustled in ordering a group of servants to arrange a bath. Hot water was poured into a wooden tub set in the corner behind a linen screen.

  The bathhouse was nice, but the nobles developed a horrible habit of cornering her while washing.

  It was difficult to remain aloof while naked holding a soapy rag over your breasts and crotch.

  Marina stretched luxuriously.

  “Up,” Pasha demanded. “The Regent has already visited Houses Vor and Tyr. He’ll be here soon.”

  Marina froze in the act of itching the side of her neck. Her eyes popped open. The problems of the night before rushed back and she groaned.

  Pulling the silky sheets over her head, she burrowed deeper into the soft mattress. “Kill me now.”

  “Up!” Pasha yanked the covers to the foot of the bed then snagged Marina’s ankle. She dragged the younger woman to the end of the bed, helped her sit then finally stand. “Here we go. One foot in front of the other.” She fondly patted Marina’s rump. “I shall ready your armament.”

  Trudging across the tatami mats, Marina scratched the small of her back, right above her butt cheek. “No dress robes. Not today. I want leathers and a tunic.”

  “Ceremonial dress will not only show the proper respect for the Regent, but for the sanctity of your purity affirmation.”

  That the older women expected her to be a virgin rankled.

  Since arriving in the Dragon dimension Marina felt nothing but inadequate.

  The impending rite grated badly on her pride. It provided another reason for people to mock, pity or scold her. She didn’t regret her intimacy with Koen, and hated she was forced to defend it as if it were immoral.

  “You might want to leave when the Regent gets here. I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say to the physician.”

  “Treating this ritual as joke is beneath you. Wholesomeness in a Chosen is vital. It is a matter of honour.”

  Marina spun, hair sticking on end and eyes gritty with sleep. She snarled. “Tunic. Leathers. Now.” Twisting away from the woman’s stunned expression, she stomped to the steamy bath.

  She shed her nightclothes so forcefully the jade emblem nestled between her breasts bounced against her skin. It was a specially commissioned piece, a union of Houses Raad and Zar.

  Tossing the lot over the screen, she jumped into the tub.

  Splashing flower-scented water onto the floor, she held onto the side of the rub and dunked her head under the bobbing flowers.

  She opened her eyes and peered at the ornate ceiling through the rippling water and flora. Her lungs burned before she gave into the urge to jerk up.

  She slicked her growing hair back and pinched her nose, squeezing her eyelids shut as water sluiced down her face.

  Feeling calmer, she reached for the soap and lathered a rag until creamy suds enveloped her hands.

  She made quick work of cleaning away the grime of the day before and soon dressed in fresh smelling leather and cotton. She left her hai
r to air dry, running her fingers through it in an attempt to tame it.

  Annoyed, Marina wouldn’t let the now nervous Pasha near her. She curled her lip warningly when the woman minced closer holding a pot of glossy lip paint.

  It was illogical to hold the woman to account for her presumption, but Marina felt her resentment justified.

  Pasha had no right to make an assumption then chide her without having the sensitivity to ask if she was chaste, knowing she had grown in an entirely different culture.

  Marina pressed her eyes shut, rubbed her temples. Already she stressed.

  Dealing with the Regent would drain her patience, and she could only hope she didn’t run out before he left. Insulting him was a big no, no.

  Something nudged at her booted foot.

  Pasha was folded in half, pressing her forehead to the mats. “Forgive my trespass.”

  “Oh, pack it in. I shouted at you. It’s not an excuse to fall apart.” Marina pulled the woman onto her feet. “I’m pissed, but not at you. Well, a bit at you, but mostly at the world in general. I’m not a virgin, Pasha. It upset me you were condescending when you alluded to women who are intimate with men they aren’t married to.”

  Blinking rapidly, the old woman jolted as if struck. “How could you do that to the Dragon King? Give yourself to another. Who would you possibly....” She paled, aghast. “Lord Kol.”

  “There you go again, assuming and getting it wrong. I gave my virginity to Koen Raad months ago.”

  “But the ceremony–Aver–Regent Myron....”

  “Whole sentences please.”

  Teetering to the side, the woman groped for a stable surface to hold. “You will disqualified. Disgrace will fall upon House Zar. We shall have to veil our faces in shame. Peasants will curse us as we pass through the streets. Oh, Goddess.”

  Marina led her to a seat rubbing her back. “Calm the fuck down. Nothing bad will happen, I promise.”

  Trembling, Pasha made a pitiful noise showing exactly what she thought of the reassurances. She still managed a faint rebuke of, “Language, Princess,” before she descended into monosyllabic pleas to her goddess.

  “Your faith in me is touching.” Marina crossed her arms. “Seriously. You’re projecting the warmest, fuzziest feelings of despair and anguish I’ve ever felt.”

  Sighing, she kissed the rambling woman’s brow and allowed her space to reassemble composure.

  Pasha’s reaction just made the wait for Myron more fraught.

  Just when Marina thought she’d tear her hair out, Daniil slipped into the room. His gaze locked with hers. He stood so still, his expression so guarded she feared the worst.

  He held up both thumbs, mimicking her gesture from the night before.

  Relief burst through her fretting leaving her legs wobbly. Letting them fold beneath her, she plopped onto a cushion bordering her personal seating area.

  The grouping of low chairs and floor cushions were set aside for entertaining during tea ceremonies. Not that she ever gave them. Mostly she and her family used the area for meals.

  Brows lifting, Daniil jerked his head towards Pasha who moaned as if in pain, her face buried in her hands.

  Rolling her eyes, Marina shook her head telling him to leave it, waving him over.

  Excited by what he’d discovered, Daniil sank onto the cushion beside her. He laughed softly when she grabbed him in a rib-bruising hug.

  “Thank you so much.” Rocking side to side, she held him as if he were a lifeline. “I admit after I gave you my little speech I got cold feet. Cathryn sat on me half the night to stop me from running to tell you I’d changed my mind.”

  “I’m glad. This will work, Marina.” He patted her back. “Remain strong. Myron will be troubled, disapproving even, but he will appreciate how difficult this is for you. He was once King and in love. He understands the intense attraction between mates.”

  She eased from the hug smiling. “I feel better. I–”

  A bell chimed, and the entrance screen slid open so fast the wooden rails smoked faintly.

  Exuding power, his expression thunderous, Regent Myron stood on the other side practically vibrating with anger. He stepped into the room and his livid gaze landed on Marina.

  Dark brows lowered ominously, the Dragon King entered behind him.

  Koen Raad strode into the office of the Regent. Vibrant green eyes gravely scanned the lavish scarlet and gold surroundings. He halted in the middle of the room, bare feet sinking into the padded tatami.

  Humid vapour rose from the dense jungle, but the room was located at the zenith of the Red Citadel allowing a chill breeze to sweep through the open windows and countered the moist warmth.

  Clean sweat dampening Koen’s body from his exertions over the lagoon dried. Goosebumps prickled across his exposed flesh as he crossed his arms over his chest. The obsidian fall of his mohawk dangled between his shoulder blades, tickling bronzed skin.

  A cavernous rumble shook the walls. Sweltering heat infused with the bitter tang of sulphur choked the air as a gush of red and black lava rushed past the window.

  Globules of the luminous liquid pooled on the window ledge.

  Wild ones roared in the distance as tremors from the volcanic eruption rippled down the mountains.

  Feeling a return cry swell within his restless soul, Koen dug deep for patience and pressed his heels deeper into the sea-grass. He focused his irritable mind on the gentle abrasion teasing the soles of his feet.

  After another endless span of nothing, he sighed noisily at the male forcing him to wait.

  Myron said nothing.

  His attention remained fixed on arranging his papers. He occasionally paused to stroke the snow-white length of his full beard, or adjust the trailing sleeve of his elaborately embroidered robe.

  Rearing jade dragons supported the solid slab of mahogany wood he hunched over. The desk’s sanded surface gleamed with wax. Behind the richly carved monstrosity was a great parchment decorated with calligraphy that lyrically denoted Myron’s ascension to Emperor and his love for his mate, a woman renowned for grace and beauty.

  Marina was preceded by a legend. Myron’s Treasure had been beloved by the people before her untimely demise.

  Thrumming with subdued vigour, Koen waited until the stately Keeper of the Kingdom languidly sanded the wet ink on a piece of parchment he’d signed with his mark.

  As much as he wanted to rage, Koen was keenly aware this particular male was immune to his special kind of intimidation. Tact not dominance would advance his objective to the only conclusion he would accept.

  “Storming through the halls naked yet again, boy?”

  Blithely glancing down his muscular form, Koen’s broad shoulders lifted and fell. “Garments are not important. What I have come to say is.”

  “Have you forgotten all I taught you?” Pausing his task, Myron’s bushy brows winched, accentuating his wrinkled forehead. “I raised you as my own. Familiarity is welcomed, but I am still your elder. Knock before you enter my domain.”

  Molars grinding, Koen swallowed the cutting response he answered to no one. He bowed his head in acquiesce. “I come to ask for leniency.” He hesitated, bowing lower. Modesty will not harm my cause when it is well known I abhor it. “I need you to not judge her.” He swallowed past the thickness in his gullet. “Understand I love her and stand by her in all things. She is mine. I will not give her up. Crown, Wreath or peasant non la, I will marry her.”

  Stilling, Myron’s gaze slowly lifted. The parchment rolled closed as he sat back. “I see.”

  Koen fought panic tooth and claw at the heavy regret weighting the words. He grated the rest through clenched teeth. “I bedded my Treasure.”

  Eyes closing briefly, Myron nodded. “I know. You failed to hide your distress at the feast.” The old male laced his hands over his stomach. His eyes glimmered with sadness. “There is nothing I can do.”

  “Look the other way.”

  “That is not how this sh
all be, Koen Raad, Dragon King. Have forgotten who you are and what you mean to so many? Law and tradition hold the predators of this land from tearing our society apart. You know this. I am held accountable not only by the innocent of this land, but by my own convictions.” Myron placed a hand on the desk, bracing himself. “She is unworthy.”

  “Do not.” Koen snarled pacing the mats. His fingers curled into fists. “Do not dare. Speak against my Treasure and I will kill you.”

  Anger darkened Myron’s refined features. “I will not be threatened.”

  “You would have me hate you?”

  Harrumphing, the Regent tossed his head. “Actions have consequences. You must have known this day would come. How could you not? A High Princess, taken like a commoner. I vow, you shame me and all that we stand for.” Myron slammed his palm to the desk. The crack of sound loud in the quiet room. “What in the name of the goddess were you thinking?”

  “She was to remain in the human world.” Koen threw his hands in the air. “My life has been spent running from females who want nothing but to own me. She was so open, so beautiful. Kind. My desire for her is beyond anything I have felt, and it grows.” He let the blossoming love he carried in his heart overflow in his words. “She is the air to me. The sun. Myron, she has become my existence.”

  “Ah.” The old male’s composure cracked. “I remember this feeling. The early days when I found my beloved....” His breathing coarsened. He forlornly shook away the memories. The veil of tears obscuring his vision did not shame him. “She is your Treasure.” The words held a wealth of understanding.

  Koen rubbed the heel of his palm to his chest. “Do not tell me there is nothing you can do.”

  Reality was often cruel. “We are done here.”

  “Do not do this.”

  Pushing onto his feet, Myron straightened his papers, corked his ink, and put away his writing tools.

  He ignored his shaking hands.

  Emotion could play not part in his decision-making. He snuffed the incense burning on his desk and waved away the thin spiral of fireberry-scented smoke. “It is not I who have done this. Look to yourself and your lover.”