The Dragon's Queen (Dragon Lords)

by Michelle M. Pillow

  * * *

  “Where’s the Syog?” Attor asked, glancing around the forest. He caught up to Myrddin next to the flaccid tree. Age and moss had taken its toll on the large limbs, pulling them down so they arced toward the ground rather than up to the heavens.

  “She had to catch a flight.” Myrddin stretched his arms over his head. Dirt marred his clothes and he had a satisfied look on his face.

  “I didn’t think the Syog were leaving so soon.” Attor frowned. He’d been looking forward to releasing the tension in his loins. By the patterns on Myrddin’s knees the man had taken the Syog from behind like an animal. A shiver worked over Attor at the thought. He would have enjoyed seeing the rough ride.

  Meeting the dragon woman had surged his already heated ardor and he wanted to sink himself into something soft and warm. As badly as he wanted to fuck his future queen, he saw the wider scope. If she was worthy of marrying him, she was worthy of seduction. The kiss had been merely a way to mark her as his. The gesture had worked, for she’d been weak-kneed afterwards.

  Myrddin scratched his waist. “What happened to you? Please tell me you didn’t lose the trail.”

  “Another matter came up,” he said, not really wanting to share about his future queen just yet. Myrddin might not approve of his plan.

  “More important than a hunt?” His friend shook his head in disbelief. “If you wanted to find a still farmer we could have taken a drink together afterwards.” Myrddin lowered his gaze to look at Attor’s tunic and sniffed at him. “If you couldn’t wait for a drink…”

  Attor knew there was a faint trace of liquor on his body from the woman who’d clearly been next to a still. The smell had permeated her clothing.

  Myrddin lifted his fist in warning. “I will beat you before I let you become weak like your father.”

  Attor slapped the hand away. “I’m not my father. If you must know I was setting events into place that will help when I take over the throne.”

  “Oh?” Myrddin arched a brow. At least he was no longer looking at him in disappointment.

  Against his better judgment, he explained, “I’ve decided to take the Draig female as my queen.”

  Myrddin physically recoiled at the idea.

  “I just met her. She’s beautiful, and—”

  “You let a Draig escape?” Myrddin demanded. His eyes shifted and he tilted his head. “Where is she? Which way did she run?”

  “No. Let her go.” Attor didn’t want Myrddin near the woman. “I have plans for her.”

  “What plans could you possibly have for Lady Medellyn?” Myrddin demanded. “Unless it’s to torture her to start a war?” Suddenly, the man nodded. “We could kidnap her and make a very public show of her suffering. That will be an act the Draig cannot ignore.”

  Medellyn. That was her name? He hid his smile.

  “No.” Attor tried to turn his friend’s bloodlust against him. “Think of how much easier it will be for me to take the northern territories if I’m married to their only female. If she chooses me over any of them. If she bows to me, her husband and king, before all others.” The idea excited him. He would be the sole possessor of the rarest of creatures. She would be his. She would love him. She understood his position as an only child, meant to rule. She had compassion for his drunk of a father. Attor clung to those facts. “Together we will rule the entire planet.”

  Myrddin grinned. “Yes. Together we will rule.”

  Attor had meant himself and his bride, but didn’t correct the man.

  “Well done, son, well done,” Myrddin slapped him hard on the shoulder. Then, nodding downward to where Attor’s body showed the evidence of his unfulfilled night, he added, “Come. Let us find you a servant to suck the poison from you. I promise on the next hunt you can go first.”

  Chapter Three

  Mede’s lungs expanded with the effort of a hard run. Morning crept over the horizon, brightening the night. In one hand she gripped Rolant’s knife, and in the other, her prize. For a moment, she felt perfection in the burn of her legs, the pant of her breath, the rhythm of her feet. When she jumped over forest debris, she flew.

  The exercise felt wonderful, but not nearly as wonderful as the sounds of cheers coming from the border. They had lit a fire to guide her back and she ran toward it. As she neared the group of dragons she leapt over the border. Lifting her hand, she yelled, “Dragons!”

  “Dragons!” the men returned loudly, celebrating her victorious run.

  Mede turned the hilt of the knife toward Rolant to return the blade. He took it. Instantly, his smile faded as he saw the blood. His eyes roamed her as she let the dragon shift fade from her body. Before he could ask her about it, she proudly lifted her fist balled around the fur. “Victory!”

  “Victory!” The men cheered, clearly well into their cups. While she’d had her adventure, they’d partied.

  “Our lady found the still,” Arthur said with a laugh, as he sniffed the liquor fumes on her. The man had a crook to his nose from having been punched a few too many times. When he drank, he liked to brawl.

  “How is the mangy cat?” Cynan asked.

  “Owain remembers you fondly,” Mede answered, grinning. A round of shouts and laughter cut off the conversation. After it finally died down, she held out her hand. “My prize.”

  A few of the men looked down at her outstretched hand, then a couple more. Their laughter died as they took in her achievement.

  “That doesn’t look like…” Saben gave her a questioning look.

  Dylan reached to pinch a bit of the fur. “It’s blond.”

  “Mede?” Rolant inquired, clearly wishing she’d explain. “Didn’t you find the still?”

  “Yes, but I wanted a harder target,” she said. “Besides, the still farmer was already missing a lot of tufts. I felt sorry for him.”

  Rolant lifted the blade, showing the blood to the others. “Who did you fight?”

  Mede thought of the stranger. There was no reason to tell them what had happened. They didn’t need to know the catshifter had kissed her. That would be her secret.

  “We didn’t exchange names.” She gave a little shrug of dismissal.

  “Test it, so none may challenge her claim,” Rolant said. There was a lot of fumbling as they searched for a particular satchel that held the genetic testing fluid. As the others were distracted, Rolant pulled her aside. “I sent you to the still farmer. What were you thinking? The only blond Var I have seen belong to the elite palace guards. Or to the prince. How did you get it? Why is there blood on—?”

  “It’s good!” Dylan yelled, lifting a small vial to pour testing liquid onto the ground. When the catshifter fur combined with the chemicals it turned the test liquid a pale blue. “It’s Var.”

  “Not now, Rolant,” Mede said. “I need a drink.”

  A bottle was instantly shoved in her direction. She drank deeply of the liquor. It stung her throat and warmed her belly.

  “Tell us of the run,” Cynan said.

  “What’s this?” a male voice boomed over the encampment.

  Mede was relieved, for it saved her from having to tell that particular fireside story.

  “Do you have permission to be on my land?” the stranger continued.

  Mede lowered the bottle and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She didn’t recognize the voice. Several of the men blocked her view. Since they were camped on palace land with Prince Rolant she wasn’t too concerned by the claim.

  “Brother,” Rolant acknowledged. “You’ve returned. I thought you were hunting yorkins.”

  “Gildas was injured. Nothing serious, but we decided to bring him home so he could have the proper medical attention,” Prince Llyr answered.

  Mede changed her mind. She didn’t like the interruption. This was her victory morning. She didn’t want to meet a new male Draig, and certainly not the prince who was heir to the throne. The prince was not married and had already told Rolant he wanted to meet her.

  “Hand me
a drink,” Llyr said. “Whose victory are we celebrating?”

  Like grass being blown aside by a stout wind, the men parted to let Llyr see her. She stiffened and automatically lifted her jaw. “Mine.”

  “You?” Llyr repeated in disbelief. He looked at Rolant for confirmation. “And she passed?”

  “And we saw her fly,” Saben inserted.

  “That was you who flew,” Arthur said.

  “Oh, right.” Saben nodded. He lifted his cup and announced. “And I flew!”

  “How is Owain?” Llyr asked.

  “In need of a bath,” Mede said.

  “She brought back blond fur,” Rolant stated.

  “Blond…?” Llyr handed the bottle he held to his brother and stepped forward to look at her.

  Mede was glad she smelled like a liquor still and sweat. And she probably looked like a wild beast after her run. She forced herself not to glance at his chest to see his crystal. Looking at his face was worse.

  In many ways he reminded her of Rolant, only his eyes were a brighter green—so bright they penetrated her, taking her in as if he could see all her secrets. Mede didn’t like to feel exposed. His light brown hair hung to his chin whereas Rolant’s was much longer. She thought of the kiss the Var had stolen from her. She had not been expecting it and really had felt nothing but surprise when it happened, but the memory caused her eyes to dart down to Llyr’s mouth.

  “Finally we meet, Lady Medellyn,” he said.

  Mede forced her eyes away from his firm lips. She swallowed nervously. “I am called Mede. And I am not a lady. Today I am a Dead Dragon.”

  At the words the inebriated men cheered. “Dead Dragons!”

  Llyr chuckled. More to himself than to her, he said, “I can see the liquor has not gone to waste here.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, prince, I earned the Dead Dragons’ mark and I want my scar.” She made a move to leave his presence, still refusing to look down. The idea that a prince would be her mate terrified her. She’d never wanted this meeting.

  “Wait,” Llyr said, being so bold as to grab her arm. “I should like to congratulate you on a good run.”

  Mede arched a brow. The more she found herself mesmerized by his eyes, the more stubborn her demeanor became. When he didn’t speak, she said, “Well?”

  “Congratulations on a good run,” he said softly.

  “Thank you, prince,” she answered dutifully before moving to skirt past him. The men had started to sing a bawdy song as they linked arms and began a noisy, drunken chain through the campsite. The prancing took them away from where she stood. She wished they’d circle back.

  Llyr grabbed her arm again. “Did you really take the fur from a member of the royal court?”

  At the time she hadn’t been nervous, but now, the way both Llyr and Rolant mentioned the fur’s color, made her suddenly a little sick to her stomach. Nerves bunched in her chest and she nodded once. “I suppose I did, though at the time I didn’t ask for his name.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “A cat,” she answered, being difficult on purpose. His fingers lingered on her arm, the touch somehow intimate. Finally she got the nerve to look down. At first, she thought she might have seen a soft glow in the stone. She stiffened, until she realized that it must have been firelight reflection. He was not her mate. A sigh of relief whispered past her lips…followed by a sense of disappointment. The disappointment confused her and made her want to run away like a coward.

  “Have you mated?” Llyr asked, eyeing the lack of crystal around her neck.

  Always to that.

  She lowered her eyes over her lashes. “I have no interest in marriage. I would like my scar though.” She tried to pull her arm.

  He tightened his grip. “So it is true. You broke your own crystal. Why?”

  Mede grimaced, remembering that day long ago. Her mother had wept openly for months over it. “So did you.” She reached for his chest, pinching the crystal from where it laid against him and gave it a little toss. It bounced against him. An almost microscopic thin crack marred the inside of the stone.

  “An accident when I was a boy trick-riding ceffyls,” Llyr said.

  “My father is a ceffyl breeder. You should not be trick-riding them,” she lectured. “They are in delicate supply and not for games.”

  “I was a boy,” he stated, enunciating the words. His attitude infuriated her.

  “No excuse,” she answered just as arrogantly.

  “I broke my arm, if that helps.”

  “It’s a start.” She again tried to pull her arm free from his grasp. Tiny shivers worked along her skin where he touched her, a strange vibration that compelled her to focus on the contact.

  The singing had reached the forest and the men disappeared behind a colossal tree. Somehow being alone with him made her nervous.

  “Unhand me, prince,” she said at last. “I earned my place here.”

  Llyr looked at her arm in surprise, as if he didn’t know he held her. Instantly his fingers released her. “Tell me first, why did you crush your crystal?”

  “What? I love me. I married myself.” She wasn’t sure why she was being obstinate or sarcastic. All she knew was that her arm tingled where he’d touched her. She glanced at his stone. It didn’t glow. Still, the urge to run from him was great. Her muscles felt weak. Surely her body shook from the long night of exercise, nothing else. Her mind felt fuzzy because she was tired. It had nothing to do with his smell or those eyes. Those damned green eyes.

  “Somehow I don’t think you’re truly that narcissistic, my lady.”

  “Very well. If you must know, it is because I make my own fate.” Mede gave a little hop past him and went to join the dancing men. Saben and Cynan broke the chain to let her in. As they pulled her away from the prince, she was glad for the escape. Something about the man drew her in and frustrated the netherworld out of her. She was pretty sure it was his eyes. No man should ever possess eyes like that.

  * * *

  Llyr couldn’t breathe as he watched the woman dance away from him. Mede smelled horrible with sweat plastering her hair and dirt marring her check. But there was a sparkle in her eyes that made all the other imperfections fade into nothing.

  She was exactly as fierce as he’d remembered her being from that day, long ago, when he’d seen her in the forest. He’d always wanted to officially meet her, but something inside him had told him to wait. And he had waited, for nearly twenty years he’d waited.

  No one would believe his limited childhood powers of divination, but Llyr had been born with the innate knowledge that he would marry a woman like her. Ever since he was a small boy he’d dreamed of finding his mate in another shifter. When he was older, one glimpse of Mede had confirmed it. He’d been too young at the time to actually receive the will of the gods and his crystal had not glowed. But he had known. Deep inside, he had known. He didn’t need a crystal to tell him as much. For many years he’d clung to a fleeting moment. Even now the smell of the mountain forest stirred that memory.

  Llyr never imagined seeing her again would make those feelings he carried inside him grow, and that he could feel as strongly toward her as he did this night. Yes, he’d had his moments of doubt. Twenty years was a long time to carry a torch for a woman he’d only seen once. But it had been worth it. Everything he needed to know was confirmed when he looked at her.

  “So what did you think of our female dragon?” Rolant asked. “Didn’t I tell you she was beautiful? Ah, but that beauty comes with a set of sharp teeth. She can take a bite out of any man and hold her own against any warrior. I don’t envy the man who is fated by the gods to be her mate.”

  Instead of answering, Llyr reached into his pocket and took out his crystal. He lifted it for Rolant to see without needing to verify things for himself. Rolant gave a small gasp and turned to look at where Mede danced around the bonfire with the others.

  “But…?” Rolant looked at Llyr’s chest to the dormant cryst
al he wore.

  “I have been sending her invitations to the palace under our mother’s name for months now, but she always finds an excuse, or simply hides so the runners can’t find her. You have told me how she feels about marriage,” Llyr said. “I took your warnings to heart. This stone belongs to Gildas.” The palace servant had been only too happy to lend his necklace to a prince, thinking it would add to his luck. Honor dictated that the sacred object would be returned undamaged. Well, as undamaged as it had been when Llyr had received it. “He’s injured and has no present use for it. Since he doesn’t believe in medical units, he’ll be mending for some time.”

  “Why wouldn’t you let her know who you are to her?” Rolant frowned. “Hand me Gildas’ stone and put yours on. Let her see it. You can stop her from getting the brand of the Dead Dragon.”

  “I will not change her path until the gods officially bless us.” Llyr tucked his own stone back into his pocket. “Who am I to interfere with the future queen’s fate?”

  “Uh, you are the future king?” Rolant stated the obvious.

  Llyr gave a small laugh. “You saw that fur. She earned her scar. If I take that away from her now she’ll never have me.” He smiled and it was hard to hide his excitement. “You do not dictate orders and expect to win a woman like that. If I get possessive, if she knows who I am to her, she’ll never make it to the next Breeding Festival. I need her at the festival. The gods will take care of the rest.”

  Rolant frowned. “How would you know how to win a woman like that? There are no other women like that.”

  “Because I know dragons and I know the warrior spirit. Those who join the Order of the Dead Dragons are of a special breed. No one in this encampment could be won or persuaded by force.” Llyr watched Mede dance by. Her eyes met his and he slowly nodded to acknowledge her. It was all he could do not to dance after her.

  She was a truth that had filled his every moment. He’d waited his entire lifetime for her. But that knowledge had not prepared him for the gut-slamming, heart-squeezing, loin-filling reality that was Lady Mede. Even now he could feel her against his fingers. The nerves in his hand tingled, sending tiny shockwaves of awareness through his body. By some unknown willpower he held himself back and watched the sway of her hips and the blowing of her hair. Llyr knew the gods were always testing them to ensure they were worthy of the blessings bestowed.