“Mark her as she wishes. Let her join the order. These men will become her brothers and will protect her with their lives,” Llyr said.
“You will perform the marking?” Rolant asked. “Tradition says the highest rank must cut the flesh.”
Llyr could not harm Mede. To do so, even when requested, went against every protective instinct growing inside him. “No. I will leave. You do it.” He took a deep breath. “Just make sure she doesn’t do any more dangerous missions. Dragon or not, the borderlands are no place for a woman. We may not officially be at war, but the Var king is a puppet and the old house lords do as they please. They will not honor any peace if they get one of ours alone.”
“I tried to stop her,” Rolant defended. “Of course I tried to stop her. I gave her the most disgustingly hard tasks I could think of leading up to this night. She did them all without complaint. When that didn’t work, I directed her to the still where the easy target sleeps off his drunken stupor. Her father is a great warrior and well respected. I couldn’t turn down her attempts without reason. I don’t know how she found someone from the Var palace tonight. The forest near the marshes should have been empty. They smell of death and tree rot. No one goes there unless forced, or they’re farming illegal ale. There are no Var festivals this time of year to drive them to the trees.”
Llyr placed his arm on his brother’s shoulder. “She is safe. That is what matters. But now that you know she is your future sister and queen, perhaps keep a closer watch on things. The whole of our kingdom’s future rests in her.”
* * *
The whole of Attor’s future happiness rested with the dragon woman, his future queen. Attor closed his eyes to the long stretch of forest, the view visible from his private balcony. It encased a small lake and led toward distant mountains. A soft breeze caressed him, tickling him through the cross laces running up the back of his shirt. Being that the balcony was high off the ground, no one below in the palace yard could see him, though if he leaned over the rail he could hear them walking about below.
Attor gave a low moan and gripped the liquor bottle he held tighter. The sound caused the woman on her knees before him to quicken her mouth’s pace and suck harder. His breathing deepened.
Already he could feel Medellyn’s love for him, her adoration. How could it be otherwise? He felt his destiny in her.
Attor opened his eyes. Soon all this land would be his. Medellyn would be a fine queen. They would have many strong sons, half-cat, half-dragon, a new fierce breed to take over the planet. The Draig gene would be recessive, of course, as catshifter genes were obviously better and stronger.
More than that, Medellyn had the capacity to love him. She would love him. And he would love her. Her strength was in her heritage. She was strong. She would not die in childbirth like his mother had. He would never have to be alone.
Attor glared down at the woman on her knees before taking a drink from the stout liquor. The pleasure of her mouth faded when he looked at her face. The eyes staring up at him were blue, not grey. And her hair was red, not black. With his free hand he grabbed the back of her head and held her on his shaft. Regardless of his displeasure in her looks, he found release. The pressure inside his stomach eased and he groaned, closing his eyes tight to imagine his future bride.
“Come, wench,” the watching Myrddin said as Attor tied his laces. The man lounged against the stone and iron railings along the balcony’s edge. The green-blue sky of morning shone on his excited face. He began unfastening his pants. The woman stood without question and went to the nobleman. As Attor moved to go inside to his palace bedroom, Myrddin turned her toward the railing and continued to free himself.
Attor stumbled through the door. The balcony exit was inside his enormous closet. He paused long enough to pull off his shirt and toss it on the floor for the maid to get when she was done. He glanced out the long, rectangular window on the exterior wall opposite his numerous racks of clothing. Myrddin was lifting the woman’s skirts to take her from behind. Attor watched the show for a few moments.
“Tell me it’s the best cock you’ve ever had in you,” Myrddin commanded, clearly not realizing Attor listened from just inside the balcony door. “All men pale in comparison to its big, fat size, don’t they? Call me your king. Call me your king!”
The woman obeyed, but probably not with the enthusiasm Myrddin wanted because the man growled and pounded her harder. Attor was too tired and too drunk to care how Myrddin found release.
The prince pushed through the bedroom door and instantly went toward the bed. A fire had been lit in the marble fireplace, the maid’s task before she’d been urged to her knees. The decadence of the large room with the smooth stone floor, woven rugs and golden decorations was lost on him. Falling face first toward the mattress, he was met with soft sheets and instantly went to sleep.
* * *
Mede gritted her teeth as the dragon symbol was cut into her lower back. She felt the pour of liquor on her exposed shoulder. It trickled down, stinging the wound Rolant made with the special marking knife. The heated blade had been formed to make the Dead Dragon symbol, so that all the deep cuts could be made and cauterized at once to produce a scar. She was not allowed to shift and had to endure the pain as her human self.
“Agh,” she screamed as liquor hit the wound a second time. Her tunic shirt was pulled up in the back so Rolant could work, but did not expose her immodestly to the others. The liquor wet her pants. At that moment she didn’t care if her clothes reeked of a brewery and were stained with her dripping blood. This morning marked the beginning of her new life—a life of freedom and respect. She breathed hard, taking the pain she’d fought so arduously for. The men cheered, saying their congratulations in warrior grunts and tired jesting—all but Saben who had fallen asleep face down in the dirt about an hour before.
“It’s over,” Rolant whispered in her ear as he handed the blade to Arthur for safekeeping. Someone pressed a bandage to her back and pulled her shirt down.
Mede found herself looking for Llyr, but knew if Rolant cut her the man had not stayed to see her ceremony. She felt slighted by his disappearance.
“I’ve got a medical unit in my tent. I won’t heal the wound, but I can take away the pain.” Rolant pulled at her elbow to help her stand.
“No special treatment. I am a brother of the order now. I will act accordingly,” Mede said.
“I don’t think we’ve ever had a female. I think you’re a sister of—”
“I said what I meant. I’m no different than any man here.” Mede pulled away from him and slowly walked toward her tent to sleep. The bright light of morning shone around her, like a rebirth, as her new brothers found their ways into intoxicated dreams. She drew back the flap and crawled onto the mound of furs on the floor. A groan left her as she lay on her stomach. Mumbling, she tried to ignore the tingling in her arm where the prince had touched her, as she swore, “I don’t care that you didn’t stay to witness my honor, Prince Llyr. You weren’t invited tonight anyway. Go back to your palace and touch me no more.”
Chapter Four
Draig Northern Mountains, Medellyn’s Family Home
Mede averted her eyes. The sound of her mother’s tears was the only thing that could make her feel guilty, no matter how she tried to act like she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. Everything her mother did was delicate and sweet. Her voice was low and gentle, as if she always comforted a sick child with it. Small hands never hit with force, not even when kneading dough. When she cried it was soft sobs and little noises of disappointment that tore at her daughter’s heart.
Of course Mede knew Lady Grace would not like her new brotherhood. In fact, it had been her intention not to tell her mother, and hope that everyone who knew the woman would think better than to gossip about it. Apparently, not everyone had the common sense to keep the news quiet.
“Mother,” Mede said, brushing back a strand of dark hair that matched her own. She touched her mothe
r’s shoulder. Though people said that when standing still, Mede physically looked like a younger version of Grace, when the women moved and talked, their demeanors made them very different. Mede was aggressive and stubborn, whereas Grace was gentle and reserved. “I bring honor to the family name. The order is one of the oldest on the planet.”
Grace took a deep breath. She picked up a plate of sugared biscuits and fussed with arranging them as she walked from the table toward the kitchen. “If it is so honorable, why are its dealings so secretive? And I heard they cut their members. We had gentlemen clubs on my home world. There is a reason women were not allowed to join.”
The cut on Mede’s back no longer hurt, but the wound was still scabbed. She refused to confirm that part to her mother. With luck, the woman would never see the scar. For all her years surrounded by dragonshifters and wild spirits, Grace still maintained an innocent quality bred into her during her youth.
Grace was born on one of the Florencian moons, a living-museum settlement locked in what her mother called the Old Earth Victorian era. The settlement did not use space technology, but Old Earth mechanical tools—what she likened to the great-great-great-grandfather of modern advancement. This simple existence had prepared Grace to be a bride on a planet whose people also chose to live simply. However, what Qurilixen did not offer the gentlewoman was the same impossibly high standard of social customs and rules she’d adhered to in the settlement. From the stories Mede had heard of her mother’s past, she highly doubted the gentlemen clubs were quite as fierce as being a Dead Dragon.
“I don’t think you can compare your gentlemen sitting around talking politics and drinking pea,” Mede said. She instantly wished she could take the words back. They’d just kind of slipped out of her mouth.
“Tea,” her mother stressed with a weary sigh. “The drink was called tea.”
“Are you sure?” Mede furrowed her brow. That’s not how she remembered it.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“The princes belong to the order,” Mede asserted, hoping to lighten her mother’s expression. “You said you liked Rolant.”
“The princes? Both princes?” That perked her up a little.
“Yes.” Mede nodded. “Prince Llyr as well.”
“Then you met the heir prince?” Grace asked, not bothering to hide her hopeful tone.
“Yes.” Mede again nodded. She thought of the man who constantly danced through her thoughts. There was no reason he should be there, but he was. The fact annoyed her more than her mother’s desire to see her wed and pregnant. “I met Prince Llyr. He was very kind.”
“And?” Her mother forgot her tears. “Did you go to the palace? Did you see the king’s court? Were the palace guards there?”
“No. I met the heir prince at the campsite.” Instantly, Mede knew her mistake.
“Campsite? You slept out of doors?” Her mother gave a delicate shiver. She again took a deep breath. Her hand trembled.
“Nothing improper happened. It was on palace grounds.” Mede thought of the cutting, of the drunken dancing weaving through the tents, of Llyr’s touch on her arm, of getting the Var fur. The Var fur? How could she have forgotten getting kissed by the catshifter? Surly a kiss should have ranked higher in her thoughts than a touch on her arm. Grace watched her carefully. Mede smiled brightly. Gods forgive her for lying to her mother. “I promise. I held myself like a lady.”
“What did the prince say to you? Are you invited to the palace?” her mother asked.
Did the woman never give up? Mede suppressed her sigh. “We did not speak long. What does an heir prince have to talk about with me? He congratulated me on my honor.”
“There was nothing else?” Grace insisted.
“Nothing of importance.” Mede thought of his hand on her arm. Even now she could feel the tingling. Her mind’s obsession with that touch was weird considering the evidence of his dormant crystal. Perhaps years of her mother’s daydreaming had finally rotted into her brain. She was imagining a connection where there was none because he was a prince.
“And the other men of the order,” her mother pried, sniffing lightly.
“All kind men who treat me as they would a sister.” Mede hoped that would give her mother some comfort. She always talked about how she wished she could give Mede siblings, and how her inability to have more children was her life’s regret.
Grace touched Mede’s dark hair, running the backs of her fingers over the length of it. “You are so beautiful, my daughter. On my home world you would have been celebrated with fine society parties and afternoon callings. Men would have asked your father’s permission to escort you on carriage rides.”
It was a fantasy Mede had heard often. When her mother spoke, her eyes glazed and her mind drifted far away. If not for the settlement disbanding, Grace would never have left her Victorian world. For a moment her mother’s serene mask slipped to reveal her loss and an intense sadness washed over Mede.
“Do you wish you could have stayed? You never talk of what happened or why the settlement disbanded.” Mede placed her hand on her mother’s to stop her from needlessly rearranging the biscuits.
“There is no reason to relive unpleasant memories,” Grace said. Mede could see her mother did relive it despite the words. She wanted to ask what had happened, but knew not to pry. This was one story her mother kept to herself. Mede wasn’t even sure her father knew the truth of it.
“Do you regret coming here?”
Grace blinked back her private thoughts. She instantly shook her head in denial. “Never. Not for one second have I regretted coming here. I love your father more than my own soul. And you, you are my beautiful daughter. I regret not being able to show you my world, how grand ladies were there, but I never regretted having you. You and your father are my life. Without you I am not whole.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be the lady you want me to be,” Mede said.
“The pull of the dragon is strong.” Her mother nodded in understanding. “I wish you could feel the human in you as you do the dragon. You give that side so much attention. I want more…” Grace swayed on her feet.
“Mother?”
“It’s nothing. I’m tired.” Grace smiled weakly. Her words became a little breathless as she tried to act like nothing had happened. “I want so much for you. I want you to feel your human soul. I want you to feel what it’s like to have a woman’s heart. You in love and married, would make my life complete and I would have nothing left to do in this universe.”
Mede eyed her mother’s pale face, worried. “I want you to see a medic.”
“No. It’s nothing.” She shooed her daughter’s hand away. “I’m just a little tired.”
“Mother, seriously. For me,” Mede put forth sternly. “If you don’t, I’ll tell father.”
“Don’t bother him with nonsense. He has so much to worry about with the herds.” Her mother walked away from her, fidgeting with the array of decorative old weapons her father kept hanging on the wall. They were family heirlooms, the blades dulled from centuries of use. The woman’s hand moved slowly, not really doing anything useful. She kept her face from view.
“What can I do to get you to see a medic? Name it.” Mede watched her mother’s back, imagining that she looked thin, too thin. Knots of worry bunched in her stomach. Grace had always been delicate. With the Draig natural lifespans, death was not something Mede thought a lot about. She never considered her parent’s mortality before. What was her mother hiding from her? Why was she acting this way? Fear gripped her. She wasn’t equipped to deal with loss. She needed her mother. Grace couldn’t be sick. “Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Yes, just agree to see the medic. I can tell something is not right.”
“Deal.” Her mother turned, smiling brightly. Mede froze. That was not the forlorn expression Grace had been wearing moments before. “Wait here. You are going to love what I have for you.”
Mede watched as her mother straight
ened her shoulders and pushed the wayward strands of her hair back into the bun braided at the nape of her neck. Mede eyed her mother in shock. What had just happened? Did her sweet, innocent mother just manipulate her into agreeing to…what?
“I had this made for you.” Grace lifted a gown proudly before her. “You will be the most beautiful bride at the festival.”
“I’m not going to the festival,” Mede said numbly, eyeing the frilly dress. “And what is that thing? It looks like a normal dress got attacked by lacey stuff, and lost.”
“Don’t be silly, daughter, of course you’re going. Just as I’m going to see a medic. Your dragon honor dictates that you uphold our agreement.” Grace continued to smile, ignoring the comments about the dress.
“Did you just manipulate me?” Mede couldn’t move. She had not seen that coming. Yes, she knew her mother wanted her to go to the festival, but she never in a million lifetimes thought Grace would fake an illness to manipulate her into going.
“Oh, daughter.” Grace gave a secretive smile. “I’ve asked you for years to let me teach you how to be a lady. You silly dragons always think you have to do things with force. Your father is the same way, only he doesn’t realize when I gently push him in a direction for his own good. Had I not intervened, your name would have been Thor.”
“Ah.” The sound came out strangely from her throat. “You planned this.”
“No, I beat you with your own stubbornness. I’m actually surprised it took you this long to catch on. Did you really think it was your idea to have your room so clean as a child?”
The Dragon's Queen (Dragon Lords) Page 5
