“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”
“You were a child and one does not tell a child about adult things. But I’ve seen you grow so much, Mede. I see a maturity in you that was lacking even two months ago. Maybe it was what happened to Cynan. Maybe it’s Llyr.” Grace stood and pulled Mede to her feet. She sighed and looked at an exterior wall as if she could see through it. “Now, daughter, what am I to do with the army of men on our lawn? They refuse to leave by order of the prince, and they sing songs not fit for a lady’s ears.”
Mede laughed, unable to help it. The Dead Dragons had made their camp close to her home, not the lawn like her mother claimed, but they were close enough to be heard shouting in the early hours of the morning. “I think the prince wanted them away from the borders after Cynan’s death, so he ordered them here with me to keep them from seeking revenge.”
“So the death has something to do with the borderlands?” Grace asked, perceptively.
“Would you like me to speak to them and send them away?” Mede started to stand.
“No.” Grace placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Let’s feed you. There is food in the kitchen. You eat something. I’ll speak to them. I know how to handle dragons.”
Minutes later, Mede found herself standing in the doorway to her home, watching in awe as her mother gently scolded the hardened warrior men about their lack of harmony when drinking, their dusty boots and their unwashed hands. By the time she was finished, they were offering to cut her a woodpile and eating dainty sweet biscuits off a tray. Not once did her mother threaten violence on them or raise her voice to be heard.
“Perhaps I underestimated the lady’s approach,” Mede said when Grace returned with an empty tray.
“You will be amazed what men will do for food,” Grace answered. “Whenever I want your father to do something I make his favorite dish. He still hasn’t caught on.”
“I think your skills go beyond serving sugared biscuits.” Mede took the empty tray. “You didn’t let them have all of them, did you?”
“Of course not. I set aside the two biggest for you.” Grace gestured to the kitchen. “Why don’t you put that tray on the counter, grab the biscuits, and then would you mind coming to the back room with me to help me with something?”
“Of course, anything. I will be right there.” Mede was already on her way to the kitchen thinking of the treat. “I still can’t believe you got them to do what you wanted with food.” Mede chuckled. “Men are such simple creatures to be manipulated so easily. It makes me glad I’m a woman and too smart to fall for such tricks.”
“Yes, dear,” Grace answered with a small laugh. She waited until Mede came back out holding a biscuit in each hand. Leading the way to the back room, she said, “I need you to try on the wedding undertunic gown. I had the hem altered. It was a bit long.”
Mede paused in the middle of the living room and watched her mother disappear into the back room. Realizing she’d also been persuaded by the promise of food into agreeing to do anything, she grimaced. Under her breath, she muttered, “You’re lucky these are really good.” Defiantly shoving one into her mouth whole, she went to do what her mother wanted.
* * *
Llyr wanted nothing more than to go to the mountains to see Mede. He knew she was safe, because he’d ordered the Dead Dragons to run reports to him as he camped with the Draig army near the borderlands. He was with a small group of warriors who had been called away from their homes, but they were trustworthy and brave. The king wanted the men prepared for the night of the festival and had entrusted Llyr to see to their assignments. The Dead Dragons needed time to grieve, so Llyr did not make them do this task.
The night of darkness was fast approaching. There was so much he wanted to say to Mede, but keeping her safe was a much more pressing matter. He sent men over the borders to check for signs of Var movement. They built perches in the trees near the festival grounds to better watch the festivities and the forest.
With his attention on every detail, Llyr worked for most of the day. Each evening, when the sky dimmed by small degrees, he sneaked away to a little stone temple overgrown with vines and vegetation, to lay prostrate on the hard stone ground before the gods.
The gods wouldn’t care that nature had overtaken the small ruins. Time had actually added to the spiritual power of the place and enhanced his personal sacrifice. He begged the gods for their blessing, to forgive his loss of the crystal, to protect Mede from harm and to make her his wife. Only when he could barely keep his eyes open and his body was so stiff it hurt to move, did he allow himself to crawl off to find a few hours of sleep before doing it all again.
* * *
“What do you mean King Tared said no?” Attor demanded, as he stormed into his father’s bedchamber. He threw the missive his father had redirected to him. The parchment landed on the man’s bed.
King Auguste muttered incoherently, half-awake and half-dead drunk.
The dazed state gave Attor courage. “I asked you for one thing. One! Lady Medellyn is to be my wife. The gods were clear. I want her. I need her.”
The king grumbled and launched a pillow in Attor’s direction. He caught it in one hand and gripped it tightly. King Auguste turned his back to Attor in dismissal.
Attor stormed around the bed. “You are a useless king, a worthless father and a sorry excuse for a cat. The Var would be better off if you abdicated the throne.” He hit him with the pillow, hard.
King Auguste growled and slashed a hand toward Attor. His eyes weren’t even open all the way, as if his son was no real threat to be taken seriously. “Leave me, you ungrateful, entitled brat. What do you now about ruling the kingdom? The only thing you’ve accomplished in your miserable life is killing your mother!”
Rage burst out of Attor, causing him to shift uncontrollably. Claws gripped the pillow, clenching so forcefully he couldn’t compel his own hands to open. He simply stood, shaking violently.
“Worthless,” King Auguste muttered, moving to turn on the bed to again give Attor his back.
Attor lunged forward. He landed on the bed, stopping his father from dismissing him yet again. King Auguste floundered in surprise. Unable to release his hold, Attor used the pillow to smother the king’s disgusting face. He wanted to erase the hateful words. He wanted to erase his childhood. He wanted to erase his father.
When King Auguste tried to fight back, Attor pressed his knees forward, locking the pillow down and pinning the king’s arms at the same time. The king shifted, trying to slash at his son. Attor barely felt the cuts on his forearm before he captured the wrists. Rage kept him strong, stronger than he ever remembered feeling.
“You’re a worthless father. You’re a worthless father,” he repeated, locked in position long after the man’s weakening blows stopped.
Attor’s breath came in harsh pants. His fists slowly unfurled and he released the pillow. He backed away, coming off the bed.
Not really thinking, he slid the pillow off the king’s face. One of King Auguste’s eyes looked at him through a narrow slit. The other was closed.
His hands shook and he glanced around the room. He shook the pillow of any indentation and shoved it beside his father’s head. The body was still warm as he pushed the eyelid down to hide the accusing gaze. Numbly, he grabbed the letter from the floor and backed out of the room. “Yes, father, you sleep. Sleep.”
Chapter Thirteen
Draig Breeding Festival Grounds, Outside the Royal Palace
Music filtered over the festival grounds, the sound of gitterns filling the one night a year when the Draig people could marry. Llyr loved the strumming resonance of the four-stringed instruments. Bonfires had been lit, giant blazes that could surely be seen from space. The placement of the fires was to help guide the bridal procurement ship to where it needed to land, which it had done an hour before. A new bright green and pink logo had been painted on its hull that read, “GB” for Galaxy Brides. The ship had yet to open as it sat
in a clearing on the hill. Though he understood the necessity of his father’s trade with the procurement corporation, Llyr was not interested in the alien brides. He knew his fate.
He’d been coming to the festival for years with his parents, but this was his first year attending as a groom. Since he knew who he wanted to marry, he did not bother to go down to the receiving area with the other men. He didn’t want to explain why his crystal was lost. For the moment, everyone could assume it was under his silken groom shirt.
The masked grooms mingled with the gathered crowd. As the one night a year came over the planet, stars shone from above. Spots of burning ash spit up from the bonfires, the red embers floating in the darkness. The thick leaves slumped on the colossal trees of the forest. Unlike the mountains, the trees by the palace were fat and overgrown. Roasting food, burning wood, sleeping foliage, they all mingled into a scent that was unique to this night and this place.
Once the ship’s doors opened, the grooms would form a line. The alien women would walk by. Crystals would glow. Marriages would be set or disappointments felt.
Large pyramid-shaped tents had been assembled around the edges of the festival grounds for the lucky couples. Families decorated the tents with colorful banners and crests, as a symbol of familial blessing and well wishes. A torch had been lit near each tent’s entrance and would burn throughout the night. Those not attending the ceremony as a groom showed their loud support by reveling around the fires—dancing, drinking and playing in celebration.
His parents were seated across the crowd from his location, presiding over the ceremony from their wooden thrones. He knew the king would be holding his wife’s hand in his, as the queen whisperingly remembered how they met at their ceremony long ago.
Rolant stepped up onto the wooden platform that would later host a feast for the bridal candidates. Llyr stood on it to get a better view of the festival grounds. Handing his brother a goblet of mead, Rolant grinned. “She’s here.”
“You saw her?” Llyr asked, eagerly looking around the site. “Where? Is she dressed as a bride?”
“I saw her parents.” Rolant took a drink from his goblet, finishing it off before handing it to a passing servant. “Lady Grace asked about you.”
“What did she say?” Llyr didn’t take a drink, so Rolant took the goblet from him and lifted it to his own lips. “Did she say Mede was here to marry me?”
Rolant chuckled. “She wanted to know where your tent was. Our father didn’t have a tent set up for Mede since he’s convinced the lady will be in yours with you tonight, so I’m guessing Lady Grace wanted to pin ribbons to it for luck. I would say that is a sign.”
“Her father saw my glowing crystal when we delivered the ceffyls to the northern valley. He could have told his wife, and they both assumed.” Llyr frowned in worry. “Mede might have other plans. She’s hardheaded and makes her own decisions.”
It was one of the things he loved about her, even as it frustrated him.
“Don’t fear, brother. You’ve spent your time at the temple, praying to the gods, and denying your desire to see her again before tonight. I’m sure they saw your sacrifice.”
Llyr would have lain on that hard temple stone for ten thousand years if it meant he’d be gifted with Mede in the end. He reached for his neck, as if this time the crystal would reappear to help him convince Mede of his love. “I shouldn’t have tricked her.”
“No, you probably shouldn’t have,” Rolant agreed. “But I can understand why you did. The lady would have run from you and hidden from the ceremony if she saw your crystal glow for her. You would not have lasted three minutes in her presence. I think you approached her the only way you could have—as a friend.”
“I wrote her a note,” Llyr admitted softly. “I wrote her fifty notes. I wanted to see how she was doing after Cynan’s death.”
“You did?” Rolant asked in surprise. “Did she answer?”
“I didn’t send them. I couldn’t risk the gods thinking my sacrifice halfhearted.” Llyr frowned. “What if she thinks I do not care about her grief?”
“I am not sure Mede is the type of woman who would want people pointing out her grief.” Rolant finished off his second goblet of mead and handed the empty cup to a servant. “Two more, please.”
The servant nodded.
“She is not as tough as you make her sound. I think she merely hides her emotions well, like any warrior. It does not mean we do not feel.” Llyr again searched the crowd. Where was she?
“Try to relax and enjoy the night. You have men posted all around the area. No one is getting by our guards. Mede is in the crowd. She is safe. I gave orders for Dylan to shadow her wherever she went, before they even left for the high mountains to see Cynan’s brother. Dylan will not stop watching her until you tell him to.”
Llyr relaxed at the news. “Thank you.”
“You should put on your groom mask,” Rolant said. “A bride is not supposed to see her husband’s face before the acceptance.”
Llyr had forgotten to put it on in his haste to find Mede in the crowd. He reached into his pocket and took out the silken mask. It matched the light blue of his tunic shirt. His white breeches had matching blue cross-lacing down each side of the leg. The cut of the clothing was very old-fashioned, but it was traditional groom attire. His people were hesitant to change their ways, especially since so many grooms had found happiness in such attire—as if changing the design of his pants would somehow taint a prospective marriage.
Thinking he needed all the luck he could get, Llyr tied the mask around his head. The silk encased his eyes from brow to nose, with holes that were just large enough to see through. The mask was a symbol of unwavering belief, choosing with the heart not the eyes. He heard his father once say it was from the days when grooms would cover themselves fully in a sheet and the brides would not see them before they chose by blind faith. Llyr wasn’t sure how true the story was, or if it was just a tale passed down through generations.
Laughter punctuated the night. Llyr felt Mede but could not see her. The sensation of her washed over him, filling him with desire and longing. An invisible thread pierced his heart and sewed it to hers. Distance and time would not break such a bond. Even if she refused him, he would always love her. There was no one else. There had never been anyone else. Even when he’d been a young boy, he’d dreamed only of a shifter girl.
Not much scared the future king of the dragons, but the idea of not having Mede in his life terrified him. He held his breath, frantically searching for her, trying to follow his emotions.
His eyes caught sight of her near one of the nearby wedding tents, and he was able to breathe again. She wore the white bridal gown he’d seen her in at her home, the day she’d fallen into his arms. Even now he could feel her body against his.
The servant arrived with the goblets and Rolant reached to take both of them. He turned to hand one to his brother, but Llyr ignored him as he leapt off the wooden platform. The crowd parted to let him pass and he smiled at the sea of faces as he made his way to Mede. He had to see her. Whatever it took, he had to convince her she was meant to be his wife.
* * *
What was she doing here?
This was a mistake.
Was it a mistake?
Mede felt like a fool. People kept staring at her in the lacey bridal gown and smiling. They smiled a lot. She wasn’t sure if they were laughing at how ridiculous she looked, or genuinely being nice. She’d give her dominant knife hand for a tunic shirt and some privacy.
Her mother had laced the restrictive bodice, tight but not as securely as before. Mede was still convinced that the corset was invented to prevent her from shifting and running away. How could she run if she couldn’t fill her lungs with air? How could she run with so many lace and silk layers attacking her legs? The tip of her finger shifted into a talon and she was tempted to snag the corset string to loosen it. Maybe then her breasts wouldn’t look so on display.
The
gauzy brush against the back of her hand reminded her of how her mother had cried happy tears of joy when she’d put the veil bracelets on Mede’s wrists. Mede retracted the talon and left the gown uncut. Nerves made it hard to swallow. Her dress made it hard to breathe. Her overactive thoughts made it hard to concentrate past the lightheadedness that took up residence in her brain.
What if Llyr’s crystal still didn’t glow?
What if she was meant to be heartbroken forever?
What if his feelings had changed since she’d last seen him?
What if this horrible ache inside her never went away?
Mede hadn’t been nice to him the last they’d seen each other. She’d been distracted by grief and anger. She should have smiled at him. She should have said, I love you, too.
She should run. Running would be so much easier than facing her fears. Her body stiffened, begging her to shift and take to the forest, to find the familiar rhythm of feet against earth. Her mind forced her body to behave. Besides, she wasn’t sure the corset would let her shift without breaking a couple of ribs.
“Mede?”
The whisper came from behind, startling her, and she nearly screamed. She closed her eyes. “Llyr.”
She felt him step around her. Her breathing quickened, as did her heart. A hand touched her cheek. A shiver worked its way over her.
“It is good to see you,” he said.
Mede opened her eyes. She started to smile, but stopped. Her gaze happened to be on his neck when she looked at him. He wore no necklace. How could that be? Had he found someone already?
“I should,” she tried to speak but her throat closed. No one could be expected to live with the pain she felt in this moment. She waited, sure it was going to kill her. Somehow she remained standing. “I…”
The Dragon's Queen (Dragon Lords) Page 15
