by Jasmine Walt
Dareena’s breath caught in her throat. “Pr…pregnant?” she whispered. Her world seemed to tilt sideways as she looked down at the big hand pressed against her abdomen. Was she really carrying a dragon baby so soon after meeting the princes?
“Yes,” Alistair confirmed, a smile in his voice. “I’ve been around enough pregnant women to recognize the scent. Not to mention,” he added, tweaking her nipple, “your breasts are more sensitive than usual.”
Dareena squealed, batting his hand away. “Stop that!” she scolded, and he laughed, nibbling her shoulder. The shock of Alistair’s impromptu announcement was eclipsed with blinding joy, and she grinned so hard her cheeks began to ache. “I wish Drystan and Lucyan were here with us right now. We must tell them immediately!”
“No.” Alistair went still, his voice hard. “We can’t risk the elves reading the message first. They can’t know about this, Dareena.”
The joy vanished as swiftly as it had come. “Damn,” she said softly, tears springing to her eyes. For a moment, she’d forgotten all about the elves. “You’re right. If the elves find out I’m carrying a child, it will only make me a more valuable hostage.”
“I’m sorry,” Alistair said softly. “I wish things were different. I wish you were safe at home in your bed, and that we could celebrate together. Instead, you’re in enemy territory, and you’re saddled with a useless lug who can’t even shift.”
“Oh, hush.” Dareena turned in his arms so she could cup his face. “It’s not your fault that you’re not up to your usual strength,” she said. “The same thing would have happened to Lucyan or Drystan. I’m glad to have you with me, Alistair.” She kissed him gently. “I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t by my side.”
“Neither would I,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your eyes are more luminous than usual,” he observed, a curious note in his voice. “I noticed it after we crossed the border—you seemed to glow with new vitality.”
Dareena nodded. “I’ve long suspected I have an elven ancestor in my family tree,” she explained as she traced the lines on Alistair’s face. “I think being in the elven lands might be awakening something inside me.”
Alistair’s eyes lit with hope. “Perhaps you’re capable of elven magic, then. I might be useless, but if you are able to harness your power in any way—”
“We’ll be able to better protect ourselves from whatever Prince Arolas has planned,” Dareena finished. From what Tariana had briefly told her, she knew he was the real enemy, not the king. “I’ll see if the king will let me access the library. Perhaps I’ll find something that can get us out of here, or at least alleviate your symptoms.”
“My little bookworm.” Alistair smiled fondly, then tucked her head beneath his chin. “If anyone can find the answers to our problems between the pages of a manuscript, it’s you.”
As Dareena pressed her cheek against his chest, she listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat and let it rock her to sleep. Tomorrow, they would visit with the High King and find out if there was anything they could do to convince the elves to let them go.
And maybe, just maybe, Dareena would discover more about her elven heritage, too.
9
The next morning, Dareena and Alistair were woken by a bloodcurdling scream.
“What is it?” Alistair jumped out of bed, ready for battle. Unfortunately, he was also stark naked, and the maid who’d opened the door only screamed louder at the sight of him, her eyes popping so wide Dareena wondered if she would have to reach out and catch them before they landed on the floor.
Certainly, it was possible the woman had never laid eyes on a specimen as fine as Alistair. But did she have to act as if she’d never seen a naked man before?
“By the gods!” She pointed a shaking finger at them. “You…with your brother’s wife…!”
Oh.
“It’s not what it looks like!” Dareena clutched the sheet to her chest as she sat up, trying to find the words to explain. But really, what was there to say? It was what it looked like. She was in bed with Alistair, and as far as the elves knew, she was Drystan’s wife.
An assumption she would have to correct immediately, she decided.
Dareena and Alistair exchanged helpless glances as the maid whirled about and left the room. “I wonder if I should call her back?” Dareena muttered as the door slammed shut behind her. She was going to need some help dressing this morning, after all.
Alistair sighed. “I suppose I should have sent you back to your own room last night,” he said, perching on the edge of the bed. The muscles in his broad back flexed as he ran a hand through his shoulder-length blond hair.
“Nonsense.” Dareena wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her bare breasts against his back. His warm body felt so good against hers—she was tempted to pull him back under the covers with her and make love with him again. “You need me, Alistair. For whatever reason, touching me makes you feel better.”
“You’re damn right it does,” Alistair growled playfully, twisting around to catch Dareena’s mouth in a steamy kiss. She clung to him for a long moment, their tongues tangling, as heat gradually built in her veins. If she reached forward right now, Dareena knew she would find his cock, hard and ready for her already. Her pussy clenched with need at the thought of lowering herself onto him, of riding him until they both saw stars.
“You should go back to your rooms,” Alistair said, reluctantly pulling away. “I imagine the reason that maid came to wake us is because the king wishes to see us today, and the last thing we need is for her to come back and see us in flagrante delicto.”
Dareena laughed and slid off the bed. “No, I imagine she would have a conniption.” Giving Alistair one last, longing look, she opened the adjoining door and returned to her own room.
After donning a robe, Dareena spent the next twenty minutes unpacking her trunk. She’d picked out the dress she was going to wear to see the king—a gown of deep red velvet that went beautifully with her complexion—and was laying it out on the bed when a different maid returned with a breakfast tray. Dareena ignored the speculative look in the elven woman’s eyes, merely thanking her for the food and asking her to draw water for the bath. She imagined the prudish maid from before had already told the other servants about her “adulterous” activities, and word was spreading like wildfire throughout the castle.
Dareena finished her food just as the maid returned with a bucket of steaming hot water and a wash cloth. Shrugging off her robe, Dareena let the maid bathe and dress her in the gown and matching slippers, then style her hair. The woman did an excellent job, her deft fingers weaving it into braids and piling them atop her head in an elaborate crown.
“You look lovely, Miss,” she said when she was done.
“Lady,” Dareena corrected automatically. “Miss” Dareena Sellis had died the day she’d drunk from the dragon goblet, though she hadn’t known it at the time. She was the Dragon’s Gift now, carrying a dragon baby in her womb. She was far more than a mere “Miss.”
“Lady,” the maid repeated with a nod. A faint smile curved her lips, and Dareena wondered if the news about her and Alistair didn’t bother this new maid. Perhaps not all elves were prudes after all. “I am Mari. I’ve been assigned to serve you for the remainder of your stay.”
A knock came at the door before Dareena could respond, and the maid opened it to a guard on the other side. “The king commands your presence in the throne room,” he said stiffly. Alistair stood behind him, flanked by a second guard. He already looked pale again, Dareena noted with some concern. How long would the boost she’d given him last under such duress?
“Of course.” Dareena rose gracefully from her chair. The guard stood aside to let her pass, and she went to Alistair immediately. The moment she slipped her hand in his, she felt the air in the hall shift, and the guards gave them both stern glances. But Alistair’s cold hand began to warm in hers, and she only held it tighter, refusing to let go.
The elves could look down on them all they wanted—if skin-to-skin contact helped Alistair fight the effects of the spell, she would cling to him with her dying breath if necessary.
Thankfully, the guards made no attempt to separate them. As they were herded through the halls toward the audience chamber, they got more than a few strange looks from various nobles and residents living in the castle. Dareena ignored them and looked around curiously. The castle was fashioned entirely from white stone, but there were various stained-glass windows set high in the walls that made the stone bloom with wonderful colors and shapes. Tapestries depicting various scenes in history added further color, and statues of important elven figures flanked entrances and stairwells.
The castle steward waited for them outside the throne room, dressed in a deep green and gold tunic—the royal colors, Dareena had gathered. His face was inscrutable as he opened the doors to the throne room, and Dareena’s breath caught as she beheld the splendor within.
Like the rest of the palace, the room was built of stone, but here, the pillars were carved into trees so lifelike Dareena would have thought them real if not for the color. The trunks stretched up and up and up, until the branches curved over the arched ceiling, twigs and leaves tangling on either side as they crossed midway. Between the pillars, steps led to a second landing where members of the court could come and watch the proceedings, and below, on either side of the aisle, were azure pools with shimmering orange fish swimming beneath the clear water. There were a number of elven nobles gathered on the landing, watching with expressions ranging from curiosity to boredom to outright disdain. Amongst them was Lady Valenhall, and flanking her were two men Dareena judged to be her son and husband, though age was hard to tell with elves.
The room quieted as Dareena and Alistair arrived, the silence broken only by their footsteps rasping against the stone floors as they approached the dais. Like the gallery, the throne itself was on the second landing, and behind it, carved into the wall, was a tree even more gigantic and stunning than the pillars. Unlike the stone forest lining the room, this one was in full color. The greens and browns seemed so alive, Dareena wondered if the tree was real.
“My king.” The steward bowed once they’d reached the steps leading to the dais. “Presenting Dareena Sellis, the Dragon’s Gift, and Prince Alistair, of Dragonfell.”
Dareena looked up at the king, and it took great effort to fight against her instinctive need to bow before him. She had never seen a likeness of Andur, High King of the Elves, but he was nearly identical to the picture she’d conjured of him. Long, pale blond hair, a handsome, ageless face with fine-boned features, and eyes of pure silver that gave nothing away. He wore a tunic woven of some otherworldly material that seemed to shift and shimmer before her eyes—impossible to pin down exactly what color it was—and his head was wreathed with a crown of antlers. She met that silver gaze squarely, trying to gauge his measure, and though there was that aura of wisdom and mystery she expected from such a powerful gaze, there was also a brittleness there, as if something had recently broken and was desperately trying to mend.
His son, she thought, feeling unexpected sympathy for him. What must it be like to realize that your favorite child had been going behind your back and consorting with the enemy?
Her eyes flicked to the left, away from Andur. There stood an elven woman with chestnut hair and lovely green eyes, dressed in a pale green gown, every inch embroidered in gold. The shape of her mouth and chin told Dareena the obvious—she was the princess. And to the king’s right, the raven-haired man in shining armor and a green and gold cape much too fine for the average soldier must be Prince Arolas. His cold blue eyes bore into hers, and a smirk curved his lips as he looked her up and down.
“Prince Alistair, Lady Dareena, this is Andur, High King of the Elves, and his children, Arolas, Crown Prince of Elvenhame and General of the Elven Host, and Princess Basilla.”
“Enough with the formalities,” Arolas said in a bored voice. “We know very well who they are, and vice versa. What I would like to know,” he said, his smirk turning into a disgusted sneer, “is why the servants are whispering about finding you in bed together.”
Dareena’s cheeks burned. “I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Alistair growled.
“Considering that you are our guests, I find the matter quite pertinent,” the High King said. “Does King Drystan know that you are bedding his wife? How can we assure her safety if we allow you to steal into her rooms every night? Are you attempting to supplant your brother by planting your own seed in her before he gets the chance?”
“Please, Your Highness,” Dareena said, taking a step forward. “It isn’t like that at all. Drystan is—”
Arolas made a slicing motion with his hand, and Dareena choked as her mouth filled with air. Try as she might, she couldn’t speak, and she was forced to breathe in through her nose lest she pass out. From the pained noise Alistair made, she guessed the same had been done to him.
“There is no need to make excuses,” the prince said, his eyes glittering. “I suppose you can’t be faulted for bedding the prince. After all, it was what you were created for, was it not?” His cold gaze slid over Dareena like a physical caress, and she burned with anger and humiliation. She wanted to slap the smug, condescending look right off his face, but she could do nothing from her position so far below him.
That will change, she vowed fiercely as she glared up at him. One way or another, she would find a way to turn the tables so that she was on top.
In an act of pure defiance, she moved closer to Alistair and took his hand in hers. Murmurs swept through the gallery, and the High King’s eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps we should let them explain themselves, Father,” Basilla said, looking curiously at their joined hands. “They have to know word of this will spread back to Dragonfell. Could it be that we’ve made the wrong assumption about which of them is king?”
“Nonsense,” Andur scoffed. “Dragonfell would never have turned over both its king and its Dragon’s Gift as hostages. No one is that foolish. Still,” he said after a beat of silence, “it would be best if we did not send word back to the new king about his wife’s infidelity. We do not wish to devalue them.”
“I’ve seen the reparations you and Father have written out,” Basilla said to Arolas. “The sum is quite high. What will you do if they do not pay?”
“Oh, they will,” Arolas said, smiling wide. “The Dragon’s Gift is far too valuable for them to refuse. If they do not, she will be executed. Which does not bother me in the slightest,” he added with a shrug. “As far as I’m concerned, putting an end to the dragon line once and for all can only be a good thing for us.”
10
Late at night, four days after Dareena had left Dragon’s Keep, Lucyan stared into the bottom of his whiskey glass and wondered how the hell he’d managed to sink so low.
Just a month ago, he would have never imagined growing depressed over a woman. They were a dime a dozen in his life, easily accessible. Married, single, virginal, whorish, it hadn’t mattered—he’d had them all. And while he’d delighted in the time spent between pair after pair of legs, the moment they were out the door, they were also out of his head and heart.
He’d never become attached to one before. Not until Dareena. And the woman who held his heart in her precious hands was hundreds of miles away, far beyond his ability to protect or cherish her.
Alistair is one lucky bastard, he groused to himself as he put his feet up on the coffee table. If his father had been here to see it, he would have had a fit, but since Dear Old Dad had run off into the mountains with their treasure, he had no right to complain about how Lucyan treated his furniture. He and Drystan had moved into the king’s suite, since all the other available rooms were being used to treat the soldiers. The servants had already taken down the animal heads and would busy themselves replacing the linens and furniture once the soldiers were back on their feet. He couldn’t wait f
or Dareena and Alistair to come back so they could enjoy the space together.
Speaking of Alistair, he wondered how his brother was faring. As much as he envied him for being able to stay by Dareena’s side, he also knew that his brother was likely in pain, or at least discomfort, right now. His spies had reported to him that the elves had paid the warlocks to help them cast a strong anti-dragon spell over the heartland of their kingdom, which would weaken any dragon who crossed the border and prevent them from either shifting or breathing fire. It was the equivalent of cutting Alistair’s balls off, and Lucyan was all too glad he didn’t have to endure that.
Lucyan considered switching to port instead of whiskey, then a knock came at the door. Groaning, he heaved out of his chair and opened the door to find Shadley. The grave look on his face sobered Lucyan right up, and he opened the door wide to let the spymaster in.
“What is it?” he asked, closing the door behind them.
“I’ve been investigating the Black Cloak Brotherhood, and something interesting has come to light,” Shadley said, taking a seat in one of the chairs by the fire. Lucyan retook his chair and poured a glass for both him and Shadley. “I have reason to suspect that the oracle is behind their sudden rise to prominence.”
Lucyan choked on his mouthful of whiskey. “The oracle?” he sputtered, once he could draw enough breath to speak. “But he is the dragon god’s mouthpiece. What reason would he have to support a cult that is the antithesis of whom he serves?”
“I don’t know, and these are only suspicions as of yet,” Shadley warned. “But rumor has it that behind closed doors, the oracle is telling people that he worries that perhaps Dareena used some kind of warlock trick to fool everyone into believing the dragon god had given her his blessing. He says that it would explain why such tragedy has befallen the royal family—Dragomir running off without formally abdicating or choosing an heir, you and Alistair not stepping aside for Drystan, and, of course, the Dragon’s Gift stringing along all three of you instead of choosing one.”
