The Dragon's Unwanted Triplets (Paranormal Dragon Romance Book 1)

by Serena Rose

  “I thought it was for the best,” he said, looking down with his hands clasped in front of him. “If I had known…” Alaia was already working on a good retort, but one of the children, Naia, the youngest and most sensitive, started to cry. Alaia turned and took the baby into her arms, shushing and cooing.

  “Let me talk to her for a moment,” said a familiar voice. Alaia had been so busy staring at Zorion, she hadn't even noticed Osane sitting in the corner.

  “I'm so sorry,” Alaia said, bowing her head. It probably wasn't good form to lose your temper in front of the high priestess.

  “Nonsense, young lady. Sometimes foolish young men need yelling at, but now that you’ve vented your feelings, I think we all need a moment to cool down. There are a few matters I should explain to you in the meantime.” She gave a meaningful look to Zorion.

  “I'll just… go outside,” he said, and Alaia's father gripped his shoulder.

  “Why don't we go out to the shop? I’ve got a bottle of mead I've been saving for a special occasion.” The two men walked out the door, and Osane guided Alaia to sit down on one of the chairs in the main room. Naia was already asleep in her arms, and her mother held the other two, a rare moment when they were all quiet, as if they knew the importance of the conversation.

  “So,” Osane said, sitting down across from her in their old wooden rocking chair, “Now you know the truth. I am sorry that I didn’t tell you before.”

  “You always knew who he was,” Alaia said, sighing. She had suspected, but the fact that he was a prince made it somehow worse.

  “I suspected something important had transpired when I heard he brought home a Heartfire lantern. He keeps it still, you know,” she said with a secretive smile. “When you showed me the ring, I knew it was his, of course. I could have told you. I could also have told him you were pregnant, but I did not.”

  “He could have checked on me himself. I don't understand why everything has to be so secretive,” Alaia said, still scowling.

  “He could have,” Osane conceded, “but he normally gets all of his information about the villages through me. It is safer for him, and for you all, that the king not notice his interest. Ever since his father died, he has pretended, quite successfully, to have no intention of reclaiming his throne. So, Imanol, not seeing him as a threat, has not had him killed, but has allowed him to live in the capital, with access to resources, information, and allies he would otherwise be denied.”

  It made sense, Alaia supposed. Until now, she hadn't paid much attention to the political situation, but even she was aware that the king had a reputation for ruthlessness toward his opponents. The fact that he had murdered his way to the throne was the worst kept secret in the kingdom.

  “Zorion did say it would be dangerous to be associated with him,” she admitted. “But what's changed? It seems to me that the king would feel more threatened if he knew about the children.” Even saying it felt like a cold finger running down her spine.

  It was not Osane that answered, but her own mother. “But you remember the story, Alaia. It used to be one of your favorites when you were little: the one about the dragon and his three children who drive away evil with their special power.” It was something every village mother and father told their children. Alaia frowned, not understanding her meaning.

  “It isn't just a bedtime story,” Osane said. “A prophecy was made, long ago. At a time when the land and people are in terrible danger, three children of the dragon-blood would be born, and they would wield a power great enough to drive away any evil.”

  Alaia looked down at the child in her arms, at the two other infants her mother held. “You think my children are the ones,” she said, shivering.

  “Zorion is of the dragon blood, though he has not yet awakened that power,” Osane said. Alaia had no idea what that meant, but sensed it wasn't the time to ask. She remembered the ring, now hanging on a fine chain inside her shirt. “Even if your children are not the ones, there are those who will believe they are.

  If Imanol was to find out, he would certainly try to capture you, to use the children for his own purposes, or possibly just kill them to remove the threat they pose. Before, there might have been safety in secrecy, though Zorion would have wanted to know his children regardless.

  Now, the best hope is for him to take you under his protection, publicly, and claim the children as his own before Imanol even knows they exist. Your children will give the people hope, and that in itself will be protection for them too.”

  Alaia looked to her mother. “Is this what you and Father believe as well, that we will be safer with Zorion?”

  “Your father and I would do anything for you and the children, of course. But what defense could we truly be, if the king set his sights on you? We have been lucky so far in that he pays little attention to the villages.”

  Her eyes were far off, perhaps remembering the son she had lost. Many of the young men in the villages had gone to war and never returned. She shook herself, and continued. “The prince can protect you, and more than that, I believe he does care for you and was only thinking about your safety. Perhaps you should give him another chance.”

  The truth was that Alaia wanted to give him another chance, with all of her being. It was only her pride that held her back. She sighed out a breath. “I will go with him, then, to keep the children safe. But I will not marry him just because. He will have to earn it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Alaia hugged her mother and father goodbye one last time, with some difficulty as she was holding Izar and Naia in her arms, and Zuzen was strapped to her back. “Stay safe,” her father said, gripping her shoulders. “And write often. The prince has promised to have your letters delivered to the temple. I will fetch them every other week.”

  Alaia nodded, though she could hardly imagine having time to write. She wondered if she would ever return. Whatever her misgivings about Zorion and his marriage offer, the moment she turned toward the carriage and saw him standing there, waiting for her, it felt very… final.

  It wasn’t until she reached the door of the carriage that she realized there was no way she could climb the single step carrying all three children. Zorion held out his arms, a mute offer of assistance. Inside her heart, a brief and bitter war was fought. Despite agreeing to come with him, she was still angry, still hurt about the months of loneliness and exhaustion.

  Even in these circumstances, she was reluctant to put a child into his arms because it felt like an admission that they were his, that he had some right to them after all, when he hardly deserved it. But she knew she was being ridiculous.

  She leaned toward him, and he took Izar with the same exaggerated caution that Alaia herself had once used, when they were newly born and seemed as fragile as birds’ eggs and spun sugar. He nestled the baby in the crook of his arm before reaching his free hand down to Alaia and pulling her up into the carriage.

  When he had taken a seat on the cushion across from her, she unslung Zuzen from her back. He made a pleased burbling noise as she settled him in one arm and Naia in the other. When she looked up, she was nearly pierced through the heart by the gentle and wondering expression on Zorion’s face as he beheld his daughter.

  “Which one is this?” he asked in a soft voice. “I suppose you must have a special ability to tell them apart, as their mother.”

  Alaia laughed despite herself. “No. I've begun to see some differences recently, but we tied colored yarn around their right wrist just to be sure. That is Izar, who has yellow. Naia is blue and Zuzen is red.”

  “Clever,” Zorion said, smiling. “They are beautiful names.”

  “Thank you,” she said, finding it difficult to maintain her anger in the face of his sincerity. “How long will the journey take?” Probably, she ought to have asked that before they were on their way.

  “I believe if we travel the rest of the day, there is an inn we can stay at, about four hours outside the city. I am guessing, however. Carriages
are a bit slower than straight riding. Speaking of which…” He knocked on the back of the carriage, and a moment later, it lurched into motion. “I hope you aren't too uncomfortable, but let me know if you need to stop and stretch your legs.”

  She nodded, looking out the window. The house she had lived in her entire life retreated at an alarming rate, the forms of her parents and Esti, who were waving tearfully, shrinking into specks and fading out of sight. Alaia sighed, hoping she was making the right decision.

  ***********************

  By the time they arrived at the inn, everyone was cranky. The babies were screaming in three-part harmony, and the proprietor looked absolutely horrified at the prospect of having them, but of course, one didn’t say no to such obviously wealthy patrons. They were shown to their rooms, Alaia with the children, and Zorion sharing with the man who’d been driving the coach, whose name was Itzal. As soon as the door shut behind her, she got to the task of nursing and changing the children.

  It was the first time she’d ever had to do it completely on her own, and every time she paid attention to one baby, the others started to shriek. What the other patrons must’ve thought, she didn't dare to imagine. She was nursing Zuzen with tears in her eyes when a knock sounded on the door. “What is it?” she answered in a tight voice.

  “I brought you some dinner,” Zorion said. She found herself unreasonably annoyed by his helpfulness.

  “You may as well leave it there. I’m a little busy.” There was a moment of silence, and Alaia sighed. The door opened with a scrape of wood on wood. Zorion set the tray on top of the rickety table in the corner.

  “Let me help,” he said, scooping Naia and Izar off the bed. They didn’t stop crying, but their volume did decrease, and Alaia felt the tension in her skull ease an appreciable amount. “Just tell me what to do.”

  She sighed. It was difficult to admit that she needed his help, but of course, it was pointless to pretend. “I need a basin of warm water and some soft cloths,” she said and they got to work.

  Much later, Alaia woke in the half-light just before dawn. Izar was whimpering against her chest, and she maneuvered the child into nursing position without really thinking about it.

  The baby settled herself to eating, and Alaia’s eyes wandered. Zorion was sprawled on the other side of the bed, shirtless after he’d been vomited on twice, with Naia cradled in the crook of one arm and Zuzen in the other. He’d never complained, even when she had been at her wit’s end, and his calm patience had steadied her.

  This was the way it should always have been, that was obvious, but she wondered if it was even possible, after everything that had happened. She was not the same hopeful and naive girl of last year, and she had no wish to be married out of pity. But looking at him, she couldn’t help but imagine that they might learn to love each other. He was still handsome, gentle, and not nearly as arrogant as you’d expect a prince to be. Surely anyone else in her situation would have accepted his offer immediately.

  Izar cooed with contentment, a little bubble of milk on her lips. There was something in the line of her brow and the nascent shape of her tiny nose that recalled her father; Alaia could see that now.

  She lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting her back until she burped. Naia was already starting to make little noises of discontent, so Alaia picked her up next, placing Izar in her sister’s place. Zorion sighed in his sleep, his fingers flexing lightly around the baby’s feet. A feeling of warmth bloomed in Alaia’s heart. She decided not to examine it too closely.

  **************************

  As soon as they passed the city gates of the capital, Gasteiz, Zorion felt himself tense. Alaia was looking around in wide-eyed wonder at the tall buildings with their shining copper roofs, the crowds moving down the streets, the colorful shopfronts, and the brightly clothed minstrels singing and playing on the corners like flocks of exotic birds.

  He didn't blame her. The city was indeed beautiful, especially in certain quarters, but it was only a cover to hide the rot within. The King’s spies were everywhere, and Zorion could almost feel the concealed blades at his back. The further they traveled into the city, the more signs there were of the suffering of the people.

  Children huddled weeping in doorways or begged for scraps from hollow-eyed pedestrians. Buildings were boarded up. An entire street had burned, and all that remained were charred beams and ashes. Alaia turned to him, accusing and despairing all at once. “This is awful.”

  He nodded. “It wasn’t always like this. My mother and father weren’t perfect rulers, by any means, but when I was a child, even the poorer districts still had warmth and happiness. Now, the people starve while the king feasts every night. If we were to go to the noble quarter, you would hardly believe we were in the same city.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Where are we going then?” He knew what she was asking. As the prince, he should be living in the Palace, and even minor nobility had small estates in the nicer parts of town. His current abode was meant as a slight, but it was one that he was glad to make use of.

  “My sister and I were not in the city during the actual coup. When the nobility convinced Imanol that it would hardly be politic to execute children, he granted us an estate, but he was under no obligation to make it a nice one. I believe he hoped we’d be so despondent about our living situation that we would leave the country. You’ll see what I mean when we get there. It will only be a few minutes.”

  They turned down a particularly dark and abandoned looking street, at the end of which was a bizarrely tall and dilapidated structure surrounded by an imposing wrought iron fence. Alaia peered out the window as Itzal stepped from the carriage to open the gate. “Are those gravestones?”

  Zorion nodded, a wry smile on his lips. “Who knows why someone decided to build a mansion in the middle of a graveyard? Maybe Imanol was trying to make a point, forcing us to live among the dead, but in fact, it’s the most helpful thing he could have done.” He might have elaborated further, but the carriage came to a stop at the end of the drive, and the door opened.

  He shifted Izar onto his shoulder and exited first, turning back so that Alaia could hand him Zuzen. She braced herself with a hand on his shoulder as she stepped down to the ground, which Zorion considered a step forward in their relationship. At the sound of a shrill shout from the doorway, she took a step back, her eyes wide.

  “Where have you been? You ran off without a word, and whenever I asked anyone where you’d gone, all they could say was that you were with Itzal.” Lorea was running down the walk, and he didn’t have a hand free to stop her. Luckily, Itzal stepped in her path, holding her shoulder as she took in the whole scene, her eyes as round as coins. “What is going on? Whose children are those?”

  “Not here,” Zorion said tersely, indicating their less than secure surroundings. “Alaia, this is my sister, Lorea. Lorea, this is Alaia. Now, let’s go inside. It’s been a long journey for everyone.”

  ********************

  Outward appearance aside, the inside of the manor was comfortable, practically a palace to Alaia, though she could tell, mainly by the lack of gilded anything and the threadbare carpets, that it was modestly furnished. They went into the parlor, and an older, matronly woman appeared. She looked at the new additions to the household with knowing eyes, but only smiled when Zorion asked her to prepare a room and send someone with food and drink.

  He stood in front of the fireplace, absently rocking back and forth with a baby in each arm, just as Alaia herself had done many times before. Fatherhood seemed to come naturally to him, which would have felt unfair if she had not been so relieved.

  She could admit that now; their imposed togetherness in the carriage and his help the night before had forced her to consider that Osane had been right. If he had known about the children before, he would have come for them, even without the prophecy. He was not a bad person, and it had truly been concern for her safety that had kept him away.

  S
till…

  “Can you tell me what’s going on?” Lorea demanded. “Last thing I heard, you were getting ready for the ceremony, and now you show up with a bunch of babies.”

  “They’re my children. Mine and Alaia’s,” Zorion said firmly, though there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “They were conceived on Heartfire, but I only just found out about them. Of course, I had to ensure their safety before Imanol heard the news.”

  Lorea pursed her lips. She seemed unsure whether to be happy for her brother or annoyed. “So, now what? Are you going to get married? What about all our plans?”

  “That’s up to her,” Zorion answered, his eyes meeting Alaia’s across the room. There was intense emotion in his gaze, but she didn’t know him well enough to sort it out. “In the meantime, the ceremony will proceed as planned. In my mind, it’s even more important that Imanol be taken care of, once and for all.”

  “You plan to overthrow the king? What ceremony are you talking about?” Alaia asked, feeling she had a right to know considering how she’d suddenly been pulled into this mess, and the safety of her children was on the line.

  “My 21st birthday is in three days,” Zorion said. “We’ve been planning for this almost since the day my father was murdered. I can tell you about it in more detail later, but for now, I think you should try to get some rest.” As if on cue, the motherly servant reappeared to say that the room was prepared.

  Several minutes later, Alaia was left alone in a bedroom that was almost as big as the house she'd grown up in. The carpet and all the draperies were forest green, and the walls were covered with tapestries depicting the wild woods. A wooden crib was pulled up next to the massive curtained bed, and Zorion had already placed Zuzen and Izar into it, miraculously still asleep.

  He was just next door, if she needed help, he’d said, or she could pull on a little rope and summon Maude, the older servant, if she preferred. As much as Alaia had been angry about Zorion’s sudden reappearance in her life, his absence already felt strange.