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

by Serena Rose

  The cold night air stung her heated cheeks. Her heartbeat had grown loud. “I think you're exaggerating my virtues,” she said, her voice rising to a squeak.

  No, he said firmly. You're an amazing woman, Alaia. Any man would be lucky to have you as his wife.

  He had not asked, but she felt that question laid out before her once again. Now that she knew who he was and how he felt, there was no real reason to delay giving her answer, but it meant that everything would change. She swallowed. “Does that mean… your offer is still open?”

  The sharpening of his attention was almost a physical thing. Every particle of her being seemed to align like a magnet to the force of his presence. Always. If that's something you would want.

  She nodded, struggling to find words. “I'm not sure I'm… adequately prepared to be the wife of a prince or a king, but I want to be your wife. I believe the gods brought us together for a reason.”

  He was silent for a long moment. Her palms began to sweat. I'm trying to get a hold of myself. If I let my emotions get away from me, I might accidentally burn down the house.

  Alaia laughed, relief making her giddy. “Maybe you should change back,” she said, and then she frowned, a new fear taking root. “I mean, you can change back, can't you?”

  A deep rumble from his chest vibrated the ground, and smoke issued from his nostrils. It took her a few seconds to realize he was laughing. Did you think I was going to live in the garden for the rest of my life?

  “There's no need to be rude. It was a natural question,” she said, slapping his shoulder and then pulling her hand back with a wince of pain. He probably hadn't even felt it.

  I apologize. Just give me a moment. He took a deep breath, and once again the air was filled with the sound of cracking and popping. Only now Alaia realized that it was his body, the muscles and bones complaining as they rearranged themselves into the form of a man. This time, he didn’t scream, but he groaned through clenched teeth as his body shrunk and his scales disappeared.

  Then he was just himself, crouched on shaking hands in the grass. Alaia felt strange; she wanted to run to him, but it was all so new. And she was pretty sure he was naked, which was interesting and mortifying all at once.

  She moved forward slowly, putting her hand on top of his sweat-damp hair. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, just a little tired,” he said, and he looked up at her, wide-eyed in the dim light. One of his arms wrapped around the back of her legs in an awkward embrace. “Did you mean it, when you said you wanted to marry me?” His voice was quiet but full of hope.

  “Yes,” she said, her heart surging with warmth at his expression. “I want us to be a family. I know things are difficult, but I think we can make it work, together.”

  He pushed himself to his feet, and his arms moved around her waist, tentative at first, but more firmly when she didn't pull away. “I can't tell you how happy that makes me.”

  She could feel his heart racing against her palm, and his eyes seemed more golden than usual, as if they were lit from within. They moved together as one, their lips meeting softly. It was a different sort of kiss than the ones they'd shared at Heartfire, unhurried and tinged with relief.

  It felt like coming home. She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. Considering Zorion's state of undress, things might have got out of hand after that, but they were interrupted by the sound of someone loudly clearing his throat.

  “Just came to see if you were planning on coming to your own party,” Itzal said, his grin visible even in the dim light. “I've got your clothes.”

  “Right,” Zorion said, releasing her with obvious reluctance. He dressed quickly with his back to her, but it took some effort not to stare.

  “The children are safe and asleep,” Itzal said, and Alaia let out a sigh at the easing of her unconscious fears. “You two seem to have reached an understanding,”

  She could feel her cheeks coloring, but she decided not to give him the satisfaction of embarrassing her. “We have,” she said firmly, nodding for emphasis.

  “Does that mean we have an announcement to make?” he asked, pitching his voice to include Zorion, who paused in the act of buttoning his jacket.

  “Yes,” he said, but then he looked to Alaia, “if that's all right with you, of course.” She appreciated the consideration. Getting engaged to a prince, even one in effective exile, was no simple matter, she was sure. But now that they were both open about their feelings, tentative and turbulent though they sometimes were, she didn’t feel like hiding her intentions.

  “I think I’m ready,” she said. Zorion took her hand and squeezed it.

  “I'll be with you,” he said, confidence returning to his voice. It was enough. She returned the pressure against her fingers, and they walked back to the house hand in hand.

  **************************

  Dinner was a blur. Zorion sat at the head of the table, and she sat to his right. After thanking his guests, a few powerful lords who were his particular allies as well as Osane and some older priestesses, he cleared his throat. Alaia could hardly keep from shaking.

  “After the success of today’s ritual, I have another piece of news to share with you all,” he said, taking hold of Alaia’s hand and lifting her to her feet.

  She could see the eyes of those around the table taking her in, wondering who she was and where she came from. Part of her wanted to shrink away from their searching gazes, and another part wanted to stare back in defiance. “I have asked Alaia to be my wife, and she has accepted. The ceremony will be sometime after Heartfire.”

  There was a heartbeat of absolute silence before everyone began talking at once. The atmosphere was generally celebratory, which was a relief, but after the sixth congratulations and a long succession of toasts, Alaia was quite ready to make her escape. Zorion escorted her back to her bedroom.

  “I thought you would tell them about the children as well,” she murmured once they had reached the relative privacy of the doorway.

  “I considered it, but I was afraid they would demand to see them in person. Itzal says there's no rumors as of yet. If we can keep the children a secret until the marriage, so much the better. It just might throw Imanol off balance.”

  Alaia nodded. She did not doubt that Zorion cared about her and the children, but there was also a political angle to consider. Taking back the throne was important to him, and now to her as well. Everything she had seen, from the death of her brother to the suffering of the people in the city, made her believe that Imanol deserved to be deposed. “When will you move against him?”

  “The nobles wanted proof of my power, and now that they have it, I hope they'll start mustering their troops, but they won't really be able to move until the weather warms. In the meantime, I'll be keeping him busy with diplomacy at court. Hopefully he won't expect anything aggressive until the army is at his doorstep. I'll also be working on developing my abilities as a dragon. My being useful in battle is an important part of our strategy.”

  The image of the enormous shadow, the fire, and the glistening scales were graven on her memory. She wasn't afraid; on the contrary, she wished she'd been able to see more. “You will be careful, won't you?”

  “I will,” he replied, “I'm more concerned about your safety than my own, but that's part of the reason I wanted us to be married first. If anything happens to me, you and the children will be protected and provided for.”

  The mere idea of Zorion's death made her cold inside. “And the other part?” she asked, trying to think about something, anything else.

  It was difficult to tell in the dim light of the hallway, but she thought she saw color darken his cheeks. “I…” He swallowed, and his thumb brushed over her cheek. “I meant what I said before. I’ve been thinking about you ever since Heartfire.”

  She didn't know what to say to that, and then he kissed her, gently, on the corner of her mouth. The tenderness was more enticing than any more passionate ges
ture would have been. Before she knew what she was doing, she pulled him close, fingers twisting in his shirt, and kissed him again.

  His lips were warmer than she remembered, almost hot, as if the dragon’s fire was flowing through his veins. Maybe it was. He fell against her, startled and fervent in equal measure, and their bodies thudded against the door. The cry of a hungry infant sounded from within.

  They pulled apart, breathless. “I suppose I'll see you tomorrow?” she asked. Part of her ached to invite him in, and not just for herself. She knew he longed to spend more time with their children, and there was nothing more warming to her heart than watching them together.

  But they had guests, of course, and for now, their children were not a subject of public knowledge. He nodded. “I have to go to court tomorrow to be officially congratulated on my birthday and all that, but I should be back before evening. Lorea and Maude will surely want to talk to you about the wedding.”

  Her heart lurched at the thought: a wedding for a prince. Could she really do this? He sensed her unease and squeezed her hands. “You're going to be fine.”

  ********************

  Court was exhausting. Not that it wasn’t always a long and tiring affair, but it was more so today because of the tension that underlay every gesture. His twenty-first birthday had come and gone, and Imanol had not retired from the Regency. Of course, Zorion hadn’t expected him to; he’d been calling himself King far too long for that.

  But now that his intentions were out in the open, the two factions were at each other’s throats, and Zorion himself had to do his best to walk a middle line. If his plans came to fruition, he’d be ruling them all soon enough. He couldn’t afford to make too many enemies.

  He and Itzal didn’t escape the palace until well after nightfall, but as soon as they got in the carriage, he felt the wild joy that he’d been keeping buried welling up within him again. Alaia would be there waiting for him. She wanted to be with him. Itzal took one look at his face and laughed.

  “I’m glad things are going well between you and Alaia. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this happy,” his spymaster said. “She did take the dragon thing rather well.”

  “She’s a strong woman,” he said, sighing. “I couldn’t ask for better.” He could have waxed poetic about her virtues, but he had a feeling that Itzal didn’t want to hear about it, so he kept his romantic thoughts to himself. Alaia was already in bed by the time they returned, but she wasn’t asleep.

  He tiptoed into the room to tell her goodnight, leaning down to kiss her cheek, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. He wanted to kiss her again, to crawl into bed with her, but he could tell she was exhausted, and he had things he needed to do. It was a wrench, leaving like that, but he promised himself it wouldn’t be forever. Soon, they would be married, and there would plenty of time for kissing and other things.

  He was ebullient when he made his way to the roof. This had always been his favorite place to think since they had moved into this house seven years ago. Now it was the perfect place to transform. In the dark, if anyone actually bothered to look up, his shape would blend into the irregular peaks of the roof, and up here, he didn’t have to worry so much about how vulnerable he was during the change.

  Itzal had consulted with several carpenters and stonemasons, who had assured him that the roof would support his weight, as long as he didn’t bounce around too much. The sky was clear, the stars twinkling above him like scattered diamonds, as he stripped off his clothes.

  The transformation came more easily this time, the pain fading quickly. He unfurled his wings and flapped them experimentally, but he could hear the glass shaking in the windows. No take-offs from up here. Instead, he crawled down the side of the house like an overgrown lizard and walked through the gravestones until he found a relatively clear space.

  He stretched his wings wide. There was no one left to teach him, but a dragon had to fly. Osane had told him it was instinct. He ran and jumped, flapping his wings wildly, but his first attempt left him with a bruised nose and a lot of uprooted grass. He’d felt something, though, the air catching in his wings. If he could just duplicate that…

  It took two hours, but when he finally soared into the air with his muscles on fire, it felt like the greatest triumph of his life, aside from the one the day before when Alaia had agreed to be his wife. It was a good week to be alive. That night, everyone still awake in the city swore they heard thunder, but there wasn’t a drop of rain to be seen.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Zorion’s words echoed in her head the next morning as Lorea burst into her bedroom as soon as, or perhaps slightly before, it was polite to do so. “I’m so happy for you two!” she exclaimed, apparently unperturbed that Alaia was half-naked and in the middle of changing Naia’s dirty diaper.

  Galena was on the other side of the room doing the same for Zuzen, while Izar, clean and fed, laid on the rug cooing at a google-eyed stuffed toy Zorion had brought them a few days ago.

  “There are so many things to plan: clothes, flowers, the invitation list. Oh, and the feast. We’ll have to talk to the cook about what’s available. Usually they start planning for these sorts of things half a year in advance so rare ingredients can be found, but we’ll have to make do.” Just listening to the sentence made Alaia feel as if her head might explode.

  “I have to do all that?” she asked, her fingers pausing in the act of refastening the pin on the baby’s diaper. Naia squirmed, waving her little fists in the air, and that was enough to spur Alaia to finish the task.

  “I know it sounds like a lot,” Lorea replied with a brilliant smile. “But we’ve got plenty of time, and of course, Maude and I will do everything we can to help.”

  From that moment on, the wedding consumed Alaia’s days. It seemed she always had an urgent meeting with someone: a seamstress, a chef, a gardener. There were invitations to make and colors to choose, and between all that, she was still caring for the triplets. Galena could only do so much, and Alaia never had got around to talking about a wet nurse, so once again she was burning the candle at both ends.

  Zorion was busy as well, at court during the day, flattering and negotiating with Imanol while making alliances behind his back, and flying around the countryside to build up his stamina at night. He made time to see her every day, but sometimes it seemed they were both barely aware of each other through their fatigue and many obligations.

  A little over a week after the engagement had been announced, Alaia was in the drawing room with Lorea and Maude, discussing her least favorite subject: seating arrangements. “You can put the Duke of Cadmea next to the ambassador from Iberia,” she said, bouncing Zuzen on her shoulder. His sisters were asleep in the bedroom under Galena’s watchful eye, but he was fussy, possibly sensing his mother’s tension or even just missing his father.

  Lorea shook her head. “That would only end in a duel. The Duke’s sister was widowed by an Iberian, and her children were taken as political prisoners. Negotiations for their release have broken down so many times, that it’s a miracle they haven’t gone to war.”

  Alaia sighed and looked down at the chart on the table. It had been a major effort just to keep the guest list under fifty. Luckily, Zorion had told his sister quite bluntly that he could hardly afford to host the whole realm. “Well, sit the Iberian ambassador next to the Prince of Wallachia and move the Duchess of Satine next to the Duke of Cadmea.”

  “They’ll like that,” Lorea said with a chuckle. “They’ve been having an affair for six years.” Maude shook her head and started to write on the chart. “But I don’t think the Prince of Wallachia should be at that table with the Persian sheik. It might remind him of unpleasant childhood memories.”

  Alaia took a breath through gritted teeth. “There’s an empty spot next to the diplomat from Manchuria.”

  “They’re involved in a border dispute. Maybe the sheik can sit next to the Lord of Verdun?” Lorea said thou
ghtfully

  “I thought they were feuding,” Maude chimed in, peering at her sheet of notes. “Something about the spice trade?”

  “Wait, maybe the Iberian ambassador could sit next to the Manchurian,” Lorea said. Zuzen started whimpering again, and Alaia shifted him to her other shoulder.

  “That still leaves the Prince sitting with the sheik,” Maude replied. Zuzen let out a quiet wail; Alaia hummed in his ear to quiet him, but he only cried louder. “What if the Duke of Cadmea and the Duchess of Satine both sat next to the Prince of Wallachia and the sheik and the Iberian ambassador went over here with the Alexandrian?”

  “Maybe. But then I feel like we’re just stuffing all the foreigners together. They might take it as insult.” Alaia could hardly hear them over Zuzen, and then everyone turned to her. “What do you think?” Lorea asked, and it felt like something snapped inside her.

  “I think if all these grown men and women can’t figure out how to get along for one meal, they can stay home,” she retorted, and stomped out of the room. Of course, she couldn’t go in the bedroom until Zuzen calmed down and it was too cold to go outside, so she simply paced the halls with a crying baby. The only mercy was that Lorea and Maude didn’t immediately chase after her. She was beginning to regret the whole wedding, not that she didn’t want to be with Zorion; in many ways, he was the only highlight of this entire arrangement.

  Perhaps that wasn’t being charitable. But she was exhausted, and she didn’t think she could handle weeks more of the same. A tear slipped down her cheek, and then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “I’ll take him,” Zorion said, lifting Zuzen from her arms. She was so relieved by the mere sight of him that a fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “He’s just overtired. The girls are already asleep,” she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. It might have annoyed her that Zuzen was already quieting in his father’s arms, but she was too happy about the silence to be offended.