by May Sage
“What?” she barked.
Vincent lifted a brow, mildly surprised, but visibly not impressed.
“I never met a woman who didn’t like pretty pieces of cloths.”
“And I, a man who put ribbons in his hair, yet here we are.”
She would have guessed that she’d earned herself another glare, but Vincent chuckled - not of his own volition, that much was clear. Soon, he caught himself and remembered to frown.
“Do you know what I could do to you for your insolence, witch?” he asked, his eyes ablaze.
They’d completely changed color, becoming molten gold. Talia wet her lip, and found her insides tightening, her breath hitching. It was as if her body, her core, had been spelled. Actually, right then, she very much wanted to know what he’d do.
Yes… said her shadow. Let him do as he pleases.
“Vincent.” Demelza’s tone held a warning. Thankfully, her voice awoke Talia, pulling her from her trance. “These ladies are our Queen’s sisters and guests, you’ll recall.”
The man was reluctant, but he redirected her attention to the she-dragon.
“Ensure the heathen gets changed into something suitable. It wouldn’t do for our Queen’s sisters and guests to present themselves like mere peasants.”
He moved to leave, and damn her, but Talia couldn’t help noticing how well his trousers fit around his thick thighs and his round muscular ass. She caught herself in time to call after him, “Perhaps you could come back and help us do our hair.”
He growled. She laughed. Aleria sighed.
“Must you infuriate our host’s family?”
Demelza chuckled, coming to her defense. “Oh, she must. Anyone can see His Royal Grumpiness started it. Come. We’re almost there.”
“I’ll be wearing my dress, by the way,” she informed Demelza.
He’d told her not to, which meant that she had no other choice but to disobey.
12
The Ball
He needed to be on his guard. He needed to be indifferent to her, or dislike her, if the former was impossible. All this business about feeling like he must know what her skin tasted like, what her lips felt like, how soft her hair would be under his fingertips, just wouldn’t do. Finding her joking demeanor adorable certainly wouldn’t do. Particularly when he felt his dragon’s keen, yet wordless attention; the beast was looking at her through his eyes, closely.
Damn her and her spells. For it must be spells. What else?
His head hurt.
Vincent did the one thing men in his situation could do: he attempted to get as drunk as any dragon could.
“What in the name of the Goddess was that?!” Elza yelled.
He’d known she’d find him eventually, but he hadn’t counted on it taking so little time. Vincent had barely finished three pints of ale. He should, perhaps, have opted for a stronger spirit.
“What could you possibly be talking about, cousin?” he asked innocently.
“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re better than that, Vincent. When Xandrie came, you were the picture of affability. I’ve never seen you turning your nose up at a bear, or anyone else.”
He rolled his eyes; how hypocritical would it be for him to dislike bears when he was born of one.
“I know you have no quarrel with humans, yet first, you openly leer, then you treat your Queen’s sisters like enemies.”
“Sister,” he amended. “The elder poses no threat. And yes, I do treat the other with suspicion, for someone must, until she’s proven herself. I gave Xandrie no trust until she showed herself deserving of it. And,” he added, “may I remind you that the woman froze us all in our tracks without any effort?”
“This is her sister!”
He shrugged. As royals, they’d seen plenty of siblings fight, and even kill, in the name of greed. Being related to someone was hardly an irrefutable proof of intention.
“No, that isn’t your problem. There’s something else, isn’t there?”
He sighed, wishing the Princess wasn’t half as clever.
“What could there possibly be, cousin mine? You said it yourself. This is my Queen’s family. I’m favorably predisposed towards them both.”
“You like her. You like her and you’re being an ass about it, like a boy of twelve rather than a man over three centuries old.”
He signaled for another ale, after downing the one he had in hand.
Elza was glowering; a frightening sight. “Fine. Keep talking out of your ass if you wish, Vincent, but I tell you this: the woman did freeze us all. If her intentions had been to harm us, she would have. Treat her like an enemy and you could very well be the reason why she moves against us again. In your childish idiocy, you may doom us all, mark my words.”
On that highly logical and infuriating note, the Princess turned on her heels. Hard to dismiss her words.
Truth was, he was quite literally playing with fire, and he knew it.
On one hand, needing to control a murderous dragon slowly waking, on the other, having to displease an Enchantress. What choice did he have?
No choice.
Oh, would the damn beast just shut up? He was trying to get drunk in peace.
Weddings occurred in the morrow, then passed the hours of the groom; it was no secret to anyone within hearing range of the palace that the King hadn’t waited until the vows were said to bed his bride, but still, the poor man needed some time alone with his new wife.
Meanwhile, the celebrations continued throughout the land. Ale flowed like water from a fountain and musicians played at every corner of Telenar. By dusk, when the clarion resounded atop the roof to announce the start of the ball, there were perhaps ten sober men and women of age in the capital; those who’d picked the short straw and were made to keep watch over the children.
Incredibly, given the amount he’d drunk, Vincent was amongst them. His breath might reek of spirits, but his mind had never been clearer.
He knew why. His fondness for books, particularly those he wasn’t meant to read, made him quite well schooled for a man of war.
His beast was burning the alcohol through their body. Curse the damn monster and his desire to destroy what wasn’t his to burn.
Rhey and Xandrie made an appearance, both glowing; Vincent went to greet the happy couple and wished them well.
“Now that you’re married,” said he, “you’ll want me back at Norda soon, I’d wager.”
Please, cousin, say yes, part of him wanted to beg, while another part called him a coward. He couldn’t leave and he knew it. Not with that witch around. What if she took the Kingdom in his absence?
But reason and logic had tempered his ideas over the last few hours. The more he thought of it, the less he considered the witch to be a threat to anyone else. The woman could have killed them all. She hadn’t. End of story. The only one who had a problem with her was him. Because… well, because no had ever had such an impact on him. Not even Clarya. And for his beast to first wake up, and now, observe her so attentively?
It all meant something, he could tell. And fleeing now, without answers, was nothing short of cowardice.
Yes, stay.
His dragon’s agreement made him wonder if heading to Norda immediately wasn’t in his best interest.
“Nonsense. There’s nine hundred men on that wall now; three hundred of them, dragons. If anything happens, we’ll leave together. For now, cousin, I want you at my side. This is the best day of my life, and you shall rejoice with me.”
So said the King, and a King must be obeyed.
Vincent considered pleading his case further, when his sense of smell caught something - a blend of spices and sweets that hit him hard. His head snapped to his right and he managed to swallow the groan that started in his entrails, fueled by all his fire.
“Your sister is evil,” he proclaimed, talking to Xandrie, yet not detaching his gaze from the cruel creature who’d entered the room. He just couldn’t stop looking at her; if he’d tried,
his beast wouldn’t have let him.
He didn’t recognize the dress she wore, which meant that it was either a new thing of Demelza’s or one of Talia’s own dresses.
Red became her, and he hated her for it. The house of Vasili’s colors were red and gold. The King had claimed the gold as his, so Vincent had naturally started to adorn his house in red. Talia’s dress was his exact shade; his own habit was embroidered with threads of the same color. She’d look perfect next to him. She’d look perfect anywhere.
There was a slit along her thigh, revealing too much of her feminine leg; the neckline was high and gathered at her throat with a large golden jewel. Then she moved a little to her left, revealing that her back was entirely exposed. He bit his knuckle to bite back a groan.
“Aleria? Oh, she’d be just as beautiful in anything else.”
And, indeed, she was, now he paid attention to her. Next to Talia, her sister wore a blue dress with a plunging neckline, and Elza was in green patches of clothing that hid very little. He’d seen Demelza in that one, a few seasons past, without thinking much of it. It was, to be fair, one of his cousin’s most demure gowns. That wasn’t saying much. Demelza had a beautiful form, and didn’t see any reason why she shouldn’t put it on display. His gaze ought to have stayed on Elza or Aleria. Talia, he knew, was demure, compared to the other two - compared to most females in the room. Shifters weren’t shy; everyone partied in style.
So why did he wish to cover her up? Hide her from every eye, except his. He’d keep her locked in a tower and throw away the key. Or better yet, keep it around his throat and never share it with anyone else.
His dragon nodded his approval. Dammit. What was wrong with him?
“Yes, Aleria,” he lied. “Of course. Quite the girl. No doubt, she’ll make a match here if she so wishes.”
He said it all without even looking her way.
“Ah,” the King said, catching the direction of his gaze. “Good luck with that.”
On that encouraging note, he wrapped his hands around his wife’s waist and led her to the floor for their first dance.
Males flocked towards the three newcomers, offering their hands and leading them to dance.
Aleria was graceful and skilled, Demelza, wicked, as was her way; he saw them at the corner of his eye, all the while carefully observing his newfound obsession.
Talia took a while to get the steps of their quadrilles; no doubt they danced differently back in her land. Her sister was quicker to learn, but when Talia’d stopped trampling over her partners’ feet, she made Vincent’s suffering ten times worse. For she was one with the music, she relished dancing; it was evident on her face. Watching her now, he hated her more, seeing clearly that there was no evil in her. Just innocence, grace, pleasure, and beauty. Above all, beauty. For beauty, to him, was soul deep and he could have sworn he saw her soul shine through as she twirled and laughed.
He stepped away from the corner where he’d planted himself and went to stand next to the one man who might help him now.
“Tell me of the Riders’ bloodlines,” he demanded.
Nathos didn’t ask why. He didn’t turn to Vincent, either, his eyes also fixed on the dance floor. Thankfully, for it wouldn’t have done to kill an Elder, he was watching the older sister.
The Elder had, no doubt, studied every volume in his large collection the moment Xandrie had stepped foot in their land.
“I’ll check relevant details particular to this… situation, as soon as the ball comes to an end,” Nathos replied. “This can’t be a coincidence. They’re sisters and they all fit in, when practically no other human women would.”
Vincent inclined his head, unwilling to say more now.
After a while, the Elder was the one to break the silence. “This isn’t normal.”
Nathos didn’t clarify what he meant by that, but Vincent could guess. The immediate visceral attraction and the pull making him take leave of his senses. No, normal it wasn’t. But he’d heard of it before. Worse yet: he’d witnessed it before. He’d seen it when his cousin landed at the gates of Tenelar with Xandrie on his back.
It was time to stop denying the obvious and admit that the only thing wrong with that woman was that he didn’t want her to leave his side.
Possibly not ever.
13
The Dance
A month ago, when they went on their way, and every day since, as she heard frightening tales of a woman carried off by a monstrous beast, following a trail south, Talia would never have imagined that she would now be dancing, and laughing, with her two sisters.
She couldn’t recall ever having a merrier time. Music had never been so vibrant and melodious in Malek and the Goddess knew the suitors had certainly not looked like the men of Farden. What was there in the water in the south? Every single person in the room seemed handsome, and happy. Her chest tightened when a little voice with dreadful timing reminded her that she’d be leaving soon.
There were more men than women in the assembly, she noted; a fine thing, for no lady sat out any dance unless she wished to do so. Each time the music stopped for a moment, a group of prospective partners appeared, offering their hands. Aleria, obviously, had twice as many prospects, and these were twice as charming.
Another dance ended and, after tilting her head to thank her partner for his time, Aleria walked fast, with great, confident strides, as she always did when she was moved with a purpose. There were men foolish enough to attempt to stop her progress, but she didn’t spare them any attention.
Talia exchanged a glance with Xandrie, who raised a brow, as their elder sister stopped right in front of a handsome, brooding man who had a distinguished air about him. He bowed, she curtsied and talked, visibly informing him that he was to dance with her now. The poor shmuck had no other choice than to lead her to the dance floor.
Talia was so taken by the entertaining and uncharacteristic scene - for when did Aleria go against the proper way of things? - that she didn’t hear or see Pretty Man approach. All of a sudden, he was right in front of her, though.
She was too startled to frown; besides, the infuriating man did look annoyingly agreeable, for such a dislikable character. In a dark uniform that seemed to confirm her first impression of him, distinguishing him as a military man, decorated with plenty of ribbons and medals, he would have made any woman swoon. She even liked his hair, now tied at the back of his head, although he still had a braid on one side.
How inconvenient that he should be quite so gorgeous. And why were her lips so dry whenever he was about? She wet them, biting down on her bottom lip and licking some moisture onto them.
Vincent bent before her and smiled amiably, holding her hand up to his lips. Her skin tingled and her insides melted, so, finally, she managed a scowl. What was his game now?
“My lady.”
“Am I, now? How presumptuous of you.”
He chuckled, his laugh low and rumbly.
“You will be,” he stated, making her snort in response. “I’ve come to claim you for the next half hour.”
“That’s not quite how this works, sir. I believe a man may ask and a woman might answer favorably, should she wish to do so.”
“Tell that to your sister,” Vincent replied. The violin started, indicating the beginning of a new dance. The barbarian just placed a hand around her waist and pulled her close like he had a right to do so. “Besides, I’m no man, ma’am. And dragons take their treasures.”
She might have protested, if he hadn’t started moving right then, leading her into the most exhilarating of steps; she had no notion of the dance and she didn’t need to - he moved and following was second nature.
He was so very close, she noticed; no one else held their partner right against their chest as he did. The whole inopportune thing messed with her ability to form coherent thoughts.
“I don’t like you,” she informed him, somewhat childishly, but right now, it was the best she could do.
“I do
n’t aim to be liked,” was his dismissive, indifferent answer.
If he aimed to drive her insane instead, he was doing a marvelous job of it.
“Are you drunk, sir?” she asked suddenly, catching a whiff of ale underneath his intoxicating musk.
That would explain the change of attitude.
The man laughed. “Not an easy feat for one of my kind. I’m quite sober. Not for lack of trying.”
“Yet you went from glaring and threatening me to forcing me to dance.”
“Forcing. Yes, I heard quite a few protests.”
She was sticking to that term, whatever he said.
“Besides,” he added, “that was hardly a threat. More of a promise.”
“So, you maintain that you shall attempt to manhandle me if I don’t stop teasing you.”
He chuckled low, vibrating against the front of her torso. “Manhandle. It’s a word for it.”
“Which one would you use,” she shot back, all the while wondering when she’d had such a playful conversation with anyone.
She wouldn’t start liking him, dammit. She just wouldn’t.
“Spanking, perhaps. Flogging, if I find myself close to adequate equipment.”
Her jaw dropped and she blushed. He either meant to shock her or check how much she knew of these things, no doubt. To an innocent, spanking and flogging might have seemed like terms of torture meant to intimidate her. Talia was very well schooled; she read every book she could get her paws on, including some that said just how and why gentlemen so inclined spanked and flogged ladies.
“You’re flirting,” she accused him.
He laughed. “Not very well, if you’re doubting it.”
“You were glaring,” she reminded him insistently, as he’d avoided answering her about his change of heart the first time. “Now you’re flirting.”
“Well, Talia Astria, I went from suspecting you may be a threat to accepting that you are.”
