The Reluctant Lord (Dragon Lords)

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Clara didn’t move, merely stared at her reflection and the scene surrounding her. She looked like one of the paintings. The room was impeccable, from the large oval frames spaced evenly apart to the golden rail used to hold people back from the wall. Three times a year, people would come to the house to walk through the portrait hall and see the glory of her family.

  A family that cannot continue if I do not do this.

  Clara felt the sorrow and fear and pushed it deep into the pit of her stomach.

  “Joyous daughter! The great lord has told me of your reasoning.” Jaene, the Great Lady of the Redding, looked like an aged version of her unmarried daughter, though the thick cosmetics on her face smoothed the wrinkles and hid the tired lines Clara knew to be there. Though the gemstones on her mother’s gown probably weighed nearly thirty pounds, the woman moved under the burden with ease and grace. “I will mourn your going.”

  Clara didn’t think her mother looked too mournful. In fact, her eyes looked relieved, as if finally her duties were finished as she sent the last daughter off. The fact that she didn’t have to plan a wedding celebration on planet was a bonus.

  “And I will mourn going,” Clara said, standing. Her own gown was heavy, but not nearly as heavy as the great lady’s. When they faced each other, the full skirts kept them from getting too close.

  “No, no, you must not. You must smile and accept your new husband’s home world.” Her mother lifted her wrist to hover before Clara’s eyes in a loving gesture. She saw the thin blue veins, so familiar to her. They were unchanged since Clara’s youth when she and her siblings had been filtered through the hall for the daily greeting of their parents. Without touching her daughter’s perfectly painted face, Jaene let the gesture drop. Clara repeated the movement with her own wrist, holding it before her mother. Decorum dictated they did not touch. The rush of feelings caused by skin contact would become overwhelming to their senses. The smell of their perfume lingered in the air. Then, dropping her hand gracefully to her side, she stood calmly and waited.

  “We must prepare you,” Jaene continued. “Come. The seamstresses have been working on the Qurilixen native garb for your trousseau, and your father has requested the cobbler reline your trunk so you may hide jewels and space credits. I will not have my daughter without means.”

  The words said more than her mother ever would admit to. Clearly, Clara’s planned nuptials had been in the works for some time if clothes and a new truck lining had been ordered. And, if they worried about her means, that meant they did not think her new home was to be very refined.

  A small shiver of fear worked up Clara’s back and her feet would have stumbled if not for the balancing weight of the dress. She followed her mother through the wide doors, not touching the frame or the walls. Only her feet and the brush of her hemline touched the floor. Her steps were short but fast, the tall boots whispering on the hard marble.

  Her mother came to a glass and gold enclosure, stepped in and rode the cage up to the fourth floor before sending it down for her daughter. Clara stepped inside, turning to watch the hall disappear under her feet. The enclosed space felt tighter than usual and she began to pant for air. Was it her imagination, or was the cage not moving? Her head began to spin. She blinked, trying to focus her suddenly blurry vision. Her heart pounded, harder and louder than she ever remembered it beating before, not counting her exercise time. She lifted her hands, almost touching the glass before she caught herself and drew them to her waist. The cage stopped moving to let her out, but she couldn’t force herself to walk.

  “Clara? Clara!” her mother insisted under her breath behind her.

  Clara jolted in surprise and turned to see the woman frowning in disapproval. “Monitor yourself and meet me in the fitting room. I will prepare the seamstresses.”

  “Yes, Great Lady,” Clara mouthed more than whispered.

  Her mother hurried away to give her daughter privacy to recover.

  * * *

  Draig Royal Palace, Planet of Qurilixen

  In light of his three older brothers’ foul moods, Lord Vladan, Ealdorman Honorary of the Draig, tried to contain his excitement from them. It was difficult. Tonight he would finally join the grooms in search of a bride in what was to be his first, and gods willing, only marriage ceremony.

  It was possible that, in mere hours, as he stood in the receiving line watching the alien women walk passed him, he would find the one he was destined by the gods to marry. He’d imagined the ceremony many times. He would see her, and with that first glance the crystal hanging from his neck would begin to glow, showing him his destiny. Many husbands claimed to instinctively know who their brides were seconds before the gods’ will was confirmed by the sacred stone. Would he? Would he feel her as if she were part of himself? Anticipation and excitement built within him. He did his duty. He made his offerings. Surely the gods would bless him.

  Vlad couldn’t blame his brothers for their lack of enthusiasm. Fate had been harsh to the other three. This wasn’t their first Breeding Festival in search of a wife.

  For the eldest of them, Bron, this night marked his seventh attempt at finding a bride. Vlad couldn’t imagine having to wait, and hope, for seven long years. It was no wonder the high duke was in a vile mood. The second oldest, Alek, faced his fifth attempt at finding a mate, and Mirek his fourth. Vlad tried not to let their cynicism get the best of him, even as he was forced to hide his excitement from them. They had every right to be cynical. He just didn’t wish to give up before he had even tried.

  Vlad, like every other Draig man, wanted to be blessed with a wife. Women were scarce on their planet due to the blue radiation of the three suns. Over the generations, it had altered the men’s genetics to produce only strong male warriors. Maybe once in a thousand births was a Qurilixian female born. In the old days, the Draig men had used portals to snatch brides from their homelands and bring them back to Qurilixen. Those portals were now lost. There were rumors their people originated on a planet called Earth, a planet populated with more women than men, but there was no remaining proof, only stories.

  Still, they were men and men must find their brides somehow. It was their duty to marry and have children, to carry on the family name and the Draig culture. But, more selfishly, they yearned for their other half—a woman to hold and protect, to love and cherish, to experience and enjoy. Without love, life was nothing but endless tasks and battles.

  The fact the Draig had next to no women of their own was why the services of bride procurement corporations like Galaxy Brides were so invaluable. In return for the corporation finding and transporting willing women to the planet in hopes of marriage, the Qurilixian would mine valuable metal that was only found in their caves. The metal was a great power source for long voyaging starships, all but useless to the Qurilixian, who preferred living as simply as possible. It was Vlad’s job to oversee the mines, make sure the workers were well cared for, that production stayed on schedule and the needs of all were met. In this task, he worked closely with his brother Lord Mirek, the mining ambassador.

  Turning his attention to his uncle, King Llyr of the Draig, Vlad tried to pay heed to the man’s words. He had traveled south with his brothers from their home in the mountains to attend the ceremony. It was the one night a year that darkness fell on the normally bright planet, and the only time men were allowed to marry. Absently, he touched the sacred crystal hanging around his neck. This time tomorrow it could be broken in tiny pieces, sealing his union. On the day he was born, his father had journeyed to Crystal Lake, dove beneath the waves and pulled the stone from the earth. Vlad, like all Draig, had worn the crystal ever since. But it wasn’t just a custom. It was how they received the will of the gods.

  “I see not all of you have come with sour hopes,” the king said, grinning at Vlad’s vacant expression.

  Vlad chuckled, not bothering to deny his daydreaming. There was no shame in wishing for a life mate. What good was living if a man didn’t have a famil
y?

  “It is good to see you boys,” the king continued. They could be three hundred years old and the king would still call them boys. They were younger than the king’s sons by a few years, but not so much that it mattered. “How fares the kingdom in the north?”

  “All is well,” Bron answered.

  “And the mines?” King Llyr asked.

  “Standing,” Vlad said.

  “Negotiations?” The king turned his attention to Mirek.

  “Slow, but in such there is normalcy,” Mirek said. “I have brought Prince Olek a proposal document from the Lithor Republic. I have done what I can, but they insist on having a member of the royal family for the final negotiations.”

  “Good. Good. The queen will be pleased to hear of the progress with the Lithorians.” The king nodded. Then, to the last brother he asked, “And the herd?”

  “I have a mare about to drop,” Alek answered. As Top Breeder on the planet, Alek’s whole life focused around the ceffyl mares and steeds. The animals carried supplies for the soldiers, helped the farmers, provided planetary travel and in very extreme times were used for meat. Unfortunately, they had a gestation period of three years and only about half of the pregnancies made it to term. “I plan to leave as soon as possible to attend the birth.”

  The king nodded, knowing the importance of such a task. “Let us hope your bride is willing for a quick journey, but if she is not, let her stay behind with your brothers and they shall bring her to you at a more leisurely pace.”

  Alek nodded but didn’t answer. Vlad knew the man didn’t think marriage likely.

  What had they told him just moments before entering the king’s hall?

  If you do not find a bride, let no emotion show on your face. You will want to scream to the gods your disappointment. However, others will be looking to us to know how to act.

  If you do not find a bride, we will gather at the cliff campsite so that we can depart first thing after the ceremonies are completed. Trust us. You will not feel much like joining the celebration below. Drink with your brothers instead. It is not so bad sleeping under the night sky.

  If you do not find a bride…

  If you do not find a bride…

  If…

  Vlad could well translate their meaning. They had been saying things like that the whole trip down the mountains, preparing him for the disappointment they believed was to come. He knew they meant well, but he did not want his first time at the festival to be dampened by their moods. Where they felt resignation, he felt hope. He wanted to find a wife, wanted to look upon the faces of the women who’d come to them.

  The brides knew they came for marriage and were willing to accept who fate chose for them. He had pictured the type of woman he’d be blessed with, fantasized about her, not only in the bedroom but in everyday activities—hiking and camping in the forest, hunting and training, running through the mountains at full speed until sweat and dirt marred their bodies. She would be tough and wild, sparring with him one minute and aggressively making love to him the next. She would take on mountains and hard rapids. She would escape the drudgery of nobility with him and they would go to the forest every chance they got. He could imagine no other kind of bride, for those were the things he loved. Those were the things he’d prayed diligently for.

  Vlad smiled. An untamed soul for my untamed soul.

  “Now that business is attended to, sit, eat.” The king gestured to a nearby table. They were in the main hall where the palace inhabitants normally gathered to dine. The red stone floor was swept clean. The room had steeply arched ceilings with the center dome for light. Banners of the family crest lined the walls, one for each color of the soon-to-be family lines of his cousins—green for Prince Olek, red for Prince Zoran, black for Prince Yusef and blue-gray for Prince Ualan. Each banner had the embroidered silver symbol of the dragon.

  Lines of tables reached across the floor but were currently empty. The king waved to servants, directing them to serve the visitors. As if anticipating the order, two men came into the room carrying pitchers and goblets and set them out on the table.

  When the servants retreated, the king said, “Your cousins will be in to greet you shortly. Perhaps your calm can settle their spirits. They bounce around here like children about to get a new sword.” Though the man grumbled, his own steps had a decisive air of excitement to them as he left the brothers alone.

  Outside the mountain fortress palace, the festival grounds were being constructed in a wide valley filled with pyramid-shaped tents and decorated by waving banners. Servants busily worked to make sure everything was in order before the Galaxy Brides’ shipment arrived. Vlad wondered if the festival was always so big. In previous years, he had been too busy to join the festival as an observer. He’d been needed to attend the mines, or to entertain intergalactic diplomats, or once to even direct the cleanup after a fire took most of their castle’s kitchen. To hear his brothers describe it, the ceremony was hardly worth mentioning.

  Perhaps the scale of the ceremony this year was due to the fact that their cousins, the royal Princes of Draig, were scheduled to attend—all four of them in their first ceremony. Vlad especially looked forward to seeing Prince Yusef. They shared much of the same mentalities—uncomplicated living, a love for the outdoors, an easygoing nature that did not thrive on the usual pomp and circumstance of nobility. They often tracked baudrons together in the north hunting grounds. Yusef would understand and perhaps share in his excitement, whereas his brothers did not.

  Vlad wanted to tell them not to bother waiting for him, that he and his new bride would spend a few days at the palace, but as he looked at their quiet faces, he felt the first true pang of worry deep in his gut. What if he didn’t find someone? What if in seven years he was sitting right in this spot, trying not to think of the pyramid tents being erected and warning others not to expect too much from this ceremony?

  His heart beat harder and his stomach knotted into a tight ball. Excitement turned to worry, which tried to turn into fear. But Vlad was a warrior first, as were all the Draig, and warriors did not give in to fear and doubt. Tonight he would find a wife. He had to. His heart would not accept failure.

  Chapter Two

  “I understand what I ask of you is highly unusual,” the king said to his four sons and four nephews. They stood, already dressed for the night’s ceremony though dusk still had hold of the countryside. A long white tent had been constructed near the palace, away from the bridal tents dotting the valley below. The arrangement the king proposed was indeed highly unusual.

  The Galaxy Bride’s ship hovered in the sky, making the necessary maneuvers to land the large space craft on its designated field. Inside, the craft was full of women—women just waiting to join with a husband. It took all of Vlad’s willpower not to look up at the sky like a starving man seeing a loaf of blue bread.

  The king’s continued words drew Vlad’s attention back to the white tent. “However, Lady Clara of the Redding comes from a family of strict customs.” His uncle wore an odd expression, as if he would say more but thought better of it. “Her traditions dictate she only marries into nobility or royalty, and she is not to intermingle with the other unmarried women. Should she not find her match, she will be escorted back to her ship and will forgo attending tonight’s ceremony. Her people have agreed that, should she marry tonight, from that point on she will recognize our customs as her own, as she will then be given over to our care.”

  “I have never heard of such an agreement,” Prince Ualan said. “Why would she not wish to meet all the bachelors? How is she to know the will of the gods if she does not?”

  “I would hate to think some man goes without a wife because this Clara would not marry beneath her station,” Prince Yusef added.

  “The reason we have these ceremonies is that all are equal. Decisions are made by fate, not power or money or a man’s position,” Bron agreed. “I find this odd.”

  “Then fate will decide if she
is meant to be with any of you or none,” the king interrupted the discussion starting between the grooms. “The gods have entrusted we elders to be their voices and, in this matter, we have decided to respect the culture of Lady Clara’s people. She is inside this tent. It is my command that you be presented to her.” He gave a pointed look to the three men who had failed to find a wife at previous ceremonies.

  Alek lifted his chin stubbornly. Bron frowned. Mirek kept his eyes on the tent.

  “I see no reason not to try,” the king insisted.

  All of the grooms shared looks and slowly began to put the traditional leather mask over their features to hide their faces from forehead to upper lip. As was customary for the grooms, they all wore a fur loincloth, a gold band around their biceps, the mask and their sacred crystals around their necks. The outfits were to make nobles indistinguishable from peasants—though in this instant it didn’t seem to matter. Lady Clara knew she was only being presented to nobles. However, choosing a marriage partner was not about such things as power and money and position. It was about compatibility, fate, destiny, the will of the gods.

  Vlad had his doubts about meeting Lady Clara like this, but not to the extent the others were expressing. The odds were slim that the gods would choose her to be his wife out of all of the other women coming to his planet. He looked up at the bridal ship. It was closer now, the bottom of it hidden by the tops of the giant forest trees surrounding the valley.

  Mirek nudged his shoulder, drawing his attention to the fact he was supposed to be following his cousins into the tent. He gave a rueful grin and moved toward the entrance. Soon. Fate would bless him with a bride very soon. He could feel it.

  * * *

  “I cannot wear that gown.” Clara looked at the practically nonexistent garment and then dismissed it with a deliberate turn of her body. The traditional Qurilixian dress was constructed of a soft material with a natural sheen. Problem was there wasn’t enough of the slinky stuff to cover her entire body. In fact, it was only a couple of small rectangles of material with a few straps that went in so many directions she wasn’t sure how to even put the thing on. And, if by some miracle she made it into the gown, the tight fit wouldn’t leave much of her body to the imagination. Besides, the width of the Redding skirt would keep them at a respectable distance. She didn’t want to risk accidental skin contact.