by Drae Box
“Cover up around me. I don’t care that you’re only wearing boxers.”
“I care,” he said, yanking the trousers into place. The carpet whispered as she strode towards him whilst he buttoned up his flies. “And I do understand, Aldora.” Her hand touched his chest which thrummed under her palm. His heart sung for her, and his body yearned to betray his self-control and rest his calloused hands gently upon her. He didn’t. “I told you, when Cray and my father get here in the morning, they might decide we can’t be together, because of what happened. I want to be with you, I swear, but there are expectations for me.”
She smiled slightly with a dulled glint to her usually bright eyes. “Screw your family’s dumb rules. You’ve never been one to follow them anyway. You should be allowed to be happy. Not just do what everyone expects of you. You’re a person, not just a Bayre or a soldier. You have feelings and wants too. We’ll just…” She frowned, then shrugged. “We’ll just have a very long engagement, until they change their minds.” She stepped backwards, towards the bed in the centre of his room, and pulled off her top.
Raneth could barely suck in a breath as Aldora shivered, her top crashing onto the carpet. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. He swallowed again, feeling his body’s desire screaming at him to go to her, to run his hands against that smooth skin, to press his lips against the nape of her neck. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly. “Please, stop.”
Don’t give her hope. Don’t sleep with her. Don’t even kiss her. Better she gets used to not having me, not convincing me with just a kiss, than later when she has to watch me marry someone they think is better suited to me.
“Come to me, soldier,” she whispered, slipping free of her trousers and climbing onto the bed. She grinned at him. “Come and conquer me.”
Clearly she had no intention of backing down tonight. And she was winning. His whole body was tense — every one of his muscles strained against him, wanting to join her. “No. It’s not fair on you.”
“I choose you, Raneth. Just like you chose me.” She tilted her head, her brown hair swishing free, brushing against the paperwork on his bed. “Don’t fight us.”
“I—”
She stalked off the bed and prowled back to him, her dainty hands slipping to take hold of his shoulders.
A twinge of guilt flooded his chest at the cold press of her touch. He had always liked his bedroom cold, but Aldora craved warmth at night. She chose to come in here, he reminded himself.
“Please, it’s not right,” he managed to utter.
She inched her lips closer, closer, until the warmth of her tongue scraped against the black bristles along his jaw. She pressed a kiss to his neck and followed his collarbone. Her thumbs drew circles against his skin and made his body sing. His left knee trembled as Aldora stepped even closer and arched her back to press her lips to his mouth. She groaned against his lips and Raneth couldn’t ignore what he wanted any longer. What they wanted.
He slipped his strong hands around her waist and dipped his head, letting her reach him more easily, and tasted her against his mouth. His body trembled as he restrained himself, as he forced himself to go slow. He felt her smile against his mouth. “What?” he grunted, slipping his mouth to the soft skin behind her ear. Her warm breath tickled his neck as he pressed kiss after kiss against her. “It’s been a while.” He slipped an arm to cup her backside and hoisted her up as he stepped back. He pressed his back against the door, surprised the wood didn’t hiss at the heat radiating from him, heat that was answering Aldora’s desire for him.
She drew away from his lips and pressed a hand to his cheek, smiling. “I know.”
He groaned at her look. He hadn’t seen her look at him like that since Newer, since the first time they’d—
“The bed, Raneth,” she said, her breath ripping free, harsh and fast. “I want you comfortable.”
He laughed. “Isn’t that supposed to be my concern?” He carried her to the bed and gently lowered her against it. He shoved the paperwork under the bed and climbed onto it as Aldora moved over, finding a spot she liked.
“I’m the one with more experience,” she said, eyes glistening with her promise for the night, for them. “I can’t help it.”
He straddled her hips. “Consider me comfortable,” he said, and lowered his chest to hers as she pressed her back to the covers, her hands slipping to his scarred sides. He rested his upper weight against his forearms as he claimed her mouth, her tongue greeting his—
They froze as the room rumbled and the metal chandelier above the bed chattered as everything trembled. A loud bang crashed in the night’s sky through the open window. Raneth drew back and Aldora lifted her torso up, both looking towards the window. “What in—”
Raneth stiffened.
No.
“Raneth, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“The Bayre talismans.” He reached for the dragon-shaped talisman at his neck, caught against the longer chain of his royal official identification tags. He squeezed the silver dragon between his forefinger and thumb. “The tug, it’s… It’s fading.” He looked towards the door but he didn’t see it. Didn’t recognise the palace was blocking his view as he frowned. “Dad’s. Dad’s close but he’s.”
Dying.
He didn’t want to say it. He’d never wanted to say it. “I have to, I have to help him.”
He was dimly aware that Aldora was bathed in a steady soft red glow coming from the talisman’s diamond. He grabbed his boots from under the bed and slipped them on, tying the laces on instinct. He felt nothing but the tug; the constant tug that had followed him every day of his life from the Bayre talismans working in unison to let him and Dragon Bayre roughly know where the other was at all times. “He’s close.”
“Your talisman’s glowing. Are we—”
“Blinks for me,” said Raneth as he grabbed his weapon belt. A plain sword and six throwing daggers hung on it. That would do. He fastened it around his waist and checked the positioning of each weapon. “Stays constant for Dad. It’s for him. He’s… He’s hurt.” He grabbed his royal official jacket off the chest of drawers by the door and shrugged it on over his bare torso.
“Do you want—”
“No time.” It was so weak. He’d never felt the tug weaken so quickly, so deeply. “I’ll come back once I’ve…”
Aldora nodded, nipping at the inside of her left cheek. “It’s OK. Go.”
He ran out the room.
His feet worked without instruction, taking him downstairs, through the kitchen door and to the royal stables behind the palace. He barely registered the way his fingers strapped the saddlery onto his horse, the way he rubbed its neck before he led it outside and mounted the saddle. The Bayre talisman at his neck was still working, the red glow still stable, and the tug still weakening. He could barely catch his breath as he guided the horse into a full gallop, his chest tight and his throat seizing at the thought of his father on the other end of the old magic’s tug. Even now it directed him towards his father. With the lessening strength, Raneth wasn’t sure how far his father was from him. Normally he could sense it fairly accurately, but that was when his father wasn’t badly hurt. When he wasn’t…
Stop, he begged his mind. Stop thinking that.
He closed his eyes briefly, the repetitive rock of his horse helping to ground his mind back to his training; he listened to Giften around him. The kingdom was quiet. Silent. It was night. So late it was almost dawn. It made sense everything was quiet — the creatures local to the area were likely asleep.
Please let me get to him in time.
His gut churned as he opened his eyes, the thud, thud, thud of his horse’s hooves against Giften’s sweet grass the only noise he could hear as he started to smell…
What is that?
He drew his horse to a stop near the edge of Little Wood. The air tasted salty, and a smog of both white and brown slaughtered his view. The sharp jagged edges of something jutted into t
he night air within the localised smog, and the waft of urine invaded Raneth’s nostrils. His horse shied back, ears flattening against its skull as its nostrils flared.
Blood.
Over the waft of pee and salty taste, the royal official could taste copper in the air. His mind tumbled into a black husk as he urged his horse a step forwards and peered into the patchy smog. Realising why he could smell what he did; three carriages. Large carriages, but they weren’t intact anymore. Two of the carriages were upturned, and the one nearest Raneth was shattered. The six horses that had pulled it were in a tangled dead heap with wooden shrapnel protruding from their bodies.
No. Please no.
Raneth urged his horse forward another step, frowning, as he tried to get a clearer look. His horse shimmied under him, snorting and rearing its head up and down. It didn’t want to go closer. Raneth urged it again, gently but firmly, his blue eyes upon the middle carriage. The carriage that would, that would—
At his collarbones, the silver dragon-shaped talisman felt heavy, long enough to drag Raneth’s attention back to it, back to its pull, its familiar presence and the diamond clamped in its jaws.
It was blinking.
Raneth swept his blue eyes around him and his horse, taking in the greys of Giften at night, and listened. He was in danger. The talisman didn’t want him to get hurt too. It was trying to warn him. Whatever had happened here... Whatever had happened to the carriages he was catching glimpses of, it meant danger for him too.
All thoughts tumbled from Raneth’s mind as something smashed into him, wrenching him sideways in the saddle as his horse jerked under him, shrieking, and fell back. Raneth cried out, a hot burst of pain erupting under his shoulder as his back crashed onto the grass with his horse atop his right leg. He sucked in a breath and coughed.
What?
His thoughts were jumbled. Disorganised. He couldn’t think straight. The royal official sucked in another breath.
Breathe. Assess. Protect.
He clenched his teeth as a burning pain beat with his heart, and Raneth looked. He was bleeding, and the blood was already soaking most of the left of his jacket’s torso. His horse was breathing sharply, and tried to rock itself up onto its hooves, but it whinnied and gave up. It rested its head on the grass and huffed out a pained breath.
What was that?
He was hurt, and so was the horse. Worse, the Bayre talisman at his neck was still blinking, still warning him that he was in danger.
Protect.
Raneth lifted his torso. His hands reached for his horse as he slipped his left foot free of the stirrup. He shoved against the horse, trying to free his trapped leg, holding back a scream of pain, but the horse was too heavy. He grunted and shoved again, but the horse still wouldn’t move.
The royal official paused, frowning. He could hear… something. Metal sliding against metal, and it was drawing closer. He lifted his gaze away from the horse, looking towards Little Wood. Two men were strolling closer but were barely visible against the treeline. In their hands were long guns. Rifles or shotguns. Raneth wasn’t sure — he wasn’t too familiar with guns. But they were reloading — both had metal rods shoved down the nose of their guns, packing the gunpowder down, again and again, their eyes focused on Raneth rather than their task.
They’re going to kill me. That’s what the bang was. They shot me.
He shoved against the horse again. It complained but Raneth ignored its protest. He looked at the two men again. At least, they looked like they were men — in the dark it was hard to make out their gender for sure, but the grey garb of Eastern Barbaric assassins were easy to identify. They would make killshots when they were finished loading. He was lucky they hadn’t got a clean shot the first time.
I can’t die. Not now.
One assassin slipped the metal rod free and lifted the nose of his gun to point at Raneth’s face.
No. Not like this. I won’t die like this!
Raneth held his hands palms out towards the assassins. He wasn’t aware he was screaming no. That his body was shaking with rage as white mist erupted from his palms. The mist rushed at the two assassins, and Raneth imagined two sharp icicles slicing into their necks. He felt more than saw as his Common Gift of Ice did as asked and hit its mark on both.
One of the guns fired as its assassin fell and Raneth hissed, a second burning pain blossoming on his left arm. Grimacing, he pressed a hand to it, watching the fallen assassins, and waited. If they got up...
I’ll just have to shoot them again.
He scowled at them, then his shot horse, and shoved against it. His horse’s body was warm, but it wasn’t breathing anymore. Using his free foot, he shoved against its back, feeling the scratch of tears in his eyes as he finally slipped his leg free.
They were waiting for me. They knew about the Bayre talismans. Knew I’d come.
His focus still on the two assassins, Raneth slowly climbed to his feet, testing his right leg. It twinged but it didn’t give or seem damaged beyond an oncoming bruise.
Lucky.
From his palms, forearms and chest, white mist poured from Raneth, sparkling in what little moonlight he had. He swept it over the carnage, past and around the three ruined carriages, and thrust the mist into Little Wood. He didn’t want anymore attackers coming out of the trees. Visibility wasn’t great, and it was blacker than a man’s pupils under the trees.
He walked to the assassins. They were choking on their own blood, and icicles at their necks glistened. Taking one of the throwing daggers at his waist, Raneth jabbed the small blade into the heart of an assassin and twisted, before doing the same to the other. He looked up, sensing his white mist, feeling through it what was in the woods. Nobody else. Nobody human.
Raneth’s gut churned as he looked at the three carriages again. He could see the Apocolettio family crest on one of the doors, which stood apart from the rest of its carriage, half buried in the earth by a corner. These were Cray’s carriages. The whole of the royal household.
And Dad.
His father had been escorting Cray, acting as his personal guard. Raneth slipped bloodied hands to the talisman at his neck and rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb as he wended towards the nearest carriage. He peered inside and jerked back, turning away and vomiting his dinner. Once he was done, he warily returned his gaze to the carriage’s innards. The remains of some of the royal household were there, as broken as the carriage encasing them; two of the three Kingdom’s Records Keepers were there, but it was hard to be sure. One’s head was smashed in on the side, and parts of their bodies were strewn across the internals of the carriage, with more scattered around it. A more intact body was recognisable — Thelonious — the royal official that often guarded the palace’s throne room doors at night. His body was peppered with metal nails and wooden splinters, and as Raneth took a closer — albeit reluctant — look, he noticed teeth embedded in the man’s shirt too.
He looked at one of the Records’ Keepers. It was probably that man’s teeth.
Raneth stepped back, looking towards the middle carriage, and stepped towards it. He could still sense the tug of his talisman. It was a little stronger now. Not great, but not terrifyingly weak either. He struggled to breathe as he saw the faces of those inside the carriage, and he froze. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. They were all… Raneth blinked, willing away the tears that were clogging his eyelashes, and took another step closer, close enough to touch. Rikward, the royal official that guarded the palace during the day, and the head servant, Leal, were both dead. Rikward’s head was partially collapsed in on itself, as if he’d bashed it too hard against the side of the carriage, but again, nails and wood were sticking out from his chest and side.
He wouldn’t have survived that even if his head was fine.
Leal had been protected by Rikward’s body and had taken less sharpnel, but a nail had still found its way to Leal’s neck, and the blood under it was still. He was definitely dead. Rane
th looked to the other three in the carriage. King Cray, Queen Louise and Lady Lemuela. The royals. The king’s usually smiling face was bloodied with drying blood against the left side of his face, and his brown eyes weren’t sparkling their friendly nature as they once had. Raneth swallowed. Cray had been family, not just a man he reported to. He reached out for Cray’s neck but his hand hovered just shy of the king. Raneth’s gut clenched and wrapped around itself, squeezing so hard that Raneth turned away and dry-retched. He forced his eyes back onto his king and relative, noting the mangled torso and arm from shrapnel. Slithers of wood and nails peppered the side of Cray’s face and neck.
Where did this all come from?
The boom he and Aldora had heard, had felt… It had to have had something to do with this. That’s when his talisman stopped tugging towards his father like it normally did. He looked out the other side of the carriage, looking at the unconscious dragon laying on the other side — his father in his blood-gift form. He was breathing. He could still save his father.
Raneth looked at Cray again. The king had meant so much to him and had been a man he looked up to. And now… Raneth gingerly touched Cray’s neck, feeling for a pulse even though he knew there wouldn’t be one. He had to be sure. Had to be sure. “I’m sorry, Cray,” he said, this time unable to stop the tears as they were shed from his lashes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Numbly, he checked Cray’s wife and daughter, but they were dead too. His hand withdrew, slipping to his left arm, supporting its weight as he looked at his royals, his friends. This wasn’t how this night was supposed to end. Cray was supposed to arrive at the palace in the morning. Fine. Healthy. Ready look after Giften despite the near win of the terrorist organisation that Aldora’s uncle ran.
“You weren’t supposed to. You shouldn’t be…” Raneth wiped his blurred tears with his good hand, smearing the blood from his wound into his tears and grabbed at his jacket’s sleeve arm, rubbing his eyes clear with that instead.
A huff came from the dragon on the other side of the carriage, and the tug of the Bayre talisman at Raneth’s neck tightened slightly, enough to draw the Bayre’s attention back to his father.
