Of Steel and Scale (The Drakkon Kin Trilogy #1)

Chapter 4

4

“Birds made of metal?” Aric said. “How is that remotely possible?”

Franklyn glanced at Aric. “I don’t believe they’re made of metal. The blood at the end of the quill very much suggests a creature of flesh and blood.”

“Could it be some sort of armor?” Rion asked. “Something along the lines of chainmail worn as protection?”

Franklyn hesitated. “It’s certainly an option, but it doesn’t explain the blood. That is reminiscent of a feather still in the growth phase being shed.”

“I don’t believe these were randomly shed. The only person I saw hit by a feather was Oran, and while I can’t be certain, given the chaos that ensued, it felt like they were targeting him,” I said. “It’s the acidic dung, more than metal feathers, that’s the bigger problem here.”

“It is possible the dung won’t affect stone in the manner it does wood,” Rion said, “but I do agree we dare not take that chance. I’ll talk to Yaris and see if she can work on some countermeasures.”

Yaris was our head earth witch, and a woman of such a great age that she’d probably forgotten more about the workings of earth magic than our other four witches even knew. If anyone might have heard of acidic dung before or could figure out a means of protecting our walls against it, it would be her. As a general rule, water did counter the effects of acid, but how in Vahree’s name did we pump it along the walls without sweeping defenders off their feet?

“You’ll need to send a warning missive to the rest of your ports,” Aric said. “If this is the opening foray of a planned attack, there’re likely to be the first hit.”

“Already done.” There was just the slightest edge in my father’s voice—he did not like being told what to do in his own house. “But what makes you think any assault would center on us here in the east and not the rest of Arleeon?”

“They had the advantage of surprise,” Aric said. “Why wouldn’t they use it to destroy the major ports both here and in Zephrine? It would have crippled our trading routes and hampered the efforts of any allies we might have called on for aid.”

“Perhaps it was merely some sort of preemptive strike,” Damon said. “A means of testing and perhaps disabling any sort of defenses they might encounter.”

Aric glanced at his son, a hint of... perhaps not contempt, but something close to, in his eyes. Which was odd, given Damon was his heir. “Again, why Eastmead? We’re alerted to their presence now, even if the disadvantage of not knowing who they are or where they come from remains. Why would they forsake such an advantage for a place such as Eastmead?”

“As Damon has already said, as a means to draw out and examine a response?” I replied.

“Very likely,” Mom said, her gaze on Aric, not me. Though her voice was even, there was a spark of annoyance in her expressive eyes. While she’d always treated Aric with the respect due to him as Zephrine’s king and commander, she’d never warmed to the man. Ever. “But until we know more about this situation and indeed what happened in Eastmead, those are not questions we can definitively answer.”

Aric bowed his head in polite deference. Mom’s eyes narrowed. I couldn’t see Aric’s expression from where I stood, but I doubted he’d be so foolish as to allow his well-known prejudice against women in any sort of authoritative position to show. Not when my father was in the room.

“Anything else, Captain?”

My attention snapped back to my father. “I don’t believe so, no.”

“Then you’re dismissed,” Rion said. “And I do believe you have a marriage to get ready for.”

Unfortunately . I somehow managed to stop that escaping, but when my gaze met Damon’s, the gleam in his eyes left me in no doubt he knew exactly what I’d almost said.

I saluted and left. Damon rose and followed me out of the war room.

“You’re not staying?” I asked, surprised.

“There’s nothing further I can contribute at this point in time, given how little any of us really know of the situation.” He slanted me a sideways glance. “And you’re not the only who has to get ready for our nuptials.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Somehow, I’m not seeing you being bathed, pampered, and otherwise fussed over.”

“I could return that statement twofold.” He paused at the exit and motioned me to precede him. “I think it safe to say you’re the least ‘princessy’ princess I have ever met.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Given I’m an only child and your father mainly has sons, I think it safe to say you wouldn’t have met all that many.”

“In that, you’d be wrong. Our trading partners have daughters aplenty, and they certainly wouldn’t mind an alliance with a kingdom as rich in mineral wealth as Zephrine.”

“And were you forced to give up one of these daughters to marry me?”

“No, I was not.” He paused. “What about you?”

I snorted. “It appears the only prince who’d have me had to be forced into it by treaty and tradition—and even then only because his younger sibling found a way around it.”

“Yes, but that sibling is a fool now caught in his own deceit.”

I swung around to face him. “And did you say that to him?”

While a smile teased one corner of his lips, there was something hard in his eyes. It would have been very easy to believe the two brothers did not get on, though there’d been no whispers of such a division between the two legitimate sons on the military grapevine. But then, it didn’t have a whole lot of gossip about the illegitimate sons, either.

“No, I did not,” he replied.

“Why not, if you truly do think that? And why then did it take ten years to haul your ass into treaty negotiations?”

His hesitation was brief, but nevertheless there. “I had a life?—”

“Suggesting I haven’t?”

“No—”

“Then tell me,” I continued, “what was so damn important about your life that only a threat to halt trade between our two nations dragged you and your father back to the table?”

His expression hardened. This was not a subject he wanted to talk about. “I was studying offshore.”

My eyebrows rose. “Why? Aren’t Zephrine’s academies said to be among the best?”

“That depends entirely on what you’re studying.” Bitterness—and perhaps more than a little anger—sparked briefly in his eyes. “In this particular case, my needs were best served amongst my mother’s people.”

I’d been under the impression his mother was Zephrine born, but obviously not. “Who are?”

“That is perhaps a tale for another time.”

“In other words, ask no questions, be told no lies. A fine way to start a life together, Damon.”

“It’s not so much a matter of avoidance?—”

“Then what is it?” I held up a hand to stop the reply. “You know what? Forget it. I’m not interested.”

Amusement tugged at his luscious lips and briefly washed the chill from his eyes. “Oh, I think you are.”

There was no denying that, as much as I wanted to. There was also no denying I was being utterly unreasonable when it came to my reactions around the man. I even knew exactly where it came from, and it wasn’t the frustrating way my hormones had fixated on him. It stemmed from my inability to lash out at either of my parents for giving me tradition rather than choice. For denying me what the two of them had enjoyed for close to forty years now.

I strode away. He followed, his gaze burning into the back of my neck, a caress that wasn’t, and one that had arrows of desire shooting through my body. I silently cursed them and increased my pace. The vague hope of losing him in the press of everyday life moving through the yard was quickly erased. The man had the advantage of longer strides.

I all but galloped up the steps and strode into the coolness of the foyer. The main hall was alive with sound and movement as everyone readied for this evening’s celebratory feast. The thick scents of roasting meats jostled for prominence with the aroma of baking bread, and my stomach rumbled a rather loud reminder that I hadn’t yet eaten.

I continued on up the main stairs, well aware of the big presence silently following. At the first landing, I hesitated and looked over my shoulder. “I’ll see you in the chapel.”

“I look forward to seeing the princess rather than the warrior.”

“Then be prepared for disappointment.”

His laugh followed me up the remaining stairs. I ignored it and quickly headed for my apartment. I didn’t care if he thought I was running away, because in many respects, I was.

I slammed the door shut, then leaned back against it and closed my eyes, trying to control the churning in stomach and mind.

“Well, isn’t this the picture of bridal anticipation,” a dry and very familiar voice said.

“Dread is a more apt term.”

I pushed away from the door and walked over to the seating area. Kele—a fierce-looking but slender woman with closely shaven blonde hair and a puckered scar that ran from temple to chin on the left side of her face—handed me a tankard. The thick richness of the honey mead inside teased my nostrils, and I took a long drink. If anything, it only made the churning worse.

“Why? From all accounts your man is well able to keep his women satisfied, both in the bedroom and out.”

I held out the tankard for a refill. “I do not want to think about satisfaction. Or the bridal bed. Or anything else to do with the man, really.”

Kele raised a pale eyebrow. She and I had been friends for over twenty years now, and she knew me better than anyone else—possibly even better than my parents. Like me, she was a Strega witch, but her ability to call forth and control fire was even stronger than mine. Duty and rotating shifts might have cut into our ability to socialize in recent years, but I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want by my side, be it in battle or as my second in this unwanted marriage ceremony.

“It’s too late to fight this, Bryn.” She picked up the jug of mead and refilled both our tankards. “You’ve been signed, sealed, and delivered, whether you want it or not.”

“I know. I just—” I hesitated and dropped down beside her. “I just don’t want to go to Zephrine. It’s not home. It’ll never be home. Which sounds utterly churlish, doesn’t it?”

Her answering smile was lopsided, thanks to the tightness of the scar. The healers had offered to ease the puckering to make it less noticeable, but she’d refused. She’d gained the scar in a skirmish against more than a dozen Mareritten warriors while we’d been on patrol just over eight years ago now, and it was both her badge of honor and her reminder of those we’d lost.

“I daresay your mother thought the same when she left Jakarra to come here.”

“The difference being she loved Dad.”

“It’s compatibility that’s necessary for a happy marriage, not love.”

“Says the woman who swore not so long ago she wasn’t about to commit to either man or woman if they were too damn frightened to publicly or privately declare their love.”

She chuckled softly. “And we both know why.”

Indeed. Her two suitors—one man, one woman—were both dragging their heels when it came to full commitment; the declaration was her way of informing them she was getting tired of it. I actually suspected she’d end up with both, if only because Kele was too much woman for one mere person to keep satisfied. Or so she’d declared on numerous drunken occasions in the past.

“The point being—you have the choice.”

She nudged me lightly. “It could be far worse, you know. At least he’s extremely good-looking, and, from all accounts, not the ninnyhammer his younger brother is.”

I laughed. While the whispers I’d heard about Tayte had suggested he was indeed somewhat bereft when it came to brainpower and conviction, he’d certainly been clever enough to get out of the marriage with me—although Damon’s comment did make me wonder if he was now regretting his choice. I personally hoped that to be true. I might not have wanted to be bound to the man, but I couldn’t help being annoyed at such a sneaky rejection.

I drank more mead. “What do you know about Tayte? Damon made a comment today that led me to believe they don’t get along.”

“Unfortunately, the military grapevine is remarkably ambiguous when it comes to the king’s many sons—other than the fact that they all have rather healthy sexual appetites, of course.”

A soft knock at the door had me looking around. “Enter.”

A silver-haired woman in her mid-fifties appeared. Her gaze swept the room, and her expression became severe. “Your mother sent me here to hustle you along. Just as well, by the look of things.”

I grinned and downed the rest of my mead. Patrice had been my handmaid up until I’d left to live full-time in the military section, and she’d always treated me as one of her own—and she had eight of them. How’d she’d found the time to run after me, I had no idea.

“And you, young Kele, need not be looking so amused. You’ll not be entering our church smelling like old boot leather. Up, both of you, and get your asses into thermae.”

Kele cursed under her breath but nevertheless followed me down to the hot bathing facilities usually reserved for guests. Mom had declared tradition would be followed, and that meant soaking away the grime—and sins, if you believed the myths about the heated mineral springs—followed by a full body massage with scented oil. My wedding attire also followed tradition—hair woven into an elaborate braid and a deep red dress made of the finest silk. It skimmed the full length of my body, revealing little skin and yet hiding absolutely nothing—including the fact that I was long and lean, with little in the way of curves. The long slit up the left side was designed to expose a thigh garter for the groom to tear off with his teeth before hauling his lady over his shoulder and carrying her into the bedroom chamber, but I’d let Vahree take my soul before I’d allow Damon to do either.

By the time the church bells tolled in signal for all to move inside, the combination of the massage and mead had at least curtailed most of my nerves.

I slipped on the ridiculously delicate red silk slippers, then picked up my knife and strapped it on where the garter should have been.

Kele chuckled. “Your mother’s not going to be pleased.”

“She’s lucky I’m wearing a bridal dress rather than my sword and full armor. As a captain of the guard, I’m entitled to.” And I’d certainly feel more secure in full armor rather than the dress of a princess. I took a deep breath and released it slowly. “You got the ring?”

Kele patted the hidden pocket in her dress. “Indeed, I do.”

“Then let’s get this over with.”

“It’s not the end of days,” she said gently.

“No, but it is the end of life as I know it.”

“Make a new one. Or simply just ride that lovely-looking man senseless at night and find new drakkons to play with during the day.”

I wish it was that easy . But for me, it wasn’t.

“I don’t want to ride that man.” At her raised and very disbelieving eyebrow, I grinned and added, “Well, okay, I do, but that isn’t the point.”

Kele caught my hands and squeezed them lightly. “You’re strangers. You have to give it time—only then will you know if love can grow.”

Nothing can grow in barren soil.... I drew in a deeply quivering breath and released it slowly. “I know. But I’d still rather face a horde of rampaging Mareritt than walk into that damn chapel right now.”

She laughed and hooked her arm through mine. “Sadly, it appears not even the Mareritt can save you from this odious duty. Shall we go?”

I nodded. As one, we turned and headed out, making our way through the halls and then down the stairs. As was custom, Damon waited outside the chapel. Our witnesses and parents would already be inside.

Kele lightly squeezed my hand in a gesture of support, then moved past us and headed in. Damon’s gaze skimmed me and, just for a moment, something stirred between us—something that could have been heat, or desire, or maybe even imagination on my part. He looked utterly divine. His rich golden tunic hugged his broad shoulders and the V of his torso, and his pants emphasized the muscular nature of his legs.

“So, it’s the princess rather than the warrior who appears.” Amusement creased the corners of his bright eyes. “I have to admit, I was expecting full battle armor, with a sword at your back and a knife at your side.”

“I considered it, but in the end decided against annoying my mother.” I shifted enough that the deep slit in the dress revealed the knife. “I am not without a stinger, however.”

He laughed and offered me his arm. “Shall we get this over with?”

“I guess we’d better.”

I slipped my arm through his and tried to ignore the heat of his body and my unfettered response. Heard his sharp intake of breath, though I couldn’t say whether it was an echo of my awareness or simply a “girding of loins” against the irrevocable change we were about to undertake.

As one, we stepped through the vestibule and into the chapel. It was small but decorated with colorful tapestries depicting the might of the many gods and goddesses that blessed our nation. There were four pews on either side, but only the first two were filled—my parents and Kele to the left and, on the right, Aric and Gayl, an older woman who was apparently Damon’s aunt and mentor. Of what, I had no idea, as she’d been keeping well out of my path. It was just one more mystery to solve.

Marshall—the friar who’d looked after the religious health of our family for over forty years now—waited for us at the altar. Kele and Gayl rose as we walked past their pews and moved to stand beside us. Marshall sent a quick wink my way before getting down to the serious business of the ceremony. It didn’t take all that long and ended with Kele and Gayl handing us the simple rings made of black and gold stones. Once we’d placed them on each other’s fingers, I stepped around the pulpit to sign the chapel’s register then moved away to give Damon space. When that was done, Marshall declared our union official in the eyes of the gods. There was no invitation to kiss the bride—this was a business deal rather than a love match, and Marshall was well aware of that.

And yet there was a part of me that mourned the loss. A part that wanted nothing more than to press myself against him, to feel every inch of his warm, muscular length against every inch of mine. A part that longed to brush my lips against his, to taste and explore his mouth until the kiss became a heated, wanton prelude to the passion that waited for us deeper in the night.

Just not this night.

Capriciousness, thy name is Bryn.

As the bells rang a second time, announcing the finalization of our nuptials, I once again slipped my arm through Damon’s, and we led the way out of the church.

Raucous cheers greeted us when we entered the great hall. By tradition, the ceremony was a private matter only attended by parents and the ring bearers, but the banquet feast was attended by not only the wider family circle, but also as many friends from both sides as could be easily seated within the hall. On our side that was close to fifty—Mom had a lot of relations here, and Dad many friends, as he was also an only child and nearly all of his cousins were either dead or too old to travel. By contrast, there were only a dozen or so here from Zephrine, and all of them, aside from Gayl and her partner Joseph, Damon’s friends—though in truth, none of them were acting overly friendly. That there weren’t more of his father’s relatives here was also extremely unusual, and it just added fuel to my suspicions of a rift between the father and his heir.

We made our way slowly to the main table, greeting everyone on the way through. Thankfully, after a couple of quick speeches and a toast to the renewal of treaties and the linking of our two great families for another century, the feasting started.

It was a long night, made longer by the fact I was hyperaware of the man sitting by my side. Every move, every sound, every vague brush of his body against mine had a weird mix of anticipation, desire, and dread pulsing through me. While I was thankful for the attraction, he was still a stranger, and I had a long history of not being intimate with any man until I was comfortable in their presence. As Kele had noted on multiple occasions, I’d probably missed plenty of good sex because of it. But I was the only daughter of the king, and such decisions had always been a matter of self-preservation, then and now.

Of course, the inner tension might not have been such a problem if I simply drank my reluctance away, but I had no desire to give myself an excuse. No matter what happened in our bedchamber tonight—no matter what decision I made in regard to the start of our sexual relationship—it would be done with a clear head.

As the bells finally tolled the midnight hour—the traditional time for our departure—a cheer went up, and two lines were hastily formed between our table and the hall’s main doors.

Damon rose and offered me his hand. “Shall we brave the gauntlet of well-wishers?”

“And grain. Don’t forget the grain.” I placed my hand in his and rose. Heat stirred where our fingers touched and, just for an instant, I saw its echo in his eyes.

“Ah, yes,” he murmured. “Though I’m thinking neither of us are quite ready for the gift of fertility it supposedly represents.”

“Oh, I think that is a really safe bet.”

He laughed softly and led me from the podium. Our parents were first in line; I hugged mine fiercely, pretending a happiness I didn’t really feel. Mom no doubt saw past it, but my father, at least, looked relieved. Of course, this wasn’t our final goodbye—that would come in a few days’ time, when all my possessions had been packed for the sea journey to Zephrine. I daresay there would be tears at that point—both his and mine.

Of course, the attack might well put a temporary halt to all that, but now wasn’t the time to raise it. But if I knew my mother, she’d have already started discussions on the matter with Aric.

I made no move to greet Aric in a similar manner; his dour expression suggested it would not be appreciated. For whatever reason, the man didn’t like me.

A feeling that was certainly returned.

It took a good half hour to make our way through the rest of the honor line; every guest, it seemed, had some vital word of advice they needed to impart about our wedding night or about marriage in general. I smiled and laughed until my cheeks were aching, and I was damnably glad to reach the door, where both Kele and Gayl waited.

I untwined my fingers from Damon’s and stepped into Kele’s arms. Her hug was fierce and strong. “I’m going to miss you. Badly.”

And I her. But she knew that—I’d said it often enough in the last few weeks. “The offer of personal guard is always open, remember that.”

“Maybe. One day.”

“One day” would forever remain on the horizon, and we both knew it. Her life, her loves, and her mother were all here. She wouldn’t—and couldn’t, in the case of her mother, who’d been blinded in a Mareritten attack back in the day when she’d been a soldier—leave them.

I forced myself to pull back. “I’ll keep in touch.”

“Do, or I swear by Vahree, I’ll send a flame bird to burn your ass.”

I laughed, even as tears prickled. A flame bird was a rather beautiful piece of inner magic in which she crafted a bird out of her flames and sent it winging into the world—though to date, it had only lasted a little over a mile before fading. Zephrine remained well beyond her reach.

“Fail to answer, and I’ll send a drakkon.”

She grinned. “No, you wouldn’t, because you wouldn’t risk their safety that way.”

That was certainly true, if only because the drakkons who once lived and hunted across the mighty Balkain Mountains were apparently few in numbers these days. I had no idea if that was because they’d been brought to the edge of extinction or if they’d simply left our continent to find safer hunting grounds.

I’d always hoped it was the latter. I’d always feared it was the former.

I hugged her one more time and then left before the self-pitying tears could escape. Damon caught up to me in a couple of strides. “My bride is eager to reach our chamber, I see.”

“The bride still wears her knife and is not afraid to use it.”

He laughed, but the slight edge in his tone had me glancing at him. His expression gave little away, and his gaze was cool. Reserved. It made me remember that he’d no more wanted this union than I did.

“Relax, Bryn,” he said softly. “I have no intention of going where I’m not wanted.”

“And I have no intention of bedding a stranger.”

“I wish I could say the same, but like most of my sex, I’m sadly unopposed to seeking the pleasures of the flesh with someone I’ve only just met.”

A smile tugged my lips. “I have heard that about you.”

He opened the door to my chamber and ushered me through. “You seem to have heard a whole lot more about me than I have you.”

“And I daresay what you did learn was derogatory, given it came from your father.” I quickly undid the braiding and then ran my fingers through my long hair in an effort to shake loose the grain. The stuff was everywhere, and by Vahree, it itched .

“He said you were a soldier. In my father’s eyes, there can be no greater sin for a woman, let alone one of royal lineage.”

I glanced at him, eyebrows raised. He’d loosened the ties on his tunic and pulled his undershirt from the waist of his pants. A circle of golden grain lay around his feet, and more fell as he shook the loosened material vigorously. The urge to let my fingers play amongst the smattering of dark hair being revealed on his chiseled chest—to follow its lead down his stomach and beyond—was so damn strong I had to clench my hand against it. “Zephrine has plenty of women in their military ranks.”

He dropped onto one of the well-padded sofas and kicked off his boots. “Indeed, but you’ll never see one lead. They are seen as expendable, as fodder for the Mareritt, nothing more.”

Bastard. No wonder my mother didn’t like him.

“At least that explains the contempt he was barely concealing a few minutes ago.” I picked up the insulated flask of shamoke—a bitter brown bean that was mixed with cane crystals to make a pleasant hot beverage—and glanced at him. “Would you like a drink?”

When he nodded, I poured two cups, then walked across the room, handing him one before sitting opposite. Tiredness unexpectedly washed through me, and I took a sip of shamoke, hoping to stave it off. “It does make me wonder why he didn’t call my father’s bluff in regard to this marriage, though.”

“Remember, while Zephrine is high in mineral wealth, much of our lands are not so suitable for farming. In the end, it comes down to him valuing the trade treaties far more than me.” Humor and old bitterness vied for prominence in his blue eyes. “I do, in fact, have suspicions that Tayte’s so-called ‘surprise’ nuptials actually weren’t.”

“But Tayte’s the second son and not the heir—why would he value him over you?”

“Tayte is far more like our father than I ever will be.”

“I did get the impression there was some tension between you?—”

“Tension is definitely understating it.”

“Has it something to do with your mother? I know she died when you were both young.”

Once again, his hesitation was brief but nevertheless there. “She died not long after Tayte’s birth.”

“And your father for some weird reason blames you for that?”

“No.” The smile that twisted his lips held little humor. “Her death was something he celebrated, not mourned. She’d given him two official heirs, after all, and that’s all that mattered.”

“He has plenty of unofficial ones, if what we’ve heard is anything to go by.”

“Fifteen that I’m aware of, but few are acknowledged unless he wishes to use them in his various schemes. Their mothers are mostly serfs and their offspring considered unworthy.”

The bitterness in that statement took me by surprise, if only because it wasn’t uncommon for lords to take lovers outside their marriage. My father was a rarity in that respect. “What schemes?”

He shrugged, a casual movement that wasn’t. “Remember the daughters of the trading partners I mentioned? A bastard, however little my father thinks of them, makes a perfect lure in trade negotiations.”

“Surely said bastards would not go along with such a scheme if they were so neglected growing up.”

“If it meant escaping hostile living conditions? Or because it was either that or the death of someone they loved? Most would. Have, in fact.”

“Is that what caused the rift between you and your father?”

“That, and puberty.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand?—”

“You haven’t heard the rumors? I’m surprised.”

Again, it was bitterly said. “I’d heard you were a spell caster—something you confirmed in Eastmead—but I can’t see how that?—”

“I’m not just a spell caster. I’m a blood witch.”

“And?”

Surprise rippled through his expression. “You do understand what a blood witch is, don’t you?”

“Blood is your power and, through it, you’re able to create formidable spells. To repeat, so?”

He stared at me for a few seconds longer, then threw his head back and roared with laughter. It was a warm, rich sound that had prickles of desire skating across my skin and a smile tugging at my lips.

“Wife, you have no idea how relieved I am.”

“Husband, I have no idea why that should be so.” I took another sip of shamoke. “You forget what I am—a Strega who can call forth fire and command animals. Why would I in any way cast aspersions on someone capable of calling magic from blood, be it theirs or that of a sacrifice?”

“I guess because that’s the only reaction I’ve gotten for too many years now.”

“But why? I’d have thought your father would appreciate having a son with such a powerful weapon at his disposal.”

“Except it is not a weapon. It cannot be used to kill, only to alter or protect.”

Protection would still make it a formidable and worthwhile weapon in any sane person’s opinion, surely. “Why?”

“Blood is life, not death. It has always been so.” He shrugged. “But there’s also the fact that it is considered a ‘woman’s weapon’.”

I let my gaze wander down his magnificent length. “Well, I have to say from the little I’ve seen, you’re definitely not a woman. And thank Túxn for that.”

“I’m glad the attraction runs both ways.”

My eyebrows rose again even as my heart beat a little bit faster. “Does it? Because there’s been little sign of reciprocation.”

“And this surprises you, given neither of us had a choice in the matter of our marriage?”

“I guess not.” I hesitated, then, because I did not want to linger on the possibility of attraction, added, “I suspect neither of the reasons given are the true cause of the rift.”

“You see more than most.” He took a drink. “My father now believes he was spelled into bedding my mother in order to produce a son who might one day rule the kingdom her people could not take by force.”

Which certainly explained why Aric had never grieved for his wife. “Who were your mother’s people?”

“They’re from Angola, the largest of the floating islands in the Black Claw Sea.”

“I had no idea there was an antagonistic history between Zephrine and the islands.”

“That’s because history always favors the victor over the conquered.”

“So, he trusts Tayte—who bears the same blood—but ostracizes you because you inherited the magic?”

He paused, ostensibly to take a drink, but I suspected there was more behind it. “Yes.”

“That really makes little sense. I mean, by doing so, surely he’s increased the likelihood of such a plot coming into existence—if ever there had been one in the first place.”

The smile that tugged at his lips did strange things to my stomach. “You think with far greater clarity than my father ever has in this matter.”

“Your father is a fool.”

“On that, we both agree.”

I yawned hugely and then took a long drink in an effort to batter away the increasing weariness. “Then why hasn’t he made Tayte heir? It wouldn’t be the first time a second son has displaced the first on the throne.”

He shrugged and drained his shamoke. “I daresay he has his reasons.”

I studied him for a moment, sensing the turmoil under the calm surface. He knew the reason; he just wasn’t about to tell me. “What about Gayl? Who is she, really?”

He hesitated, his gaze briefly flicking from mine. “She’s my aunt, and I asked her here to stand in my mother’s place. She never inherited the blood magic, though. I am, in fact, the first in two generations of my mother’s line to do so.” He placed his cup on the nearby table. “But enough of me for tonight. You, wife, should go to bed before you fall asleep in your shamoke.”

“Do you intend to accompany me to that bed?”

Amusement warmed his eyes. “Do you intend to wear your stinger?”

“Indeed. But the bed is big and I’m fully capable of resisting the lure of sexual attraction.”

“I’m once again gratified to hear it exists—it bodes well for our future together.” He bowed gracefully and motioned toward the platform. “After you, dear Bryn.”

I smiled and moved ahead of him. Once I’d removed my dress and climbed under the blankets, I watched with pleasure as he unhurriedly stripped off. There wasn’t an inch of fat on the man; he was lean, long, and muscular in all the right places and hung like a stallion. All I wanted to do was explore every glorious inch of him with hand and tongue, to feel the heat of him on me, his thick length in me. To lose myself to fires of passion without the fear of ulterior motives haunting the back of my mind.

But I couldn’t so easily erase the years of caution. Not even for the man who was now my husband.

He climbed into the far side of the bed and turned toward me. “Sweet dreams, wife.”

“Remember the stinger, husband.”

He laughed softly, his blue eyes sparkling in the wash of moonlight filtering down the light tube above the bed. “I will, as long as you remember a man has little control over instinct when he’s asleep and the heat of a woman is pressed close.”

“As long as you remember a soldier sleeps light and both instinct and training often kick in before full wakefulness.”

“It could be an interesting night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, he turned around. Within minutes, the deepening sound of his breathing suggested he was asleep. I wasn’t all that far behind him.

I woke who knew how many hours later wrapped in the warmth of Damon’s body and with an odd sense of doom pounding through my veins.

The light tube above us showed gentle wisps of pink beginning to stain the night sky, suggesting it was close to six. The room remained wrapped in shadows, and though several coursers were neighing in the stables, there was little noise coming from the main courtyard.

So, what had woken me? Why did unease pound through my veins?

I slid free from the arm that lightly held me and slipped out of bed.

“Something wrong?” Damon immediately asked.

“I’m not sure.”

The platform creaked slightly as he rose from it. I padded across to my wardrobe, quickly pulling on my leathers and boots. After re-strapping my knife on, I headed for the door.

Damon met me there, fully dressed and armed. “If it was the Mareritt, the alarms would surely have sounded.”

“It’s not the Mareritt. It’s something else.”

I clattered down the stairs and strode through the empty foyer. Guards appeared and quickly unlocked the doors. The air outside was crisp and cold, the sky bright with the flags of dawn. I ran down the steps, only half watching where I was going, relying on instinct and habit as I scanned the dark mountain that loomed high above us.

Then I heard it—the deep, haunting bugle of a drakkon. One that was moving toward Esan rather than away.

Another call, more urgent than before, and the deep pulse of unease flared into dread.

This wasn’t the battle cry of a drakkon.

It was a desperate call for help.

And it was coming from the queen.