The Flame King’s Queen (Fire and Desire #3)

Chapter 24

24

Zabriel

E smeral’s hatchlings are the most delightful, enchanting, and utterly vicious little creatures I have ever beheld. I couldn’t be prouder, and apparently neither can Scourge. He stands proudly over his offspring as they romp over his talons and tail in the morning light. Esmeral flutters down with a freshly caught lake fish between her teeth and drops it on the ground. The hatchlings fall on the fish with excited hisses and start to devour it.

Esmeral pads over to me, and we watch the little dragons together.

“You’re so clever,” I murmur, caressing her head. “Your rider is going to have her baby soon as well. I can smell it in her scent. You and Isavelle always do everything together.”

Esmeral trills and rubs her head against my shoulder. I have no doubt she’s caught the change in Isavelle’s scent for herself.

There are a great many Maledinni at the dragongrounds this morning, more than the usual number. Many of them are soldiers in the City Guards, but I suspect they want to join the ranks of the dragonriders. Every potential dragonrider in Lenhale wants to meet the queen’s dragon’s hatchlings.

Scourge allows them to watch his children from a distance, but smoke pours in warning from his nostrils if they come too close or are too loud.

One figure moving among the dragons catches my eye. A slight, familiar woman with long, brown hair. I haven’t spoken with Zenevieve since she returned to Lenhale with Stesha, and it irritates me that she’s here, working among the dragons, and ignoring me as if she didn’t flee the Dragon Games in floods of tears.

I stroke Esmeral’s head one last time and head over to Zenevieve. With folded arms, I ask, “Would you please tell me what’s going on?”

Zenevieve is examining a Beta dragon’s talons. “What do you mean?”

“You and the dragonmaster. You were gone for days.”

She frowns and straightens up. “Are you concerned for Maledin because of something the dragonmaster or I have done? The dragons were quite safe for a few days without Stesha. Can I not have a few days absence from the city as well, Ma’len ?”

I feel my eyes narrow in irritation. I don’t like my questions being answered with questions. She’s being deliberately obtuse. “Zenevieve, I hope I have known you long enough that I may know whether…”

But would I have enjoyed someone demanding to know if I’d knotted Isavelle when we were going through our difficult period, or would I have ripped their head off if someone dared to ask something so intimate? Maybe she and Stesha are friends. Maybe they’re mated and don’t want to tell anyone. Maybe they coupled for days on end. Maybe he rejected her but was kind about it and she’s been crying in his arms all this time. It’s none of my business. “Yes, of course you can. Never mind.”

She watches Esmeral’s hatchlings from afar, interest lighting her eyes.

I smile and nod in their direction. “Come and meet them.”

“I wish to be around dragons always. I never feel right when I’m far from them.”

“If one of these hatchlings bonds with you, Scourge and I will feel honored beyond belief.”

Tears brim in her eyes and fall down her cheeks. She tries to speak, but there’s too much emotion blocking her words. Finally, she manages to say, “Thank you, Zabriel. I miss Minta so much. After all that’s happened, I wish to feel that bond once more before I die. In fact, on my darkest nights, that hope has been the only thing keeping me going.”

It makes my heart ache to hear that she’s been hurting so badly.

As she plays with the little dragons, a black and turquoise hatchling is gnawing furiously on my thumb. I hope Zenevieve is soon to get her dearest wish.

She stands up and wipes away her tears. “Sorry, I called you Zabriel just now, not Ma’len .”

I smile at her. “Sometimes it feels good to be called Zabriel by an old friend. After Isavelle, you are dearest to me above all others. The dragonmaster as well.”

She gives me a watery smile and a nod and turns away. It’s only as she’s walking away that I notice there’s something different about her scent. I frown, trying to remember all the reasons that a Beta’s scent might change. I seem to remember that there are dozens of them. A bond developing with a dragon is one reason. A shock. A surprise. A mate? But if Stesha is her mate, he wouldn’t be letting her cry all alone like this.

Isavelle is flushed and sweating when I arrive back at our room. “I saw you speaking with Zenevieve at the dragongrounds. Are they happy? Are they together?”

I hesitate. “Not…not exactly. She was reminiscing about Minta. Esmeral’s hatchlings reminded her of her dragon.”

“She wasn’t crying, was she?”

“A little, yes.”

Isavelle sighs and starts peeling off her clothes. “I felt so certain that they were meant for each other, but what do I know? I was getting misty-eyed over the thought of Captain Ashton and Ravenna until Fiala and Dusan told me that would end in blood and tears. Stesha’s not rejecting her because she’s not an Omega, is he? I remember you said Stesha always wanted an Omega.”

“Who knows. Zenevieve wouldn’t tell me anything, and Stesha won’t either. We will just have to leave them be, but I hope Zenevieve bonds with a dragon soon. At least that will put a smile on her face, even if Stesha won’t.”

Isavelle frowns, and I wonder if she’s imagining giving the dragonmaster a piece of her mind for upsetting her friend. But then her brow clears. “Yes, that’s what she needs more than a mate. Zenevieve will be so much happier once she has met her dragon.”

I hope so too, but for the moment I’m distracted by the sight of Isavelle’s nearly naked body. She’s down to her thin, see-through shift, and I help her to draw it over her head and cast it aside. My mate looks so beautiful while round with my child.

“Mother Linnea tells me it’s almost time,” Isavelle whispers, taking my hand.

I twine my fingers through her slim ones, dreamily enjoying her sweet scent. Then her words hammer through my thick skull. I seize her fingers. “Wait, what?”

Isavelle bursts out laughing. “You suddenly look terrified.”

I get down on my knees and take both her hands in mine. “Excited. I’m excited, sha’lenla ,” I say breathlessly, kissing her bump. “Will it be today? Tonight? Tomorrow?”

She smiles and strokes the tip of my nose. “It could be now. It could be three days. All the signs say soon, apparently. We will have to wait and see, but I tell you, I feel as though I am ready to burst.”

I stand up and gather her into my arms. “I can’t wait. You should have seen Scourge just now with his hatchlings. I was so happy for him, and so envious. I crave to hold my son or daughter in my arms. There is so much I wish to teach them about Maledin. There is so much I wish to learn from them about being a father, a king, and an Alpha.”

Isavelle traces a finger down the side of my face, pushing a lock of my hair back. “Do you know why I love you so much? You’re always thinking about others first and ways to be a better man. I am so, so grateful that the gods decided that you are the mate for me, but I would have loved you anyway even if forces beyond our comprehension had not decreed it.”

I wrap my arms around her generous stomach and press my face against it. I hope the baby is born tonight so that I may hold her and my child in my arms at the same time.

My wish is answered by the gods. Isavelle goes into labor when the full moon is directly over the castle.

The Temple Mothers are called, and they bring a birthing chair into our bedroom for my mate. Isavelle strips naked, and the sight of her swollen belly and breasts is the most awe-inspiring sight I’ve ever seen.

When Isavelle’s contractions are coming closer together, she grips the arms of the birthing chair and allows it to support her weight. The Temple Mothers all seem to know what to do and so does Isavelle, but I have no idea. I gather her hair back and tie it with a ribbon. Daub perspiration from her forehead. Tell her that she’s incredible and so brave. None of this looks like it’s frightening her. If I remark on that, I’m sure she would tell me that the women of her village have three babies at once while standing on their heads. In this matter, she has the advantage over me because she’s probably witnessed dozens of births, or at least her younger siblings’. I only remember one birth, and it was my brother’s, and I was kept well out of the way on the other side of the castle.

“Will you catch the baby, Zabriel?” Isavelle pants. “I want yours to be the first hands that hold our child.”

“I will, of course I will.”

Just before the first blush of dawn, Isavelle gives birth to our child, and as I cradle the tiny pink infant in my arms, the world stands still.

“It’s a girl,” I breathe. “She’s perfect, sha’lenla . She’s beautiful.”

Isavelle laughs through her tears. “A girl? Let me see her.”

I stand up with our daughter in my arms and hold her so that Isavelle may see our child.

A few minutes later, the Temple Mothers help Isavelle up from the birthing chair and onto the bed, and she lays back against the pillows. I get into bed beside her and place our baby on her chest. Mother Linnea gently cleans the baby with a soft cloth before showing me how to cut the cord with a sharp knife.

With my arm around Isavelle, and her cuddled against my chest, I gaze, enraptured, at our baby, taking in her tiny snub nose and perfect little fingers. Mother Linnea wraps her in a soft blanket and places her back in Isavelle’s arms.

“She has your eyes, doesn’t she?” Isavelle asks.

My eyes were blue-gray before I bonded with Scourge, and those are the eyes that are gazing up at us now. “She does. And she has your nose and pretty face. What shall we call her?”

Isavelle thinks for a moment. “How about Sylvi? I always liked the name Sylvi.”

I smile when I hear the name. “Sylvi. That’s beautiful.”

“What are the Maledinni customs around births and naming? In my village, a few days after a baby is born, the parents would take the child to a Brethren church to register them.”

“It’s something similar for Maledinni, but for a new royal the occasion is grander. Usually the baby is presented in the Great Hall so the people can admire and celebrate the new prince or princess.”

“Usually?” Isavelle asks.

I smile at her. “You are a dragonrider, sha’lenla , so things can be a little different if you choose.”

As soon as I tell Isavelle about the custom for the babies of dragonriders, she wants that for her and Sylvi, as I suspected she would.

The people of Lenhale can still be part of the celebration. On the chosen day, three days after Sylvi’s birth, the residents of the castle and Lenhale line the path from the castle to the dragongrounds and fill the battlements that overlook the flare. Many of the people are waving gold and turquoise banners that they brought to the Dragon Games to cheer on their queen.

I stand by the bridge to the dragongrounds wearing my golden armor and the crown on my head, and watch with pride overflowing in my heart as Isavelle, who is wearing her crown, carries Sylvi in her arms, leading a long procession of her bodyguards and every single dragonrider in Lenhale. Today, they’re her riders.

Esmeral is waiting at the center of the dragongrounds, eager to greet the child. Scourge and all the other dragons are assembled behind her, all keeping very quiet so they don’t startle the baby.

I meet Isavelle at the entrance to the dragongrounds, and take my mate in my arms and kiss her. Looping Isavelle’s arm through mine, we walk together to meet her dragon.

Isavelle approaches Esmeral with Sylvi. Our daughter is awake and staring around at her first sight of the world with huge eyes.

“Esmeral, this is Sylvi,” Isavelle tells her. Esmeral lowers her head and gazes at the baby while Isavelle strokes her neck. I’m told our daughter can’t focus her eyes at such a young age, but she is enraptured by Esmeral’s shimmering turquoise and golden scales.

Esmeral uses her wings to embrace and shelter her rider and baby. The two Omegas together make my heart ache sweetly. I glance at Scourge when I feel an answering pulse of emotion from him. He’s feeling sentiments that express home. Ours. Always. Forever.

You’re right , I tell him, gazing at Isavelle and Esmeral with my blood singing in my veins. All the flare’s dragons slowly unfurl their wings, sheltering Isavelle and Sylvi. The crowd cheers and whoops in happiness for the new crown princess.

Home.

Ours.

Always.

And forever.