Chapter Six
Ghreid
It’d been three days since he sent word to the neighboring nations, and he’d gotten clearance back from only Monsmount—which they had no legal grounds to deny him. And even if they did, they’d permit it because their debt hung precariously in the balance of Saurian generosity.
Their permission, granted, gave him clemency to do as he pleased, he supposed. And his dreams grew by the day, driving him insane, more and more by the day. Every footfall in the crowded estate had his shoulders twitching and jaw clenching.
“Sir?” Rydel entered his chambers, hands pitiably empty.
“Have any of the couriers returned?”
Rydel glanced away, lips pursed. “The Kaliman Potentate is in upheaval at the moment. There’s a change in leadership and nobody available to make the call.
Ivaren waited a day and got nowhere but did get a note from their merchant’s guild—good initiative, I say—and they claim to have no records of missing cargo, so it’s likely a false flag and therefore we’re free to take the contents. ”
“Good.” Ghreid took a deep breath. “And Turok? Rammolia?”
“No response from our rider. He’s not returned.
Rammolia sent a rather lengthy demand letter that effectively states they will not be ceding anything with Rammolian markings and requests a full manifest and the return, at our cost, of all cargo.
They also wish for your brother-in-law, the King Consort, to visit and pay respects.
It’s highly suggested that they request a dowry.
” Rydel sneered. “Would you like to see the letter? I was still reading through it to summarize it for you. They’re also asking for a certain amount of money, reparations, free docking for military vessels—”
“On a scale of one to ten, how well do you think they’d take it if we responded to their requests for gold weight in equivalent of urine? It’s golden!” Ghreid gave a toothy grin that Rydel did not reciprocate.
“As the one that would be in charge of packing that shipment—I refuse on sanitary grounds.” Rydel clenched his fingers awkwardly, as if wanting to wash them.
“Hmm,” Ghreid said, slanting his gaze.
“Sir. I will tender my resignation.” Rydel would. Ghreid knew he would. He’d been formerly employed under Galatan and had resigned over some odd request involving fermented fish and fragrant cheese shipments…
“That is fair. Well. How fucked would I be if I made an exploratory trip?” Ghreid drummed his fingers on his desk. He wouldn’t be fucked at all, perhaps ever, if he kept waiting.
“With no due respect, my liege, your temper is rising, and it’s rather cumbersome to walk on eggshells.
Would you like for me to send to the capital and have them lend you out a bedservant?
It’s not my forte, but I was once one, myself, and I could be of that service if you were desperate, my liege.
” Rydel hesitated, reaching to his necktie before Ghreid snarled.
“Clothes. On. I do not need a bedservant.” Ghreid ran fingers through his hair and shuddered. He rose and strode across the room to close the door and gave Rydel a pointed look. “If what I think is out there is truly there… There will be no need for a bedservant for me for the rest of my days.”
Rydel’s eyes widened. “Then go. By all means, I cannot stop you from frolicking about when the tide is high. By the way, the teams are ready to go out at low tide again today to begin removing more detritus. We’ve carts on order for hauling, and a few new carriageways are being constructed to speed things up.
You likely have four hours before the crews bring in their full force. ”
“No witnesses. I like it.” Ghreid rose and tugged his lapels. “I’ll be taking your wyvern, if you don’t mind. Mine is rather…conspicuous.”
“Lav will be happy to be of service, my liege.” Rydel almost smiled and bowed shortly, brown hair falling over a handsome face as he did so.
Twenty years ago, he was a beautiful young male, and he’d grown into a very handsome devil, if not needlessly stuffy.
Still, Ghreid wouldn’t fuck his employees unless they were designated, trained, and contracted to do so.
And so it was that Ghreid stole away, climbing the outside terraced land to the stables where the wyverns milled about grooming one another.
They’d apparently been hunting their own fish, as the saltwater had dimmed their scales, and Ghreid made a note to have them cleaned.
Platinum, especially so, for the white-scaled beast with his gray highlights and gleaming appearance was nothing without his shine.
“Lav!” Ghreid waved for the bored beast, a creature as dry of personality as his owner who trotted over, belly a pearlescent white and scales a muddy gray, not the white creatures of Saurian royalty, nor the rocky and green beasts of the Wyverncrest family.
Rydel’s creature, specifically, had Wyverncrest lineage in his, an accidental pairing that they’d been sure to sterilize to make sure he didn’t breed back into the Saurian stock.
He made for a unique example among the flock, but if he’d further mated with any of their females, it would have ruined the purebred lineage.
Ghreid opened his arms for the ambivalent beast and stroked his neck and jaw. “Will you fly for me today, old friend?”
Lav snorted and stared at the prince with a somewhat churlish expression that matched Rydel well. There were no kings or princes among wyverns, only those with food and those without. And at that moment, Ghreid was one without food.
“I promise the fish are very tasty there.” Out of all the words Ghreid said, the only one Lav likely knew was fish, but it caught his grudging attention, nonetheless.
Wyverns, for humans, needed saddles, but with a dragon rider, the addition of his tail was enough.
Not wanting to waste time to fit the blankets for his custom saddle onto Lav, Ghreid threw a set of reins on and swung himself up to seat, locking his feet into place with a click of his tongue. “Ride.”
A dragon’s command was law to a wyvern, and it snorted once before spreading its wings and running to the edge of the cliff for a single stroke and glide into salty—if not fragrant—air.
The flight was a short one in the warm breeze of the day; the currents coasting Lav inexorably toward the doldrums and stacks where the abandoned ships coalesced.
The smell of dry rot floated lazily on the breeze, mildew fragrant on hanging canvas. Of it all, Ghreid had to be discerning what he landed upon. Lav could swim, certainly, but losing his footing on weak wood in landing would have been a mistake.
Thinking it for the best, Ghreid banked Lav onto one of the shorter stacks, ordering the beast to land as he dismounted and surveyed the ships below.
The slight hint of char floated in the air, and Ghreid searched the bobbing hulls and lapping waves for a ship that looked more unkept, as if it’d been lived in.
It didn’t take long, as the scent of cooked fish drew his gaze, and he stripped his tunic before placing it on Lav’s back.
“Guard this, sweet boy. I’ll call when I need.
Wait.” The command lay in the last word, and Ghreid spread his wings, throwing a shadow of them across the surface of the ship graveyard before he dove and glided toward the most stable of the ships, a rather new trading vessel marked with a noble house’s sigil, the ship hailing from Turok.
Unsure of how to proceed, Ghreid landed on the vessel and called out in the trader’s pidgin. “Well met, sailor. I have come to parlay.”
A snort of surprise and a scramble came from within the captain’s quarters, and a moldering curtain swished aside to reveal beautiful eyes, like those of copper coins glinting prettily under cool water.
They shone from golden-brown skin, warmed from sun that had lightened golden streaks in beautiful brown hair. And in a breath, Ghreid was stricken.
He was no child of Turok but rather Kaliman, the sensual build of him a glorious thing as his face retreated and a barest glimpse of tapered back greeted him.
A curtain across a busted door fluttered and a mostly bare male stood, his face bright with curiosity, and over his shoulders dusted freckling like stars, a capelet of too-linear spots that spoke volumes of the eventual pattern of the ashen one’s scales. “I speak common Elander.”
The lightest hint of disuse cracked his soft voice, while the almost-noble inflection of Kalish hinted an accent long practiced away.
“Good afternoon. I am Ghreiden, third prince of Sauria, acting regent.” Ghreid gave a short bow to the male who halted mid-step, his legs so graceful, poised on the balls of his feet in a near deer-like way, so slender and toned in a gentle swell.
Ghreid had to bury the desire to kiss the male’s flesh and lick the salt from his skin, starting at his smooth ankles, following his fine flesh higher—
“I am Varis.” And the way he said it made Ghreid’s flesh ripple with sensation, the accent putting an inflection into his name.
Avarice. Just like his dream.
He was made for Ghreid.