Chapter 9
The king’s price leaves me dizzy with want.
I’m breathlessly wrapped in his arms, lost in the feel of his lips on mine, and struggling to remember what this so-called price is even for when Rally precedes his return with a warning cough.
Embarrassment surges through me, and with a push of magic, I repel the king back a step. He only rumbles out a laugh before turning toward the tent’s entrance.
That mirth disappears as Boyd, Fuller, and Yarl file inside and fall to their knees in front of him.
I freeze where I am, my heart suddenly hammering for an entirely different reason than a moment before. This looks like an execution stance.
“Soren—” I begin, but I quiet as he lifts a dispassionate hand my way.
“So,” he says, gazing down at the trio with cold indifference. “You failed me.”
A shiver snakes down my back. The king only hissed the words, and yet they resound off the tent walls with all the harshness of a cave’s dark hold.
Genuine panic sets in as the three guards shut their eyes and tilt their heads back, like they’re offering their throats for a blade’s quick release.
Only with effort do I hold myself still. I don’t need to intervene. I don’t. Soren said he wouldn’t be angry with them, so—
Cold trepidation creeps over me.
No. What he said is that he would consider it.
“Did Princess Serah best you in combat?” the king asks.
Yarl, the oldest of the group, answers without hesitation. “She did, Your Majesty.”
My mouth falls open, sudden indignation momentarily replacing my fear for them. “I did no such thing.” I only wanted to leave my room; we never engaged in formal combat.
The king continues as if I said nothing. “I leave you two choices then. Exile or swear yourself to her.”
I gasp aloud.
What?
The guards don’t confer. They don’t even open their eyes.
“We swear ourselves to you, Princess Serah,” they say in unison.
I’d prepared myself to beg for them, to plead on my own knees if need be. Justified as my stubbornness may have been, I would not let these men be executed for it.
But of all the scenarios I was frightened of, having someone—three someones—sworn to me today never entered my mind. I’m already chafing under the feel of eyes watching me from every side. The idea of having three more pairs assigned to me makes me want to scream.
“I don’t need them,” I say out of unadulterated panic.
The guards visibly flinch. The king only looks back at me with mild interest. “Then you sentence them to exile,” he says.
My lips pinch together. Of all the underhanded…
“Of course not,” I say. “Let them remain royal guards.”
“They will. They will guard their queen.”
I’m about to launch into a rebuttal when Boyd, who surely can’t want to swear himself to a human, says in a strained voice, “Please, Princess Serah. Have mercy on us, and we will serve you well.” His comrades make sounds of assent, and even Rally sends me a pleading look.
Oh, for stars’ sake. I cast my eyes toward the sky in helpless aggravation.
“I release you to her then,” Soren says, and as if he’s only overseen some mundane task of little importance, he holds a hand out to me. I give it a brief glare before begrudgingly taking it and allowing him to guide me outside.
Immediately, I begin formulating a counterargument, but the sight of the crowd camped out along the lake’s rim renders me temporarily speechless.
Countless campfires flicker in the oncoming twilight.
I had no idea so many more had come, and only by giving myself a shake do I bring myself back to the issue at hand.
“Your Majesty, these are your guards,” I say with a glance behind me. They’re following, of course. “They should remain with you.”
Soren’s mouth twitches. “So it’s Your Majesty again, is it?”
“I’m considering it,” I sniff.
He openly chuckles. “I told you, whatever is mine is yours. Consider their transfer to your authority a gift, if it pleases you.”
“What would please me is you returning them to their proper positions. I don’t wish to be followed everywhere I go.”
“You are to be queen. Being followed is inevitable.”
“But I don’t want them.” I confess this comes out in a bit of a whine.
He glances ahead, eyes narrowing. “These are dragons’ ways, Princess.”
I’m forced to table my protests as I follow his gaze to three figures in the distance, their winged silhouettes framed by the twilit sky. Though their wings lend all of them greater size, the figure in the middle is markedly larger.
“The wyverns?” I ask.
“Indeed.”
Their features grow more discernible as we near, and I lift a brow at their attire, or lack thereof. “Do they ever wear shirts?” Even in the oncoming chill of night, their torsos are bare.
Soren snorts. “No.”
His hand tightens on mine as we near, but his voice is light as he addresses them. “Are you gentlemen lost?”
The lips of all three wyverns curl with disdain.
“You know why we’ve come,” the one in the center says. Closer now, I see he isn’t simply large—he’s enormous. Scars track down his long face, and his nose appears to have been broken more than once.
All marks of a vicious fighter.
Soren casts a look toward the dimming horizon. “Hm. Surely not a challenge, Seltzen. It’s past sundown.”
“The sun was still visible when the challenge was made.” The wyvern juts his chin toward Rally. “Your wingmate was too slow in delivering it.”
A low growl emanates from my right. To my surprise, the sound issued from Ty, who has appeared alongside his brother and the other guards.
“A pity,” Soren says, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till morning. I’ll have a tent prepared for you and your wingmates.” With that, he begins to turn us around.
“I didn’t come all this way to be denied,” Seltzen says.
Soren continues on, ignoring him.
“Are you afraid, Dragon King?” the wyvern snarls at our backs.
This time, Soren doesn’t even seem to hear him. He glances over at me with bright-eyed eagerness. “I’m thinking of sending for cake before bed. How do you feel about dates? We’ll have everything drizzled with chocolate, of course.”
I blink at him as Seltzen continues his tirade, a strange desperation creeping into his voice.
“Wyrm,” he cries. “Fight me, or I’ll—”
I sling around, bringing Soren with me.
“Is it water you’re after?”
The wyvern stares at me like someone would if a rock started speaking to them. “What?”
Truthfully, “What?” is what I think to myself. What am I doing? It’s been a long day. Perhaps my reason has been dulled by fatigue.
That or Soren’s lips…
“Water,” I repeat, drawing myself back to the present. “Are the wyverns in need of water?”
If the throne is all he’s after, why the distress? Tirenth is in a drought; I can’t imagine the wyverns’ territory isn’t as well.
The wyverns shift uncertainly, their avoidance an answer in of itself.
“I’ve only come here to challenge the King of Tirenth,” Seltzen says in a poor imitation of disinterest.
“If it’s water you need,” I say, “I will come draw for the wyverns as well.”
One of their group audibly gasps, as does one of ours. Soren is silent, but I don’t dare look at his expression. Seltzen eyes me with open suspicion.
“Why?”
My eyes flick to the crowd beyond. We’re too far for me to mark faces, but I know they’re all watching, every one of them at the mercy of rain and wells and springs that never bring enough.
“Because water is life,” I say.
Beside me, Soren takes a sharp breath. Whether it’s one of anger, disapproval, or some other unpleasant sensation, I can’t say. I do know a princess who isn’t yet queen shouldn’t be negotiating with enemies. And yet I see the turmoil in the wyverns’ eyes, the thirst to accept.
With a working of his jaw, Seltzen finally responds.
“That isn’t an option,” he says.
I have never met with such obstinance, and I do nothing to hide my distaste, taking a stride forward and dragging Soren alongside me. “So you wish to rule these people, but you would deny them a free offer of water?”
“They aren’t people, woman,” Seltzen rumbles. “They’re dragons.”
“Then dragons. You wish to win the throne and let them die of thirst beneath your feet? What type of ruler sinks so low?”
Seltzen tilts his head, scrutinizing me like one would a fresh goat for their herd. My skin crawls, and though I hold my ground, I have the sudden urge to step behind Soren, to duck down and hide myself.
“It seems you’re as mouthy as Tallin said,” Seltzen says.
“Oh, she’s got a barbed tongue, that one.” This comes from the wyvern at Seltzen’s left, and for the first time, I notice it’s the cheeky one who waved at me last time with his clawed wing.
Seltzen lifts a shoulder. “Doesn’t matter to me. She’ll be Tallin’s to deal with.”
Fear and revulsion seep through every vein. He won't accept my offer because he’s not here for himself.
He’s here to win for Lord Tallin, and I’m part of the deal.
My hand is suddenly released, guards swarm about me, and faster than I would believe possible, Soren is there before Seltzen, his broad figure dwarfed by the wyvern’s bulk. I feel a split second’s fear for my dragon king.
Until, with a single hand, he slams the wyvern to the ground by his throat.
I watch with astonished eyes as Seltzen fights to breathe, as the king leans into his face.
“I accept your challenge, wyvern,” the king says. “Please do get a good night’s rest. That way you can tell Lord Tallin you gave it your very best.”
These final words he emphasizes by shoving the wyvern deeper into the sand while his comrades look on with rage. Soren doesn’t spare them a glance. Straightening, he dusts himself off and leaves Seltzen gasping in the newly-created hole.
I stare as Soren comes to me, takes my hand in his, and continues toward the tent.
“Now, Princess,” he says, “about that cake…”