Page 11

Sequestered in an antechamber full of ritualistic paraphernalia, Aemyra was fighting with the ball gown.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, there are just so many buttons, ” Eilidh said in a despairing voice.

Breathing shallowly, Aemyra tried not to lose her patience as she watched Adarian raise a celebratory cup of wine with their father.

“A little premature, don’t you think?” Aemyra growled, jerking her arms out of the beaded sleeves and scratching her skin.

Draevan ignored her, striding over to where Maeve, now clad in full armor, lingered in the doorway. Noting Aemyra’s anxious expression, Adarian crossed the floorboards.

“Father was instrumental in getting us this far, it will take time for him to relinquish control to you,” Adarian said quietly.

“He is not the king,” Aemyra said a touch petulantly as Eilidh pulled her off balance.

Cursing, she kicked off the damnable heeled shoes and sighed in relief as her feet returned to the flat position the Goddess intended them to be in.

“There will be time enough for you to show your strength,” Adarian warned. “Let the people grow accustomed to the idea of a queen before you shove your sparkling personality down their throats.”

Finally, the dress loosened and the skirts fell like a cloud around her calves. Stepping out of them, she accepted her breeches from Nell and allowed Eilidh to begin unlacing the corset.

“As long as strength is what they perceived from their first glimpse of me,” Aemyra said, breathing easier as the corset was loosened. “I worry for our family. Lachlann especially.”

Adarian looked over to where Draevan and Maeve were conversing in low voices. “We have five days to put the next stage of the plan in motion and your soldiers are well equipped to deal with the guards and priests.”

“Yes, because the True Religion have been known to love women in positions of power. I’m sure they will offer me the keys to the caisteal themselves,” Aemyra scoffed as she fastened her breeches.

Nell passed her a clean shirt, which she tossed on over her head, eager to get on her way.

“Gealach flies from Clan Leuthanach lands as we speak, and soon he won’t be the only dragon on our side,” Adarian said quietly.

Eilidh stilled in the act of attempting to wrestle the golden dress into her arms and Aemyra escorted her brother away from keen ears. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the priestesses, but they couldn’t risk anyone thwarting the most crucial stage of the plan.

Hiking to the nests in the Deàrr Mountains and Bonding to Kolreath was Aemyra’s task alone.

Pulling on her boots, Aemyra scanned the room for her weapons and noticed Kenna’s approach.

“Your Grace, I seek permission to enter the caisteal and speak with the dowager queen,” Kenna said.

Frowning, Aemyra shook her head. “It is too dangerous now that you have declared for me. You would be walking into the chimeras’ den with nothing to protect you.”

Kenna smiled warmly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You forget that my relationship with Katherine has been forged over years of differences. It will not be so easily broken.”

Aemyra exchanged a disbelieving look with Adarian, but as she laced her boots with finality, the high priestess spoke again. “Just this morning I wrapped the late king’s body and provided counsel to his wife and children. I believe I can help smooth your transition to power.”

Unconvinced, Aemyra glanced toward her father, wondering if he would sanction such a negotiation. She was grateful that he had already been placing spies and courtesans within the caisteal for years. She wondered exactly how many servants and kitchen boys had been tasked with ferreting out information over the last decade, and if they would look out for Kenna inside the walls.

Accepting her belt from Eilidh, Aemyra buckled it around her hips and reminded herself who was queen.

“Perhaps under our current flag of truce,” she replied. “But you must take two soldiers with you.”

The relief in Kenna’s smile was palpable, the silver streaks in her dark hair illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“Your Majesty,” she said, making the sign of Brigid’s cross.

Aemyra returned the gesture before reaching for her sword. It was well past noon, and the sun would set by the time she reached the dragon nests.

Maeve had departed and Draevan had his goblet poised at his lips. Aemyra straightened her spine under his scrutiny. She would not give her father reason to find fault in his new queen. The look in Draevan’s eyes was enough to remind Aemyra that her throne was not yet won.

Her father might have allowed himself a cup of wine, but Aemyra did not miss the way his eyes darted across the room, or how he appeared to drift away into thought. She recognized the look of a man hatching plans and analyzing every scenario.

He strode toward the twins, his expression hard.

“The temple gate is open, follow the sheep path through the hills and into the forest until it thins at the base of the mountain,” he said, bending his head to Aemyra.

With the weight of her sword between her shoulder blades, Aemyra felt her stomach churn with excitement.

“Do not get caught,” Draevan whispered.

With a curt nod, Aemyra backed away from her father and brother. For the queen to venture out alone after making such a public declaration was testament to how precarious their current position truly was.

“General Maeve requests more reinforcements by the exits, should the city guards see fit to lay siege to the temple,” Draevan announced into the room.

It was more than enough to elicit shocked gasps and cries of “Sacrilege” from the priestesses as they flocked out of the antechamber and into the temple proper. The distraction was enough for Aemyra to sneak out through the back door unnoticed.

The frigid wind hit her in the face and reminded her that, despite the clear skies, it was still very much winter. Trusting in the long walk and her own magic to warm her blood, Aemyra set off for the city wall, her breath clouding in front of her.

Boots striking the hard ground with purpose, she knew that if Kolreath and Gealach flew together for her then no one could oppose them.

Aervor was the youngest of the last dragons, and the smallest. No matter how powerful a Dùileach Fiorean was, he would be no match for Aemyra once she was Bonded.

The pathetic bleating of sheep met her ears as she approached the temple gate. It swung open without a creak, the hinges well oiled, as the priestesses often used this path to select sacrifices.

She soon left the city behind, the scent of damp grass and animal dung filling her nostrils. The fresh air burned her lungs and soon her nose was streaming with the cold, but she fixed her gaze on the snowcapped peaks ahead of her.

Praying that Kolreath preferred to nest low on the mountain, all Aemyra could do was put one foot in front of the other and hope no one was following her.

Feeling as though she had lived three days in one, she should have been exhausted. Having woken in her attic bedroom before dawn, then declared herself queen at midday, she now sought a dragon as the flush of sunset pierced the bare tree boughs above her head. Instead, she felt exhilarated, energized by the idea of flying on dragonback under the light of the moon.

The path grew overgrown and several times she had to double back on herself to make sure she was traveling in the right direction. Finally, the trees thinned and she glimpsed the rocky mountain path just ahead.

Lost in thought about what she was going to do when she finally came face-to-face with Kolreath, she didn’t hear the voices until the last moment.

“I have warned you about this before.”

Pressing herself behind the nearest tree, Aemyra strained her ears.

“This territory is threatened, Evander.”

Recognizing Fiorean’s voice, Aemyra wondered if she should make a mad dash for the mountain path or remain hidden.

Fiorean seemed to be struggling with his brother. “The devils are now inside the walls. Think of your wife, of your children. ”

Aemyra’s eyes were wide as the two brothers came into view between the trees and fear stabbed through her gut. Was Evander on his way to claim Kolreath?

“We know nothing of the girl, but her father is as ruthless as he is coldhearted. You can be assured they will not stop at ripping your inheritance out from under you,” Fiorean hissed.

“Let them. I don’t care,” Evander slurred.

The crown prince was drunk. Considerably, from the sound of it.

There came the noise of a small scuffle, followed by a muffled thump.

“You must care,” Fiorean said.

Another thud reached Aemyra’s ears, and she briefly wondered if one of them had punched a tree.

“I have turned a blind eye to your whoring and drunkenness for too long. Father is dead, you are the king. Start acting like one.”

Evander made an incomprehensible noise, followed by a whine.

“I cannot. Not as long as you live,” Fiorean muttered, voice low.

Evidently growing up with his brother had taught Fiorean to interpret Evander’s petulant cries.

“Charlotte and the children need a husband and a father,” Fiorean continued. “Tìr Teine needs a strong king to assume the throne, and by my leave you will be that king. Now get up the path.”

Aemyra’s eyes flew wide as she understood that Fiorean was attempting to lead Evander to Kolreath.

She could no longer wait and hide. Easing herself out from behind the tree, Aemyra cursed the glow of the setting sun.

Her boots were soft and sure as she skirted the tree line, spine rounded as if she could make herself smaller. The mountain path was feet away, and if she could just make it behind the large boulder…

“What was that?” Evander slurred.

Fuck.

Skidding to a stop, Aemyra froze as though it would prevent the princes from spotting her. She was still six feet away from the boulder.

“You.”

Fiorean’s voice was colder than the air around them. Knowing when she was caught, Aemyra straightened and fixed them both with a look full of disdain.

It was Fiorean who spoke first. “Running away from your duties already?”

His emerald eyes were scathing as he scanned her worn breeches and stained shirt.

“Have my soldiers already succeeded in removing you from the caisteal? I should increase their wages for their efficiency,” Aemyra said loftily. “If you are looking for new accommodations, there are several lovely homes overlooking Loch Lorna.” She pretended to appraise the forest. “Unless you would prefer something more…rustic?”

Evander sniggered from where he leaned against the nearest oak, his tunic hanging sloppily from his shoulder.

“I suppose a blacksmith’s daughter would know. Your lodgings in the lower town had to have been far more modest,” Fiorean said, taking several steps forward. “Granted, my brother has not relinquished the royal chambers to his usurper quite yet, but the temple must already exceed your expectations.”

Aemyra glared up at him. “I do not care for expensive furnishings or feasts. My primary focus is saving the territory I rule.”

Something ignited in Fiorean’s eyes, and Aemyra sensed his intention a split second before he hauled Evander to his feet. Knowing she had to reach the dragon first, Aemyra broke into a run.

Unburdened by a drunk sibling, Aemyra scampered up the mountain path like a deer pursued by a wulvern.

Sweat beaded on her forehead with the exertion and she pushed herself harder, almost rolling her ankle on the uneven ground. Fiorean was cursing behind her, whether aimed at her or his brother, she didn’t dare glance around to find out.

When a fork appeared in the path, she made the mistake of hesitating.

The prince barreled into her from behind, throwing her against the rocks.

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about ruling,” Fiorean spat, catching her wrist as she tried to claw at his face, long fingers encircling her pale limb.

She managed to turn herself to face him. “I was sneaking into my father’s study from the age of five. I know more than you think,” Aemyra said, allowing her fire to blossom underneath her skin.

Fiorean used his own magic to protect himself. His shields were strong, but the heat must have been blistering.

Even still, he didn’t let go.

Evander slipped off the rock he seemed to be holding on to for support.

“A stable boy would make a better king than your brother. I knew more about the duties of the monarch before my first flowering than his wine-addled mind could remember now,” Aemyra said.

An outraged protest sounded from behind Fiorean as Evander pushed himself up.

“I’ll give you s’mthing to fill that loud mouth ’f yours,” he slurred.

The insult was too much for Aemyra, who thrust her free hand toward Evander. Fiorean dropped Aemyra’s wrist and whirled. There was a flash of fire, a streak of auburn hair, and suddenly Aemyra found herself against the rock with Fiorean’s hand around her throat.

“Touch my brother and you die right here, Princess,” Fiorean said, tightening his grip.

“Can’t remember my proper title?” Aemyra asked, tone venomous.

Fiorean glared at her. “Daughter of Draevan Daercathian, the Prince of Penryth. You do have a birthright to claim, but it is the title of princess only. ”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Aemyra said, her words slightly strained from how tightly Fiorean was pressing against her windpipe. “Did I offend your pride by insulting you? Or was it my pointing out the lack of redeeming qualities in your brother?”

Fiorean growled deep in his throat and Aemyra felt the ridges of the rock pressing into her back.

“I will not let you endanger my family,” Fiorean said, his face so close to hers that his auburn hair draped across her shoulder.

“If you cannot see that I am trying to protect my own, then you are a fool,” Aemyra hissed. “Do you really want to kill me during a truce your own mother declared?”

Her words must have hit a nerve, for Fiorean finally released her. The smell of lilacs lifted from his hair as he stumbled away from her, eyes wide.

Aemyra’s smug satisfaction was short-lived when low growling came from farther up the path.

Whirling around, she felt her jaw slacken as she witnessed Kolreath approaching the three of them with a wicked gleam in his amber eyes.

Her mouth dried and she couldn’t help but stumble backward. Everything in her body was telling her to run as far away from this creature as she could get.

Even Fiorean had paled.

Evander was blinking slowly, evidently trying to figure out if the dragon was a drunken apparition or really stalking down the mountain toward them.

The rocks under Aemyra’s feet shook as the golden beathach advanced, his claws cracking the stone beneath him. Kolreath’s right wing was scraping against the mountainside, leaving bloody streaks across the rock. The dragon didn’t seem to care that he had ripped his scales open to the bone.

Was he grieving the loss of his Dùileach?

The enormous jaws parted to reveal yellowing, cracked teeth and Aemyra summoned her shields. It wouldn’t be enough to protect her from dragonfire, but it made her feel better when she launched herself toward the dragon.

“No!” Fiorean cried out from behind her.

Kolreath balked, twisting his golden neck skyward, eyes rolling in his head as Aemyra advanced. She didn’t register the danger until she felt Fiorean’s arms clamp around her waist and he threw them bodily to the ground.

Just as a stream of amber fire rent the air around them.

“Brenna’s tits, that was close!” Evander shouted from behind a gently smoking boulder.

Kolreath was still growling, his body weaving back and forth on the path as his wings flared in agitation.

Aemyra shoved Fiorean off of her and got to her knees. He fixed her with a glare so full of loathing, it might well have incinerated her before Kolreath’s fire got the chance.

“You will never Bond to a dragon. Kolreath belongs to Evander by birth,” Fiorean said, grabbing her ankle and dragging her away from the dragon she was still desperately pursuing.

“Dragons belong to no one,” Aemyra growled right back. “Beathaichean choose their Bond.”

“Oof.”

Evander had stumbled out from behind the rock and was determinedly walking up the path toward Kolreath.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Aemyra screamed at Evander, desperately kicking out at Fiorean with her free leg.

Stones dug into her skin, the bones of her ankle grinding under Fiorean’s tight grip. A scream of frustration tore its way up Aemyra’s throat as Evander staggered closer to his father’s former beathach. The whites of Kolreath’s eyes were showing, and the dragon began snorting noxious puffs of smoke from both nostrils.

Aemyra’s foot finally made contact with Fiorean, her toes catching him in the solar plexus, and he released her. Scraping her palms as she lurched to her feet, Aemyra had barely gotten herself upright before Kolreath let out a mournful screech and launched himself away from the two desperate Dùileach at the base of the mountain.

“No!” Aemyra cried, ducking as the six spikes on Kolreath’s tail lashed above her head as he disappeared into the sunset.

Evander sank to his knees with a drunken giggle, as though this had all been a diverting game.

“Looks like Kolreath doesn’t choose you,” Fiorean said, slightly winded as he got to his feet and straightened his dirty tunic. “And you are the fool. For thinking that a true queen will change anything in this territory.”

Utterly enraged, Aemyra unsheathed her dagger and pointed it at Fiorean, ready for the fight.

Surprising her, Fiorean sneered down at the sharp blade like Aemyra was far beneath his notice. As Kolreath was swallowed by the golden sky, Fiorean hauled a stocky Evander to his feet and let the forest swallow them.

With an ache in her chest, Aemyra wondered why his words reeked of regret. As though he was afraid to even hope.

Kolreath had looked tormented.

For the well-being of the beathach she coveted, she should allow the dragon a few days to mourn. He had rejected Evander’s advances as much as hers. But could she take the risk?

Aemyra sank down onto a boulder as dusk gathered and her skin prickled in the cold air.

She had thought that after the priestesses had oathed themselves to her, and she had proclaimed her birthright, things would get easier.

Perhaps Fiorean was right.

She was a fool.