Page 22 of Court of Rivals (Their Dragon Rider #1)

H arper

“You’ve taken me far enough,” I say, as Prince Gareth drags me down the hall that leads to my room. “I can handle it from here.”

He glowers back at me. “Wouldn’t want you to lose your way.”

When we reach my door, he opens it up. I expect him to walk away then, but he strides in. Going to my fireplace, he puts another log on the ones already burning and spends some time poking at it, like he’s the only one in the world that can get my fire going.

Typical man.

“I can make my own fire,” I tell him dryly.

He glares at me, but leaves the fire alone.

Again, I think he’ll leave, but instead he starts striding around the room.

He picks up the drawing of my family and studies it for far too long, then drops it back in its place.

Then, he circles to the book of poetry called Words of Love.

His expression darkens, but he says nothing.

Picking up my wooden cat, he asks, “Who made this for you?”

“Arthur,” I tell him simply.

He sees the locket with hair in it. “And whose hair is in this?”

“Arthur’s,” I answer again.

He drops it like it’s on fire, before spinning back to me. “Let’s have a serious conversation here.”

A serious conversation? With this asshole? No, this is going to be him manipulating and mansplaining to get what he wants again, I’d bet money on that.

“How long have you wanted to be a dragon rider?” Those deep blue eyes of his move over my face, lingering, before his expression becomes more guarded.

I cross my arms over my chest, and his gaze darts to my chest. “Since Ebron asked me to be his rider.”

“Days ago?” he says flatly.

I nod.

“Then, this isn’t some life-long dream. Something you’ve desperately wanted.

You’re only doing it because Ebron wants you to be his rider, but what if he could be just as happy with another rider?

You could simply… go home. Step back into your old life.

Be with your family. Doesn’t that sound nice? ”

It’s weird. That should sound nice to me, shouldn’t it? But the thing is, ever since I started this adventure with Ebron, I’ve felt more alive than I’ve ever felt in my life.

“Wrong.” He looks surprised. “I think being a dragon rider is what I’m meant to be.”

He gives a humorless laugh, brushing back his long dark hair. The muscles in his arm swelling as he does so. “You weren’t meant to be a dragon rider, Harper. You were meant to marry some farmer, have a bunch of babies, and enjoy your small town life.”

“And you were meant to be a prince, sitting in court with a smile on your face and a crown on your head.”

His expression hardens. “No, I’m a Stormvale. We’re born to be riders.”

“Only because dragons choose you.”

I see it in his face. He hates that I’m right. “What if we paid you?”

“Excuse me?”

He doesn’t look disturbed by my reaction. “What if me, and my brothers, paid you to simply leave? We would handle Ebron for you. You’d go home ridiculously wealthy. Then, you could have whatever safe life you wanted.”

“I don’t want a safe life.”

His brows rise. “Everyone wants a safe life.”

“Do you?”

He pauses, then swallows. “I’m different.”

“So am I.”

I take a step toward him. “Is it really so crazy that I’ve got a dragon rider’s heart just because I have breasts and a vagina?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

There’s a knock at my door. He turns, instantly looking irritated.

I cross the room and open the door, spotting a slightly drunk Roland.

“You disappeared from the tavern. I was worried about you.”

“Come in,” I say.

He comes in, looking pleased, and I’m pretty sure all my talk of horniness has other ideas in his head, but then he spots Prince Gareth, and his face falls. “Oh, I thought you were alone.”

“He was just leaving.”

Prince Gareth’s expression darkens as it moves from me to him. “I wasn’t.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

I sigh. “Just go.”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and glares. “Not a chance.”

I’m about to get mad when another idea comes to me. I walk up to Roland and run a hand down his chest. “Apparently, Prince Gareth would like to watch. Are you up for that?”

“Wh-what?” Rolands sputters.

Prince Gareth strides over to us, grabs a fistful of Roland’s shirt, and hauls him toward the door while the other man continues to sputter. Tossing him out into the hall, Prince Gareth looks between him and I. “Roland is to spend the night in his own room.”

“As soon as you leave, I’m bringing him back,” I say, flicking my hair over my shoulder.

He grabs my arm and hauls me out the balcony doors. “See that,” he points to the room across the practice yard from mine. “That’s my room. If I see anything even a little suspicious, I’m going to be over here in a heartbeat.”

I give him my most charming smile. “Thanks for warning me. I’ll keep the doors closed.”

The look on his face makes me want to laugh. I’ve won this one, and he knows it, but then the fire leaps into his eyes once more, and he leans down over me. “I guess I’ll be spending my night outside your door.”

Shocked, I say, “You wouldn’t.”

His expression is cocky. “I would.”

Then, he strides toward the door, ignoring me while I try to come up with something to say. It’s not that I want Roland in my room. It’s not that I want to fuck him. I’m just tired of constantly being told what to do.

“The second you’re not out there–”

“Then, I’ll make sure I’m out there,” he says, grinning wickedly.

He leaves my room, and I slam the door. There’s no way he’s going to spend the night standing guard outside my room, I know that. And the second he leaves, I’m going to make certain to imply I fucked Roland every chance I get.

Time passes. I read more in my book about dragon riders and the Hollowborn ignoring the feeling of bugs crawling under my skin.

Ignoring the need to touch myself. The chapter drawls on about the fact that there’s nothing the Hollowborn crave more than being close to life, since they are not alive the same way we are.

There are no heartbeats. No blood. No love.

No fear. They’re not human. Not the way we are.

I change for bed. Watch as the fire gets smaller.

Then, quiet as a mouse, I toss on my robe, creep to the door and peek out.

There, standing across the hall is Prince Gareth.

One foot on the stone wall, leaning back, like this is the most normal situation in the world.

His gaze moves to my open robe, and I close it angrily.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“And I bet you’re still wet and sticky,” he says, grinning as his gaze goes to my thighs. “Pretty miserable, isn’t it?”

I slam the door again and stomp back to my bed. I hate these fucking princes.

And yet, it doesn’t stop me from instantly touching myself, thinking about them. Burning for them.