Page 5 of Court of Secrets and Flames (Dragons of Tirene #2)

Chapter Five

As I glide into the grandeur of the formal dining hall, my breath catches at the immensity of the space. Chandeliers hang every few feet, bathing the room with warmth and light. Stained glass windows line the opposite wall, while the far right side is devoted to an enormous fireplace.

The horseshoe-shaped wooden table only takes up part of the room, though it’s large enough for at least a hundred people to gather around. From my observations, nearly as many people are in attendance. Some are seated. Others mill about, talking and drinking.

There, amidst the opulence, stands Leesa.

Relief surges through me. She’s safe.

Crossing the threshold of the door, I wend my way through hordes of people. When I reach her, she’s chatting with a woman at least a few decades older than her. But I only have eyes for my sister.

I seize the opportunity to drink in the sight of her. She’s a vision in a fitted lavender satin dress that almost skims the floor, her dark golden blond waves spilling down her back.

More importantly, she appears unscathed from our morning torture session.

Or test, per King Jasper’s romanticized description.

Leesa must sense my presence because she whirls in my direction.

Her face splits into a grin, her features radiating the same relief I feel. “You’re okay.”

With emotion clogging my throat and my eyes threatening to water, all I can manage is a nod and a choked, “You too.”

She pulls me into a tight hug, fancy dress and all. “Oh, forgive my manners.” Leesa steps back, smiling at the older woman. “Your Majesty, allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Lark Axton. Lark, this is Dowager Queen Alannah Barda.”

Regal. That’s the word that sums up the queen, from her coiffed, nearly white hair to her elegant navy silk gown to the poise with which she carries herself.

I give a little curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“The pleasure is mine, dear. Truly.” She offers me a warm, genuine smile as she clasps both of my hands in hers. “I don’t condone the methods used to bring you to Tirene…and that’s all I will say about that. However, I’m glad you’re here all the same.”

“Thank you.”

I study her face, searching for similarities to her youngest son. She’s a striking woman, and I catch hints of their relation in the shape of her nose and sculpted cheekbones.

As I continue my perusal, her eyes grow unfocused and hazy. She murmurs to herself under her breath.

Alarmed, I shoot Leesa a glance, unsure of whether this is typical behavior. Before I can snag her attention, the grand doors at the other end of the hall swing open with a flourish.

A tall, thin man in a purple tunic steps forward. “His Majesty, King Jasper!”

A hush falls over the room as the king enters.

The questions I have for Leesa dissolve on my tongue, replaced by a nervous smile as the monarch approaches. His gaze sweeps over us, approval lighting up his handsome countenance.

At the sight, my blood simmers with untapped magic. I wonder what would happen if I yelled, “how about we test you now, you heap of steaming dragon dung,” and lit him on fire?

Oh, right. I’d be executed. Not the best way to end an already crappy day.

Afraid my expression alone could land me in hot water, I follow the rest of the crowd’s lead and bow my head in faux deference.

“Noble kin, esteemed guests.” King Jasper taps a silver spoon against a crystal goblet as he stands in the center of the great table. “Tonight we dine with a jewel among us. It is my privilege to introduce to all of you Lady Lark Axton. Lark, would you please join me as a guest of honor?”

He gestures me forward. Since that was a rhetorical question if I ever heard one, I have no choice but to comply.

A hundred pairs of eyes track my short journey up to the head of the table. As I draw near, the soft tap of my slippers against the marble floor punctuates the silence. Rhiann’s insistence on the soft shoes suddenly makes perfect sense, and I vow to thank her at the next opportunity.

Instead of cringing over the loud slapping of my hard-soled heels on the marble floor, I can focus on holding my shoulders back and refusing to reveal how all the attention frays my nerves.

A few people smile at me, which I ignore considering they likely sat in that amphitheater with those same expressions while Leesa and I came close to dying.

Even still, each step feels like as much a declaration as much as my assigned seat at the king’s right hand. The dowager queen sits at his left.

My sister winds up at one end of the table. So much for having a conversation with her. It will have to wait. Knox sits on the other side of his mother.

Thank the gods. At least I won’t be tempted to gaze at him while I’m dining beside the king.

Bone white plates are laid out at every place, complete with crystal glasses and shiny cutlery.

A herald of dishes parades before us, each announced with ceremonial flair by the king’s personal chef. Duck broth infused with crushed mint comes first, arriving in tiny, delicate bowls.

After observing what my companions do, I sip directly from the vessel, the broth’s liquid warmth spreading through me, a fleeting comfort amid the tapestry of watchful eyes and hidden agendas. Around us, conversations spark up. While I might be the honored guest, I am not the main topic of talk.

And that suits me just fine.

Refined chatter ebbs and flows around me, the clinking of fine silver upon porcelain a delicate symphony. Each noble flanks me with conversational gambits, and I try to take stock of the nearby faces and any useful bits of information that reach my ears. Because I’m not deluding myself. The king can call me his guest of honor all he wants, but esteemed guests typically choose to visit rather than visit by way of kidnapping from another kingdom.

For the time being, remaining in Tirene suits my interests. That could change at any moment, though, and when it does, Leesa and I need to be ready.

The king’s discourse reigns over the center of the table.

Though I try to stay attentive, my gaze wanders, and snippets of other exchanges drift to my ears on the fragrant air. My name surfaces often, but there are too many simultaneous discussions for me to decipher any specifics.

I can’t tell if I’m disappointed or relieved.

I do know I’m on edge as I wait for the king to aim his attention at me and bring up this morning’s debacle. But the bastard is either oblivious or toying with me, because he barely acknowledges my existence.

Whatever game this is, I hate it.

Shifting in my seat ever so slightly, I catch a glimpse of Knox. His expressive dark eyes light up with affection as he converses with his mother. He starts to lift his head, like he can sense me watching. Remembering his earlier warning, I avert my gaze.

The last thing I need is for the king to catch me ogling his baby brother.

Servants present us with dishes, each more decadent than the last. Clear bouillon with leeks. Pressed peacock. Eels cooked in fennel and garlic… ew .

Roast mutton and fawn marinated in blackberry wine. Broiled trout stuffed with herbs nestled among baby potatoes. Buttered cheese tarts with flaky crusts.

A parade of delicacies, yet I can barely eat. Instead, I remain vigilant, the undercurrents of power and intrigue never far from my mind. Yet another gilded cage, one where I’m both guest and spectacle.

I vow to myself that one day soon, my freedom will never again fall under someone else’s control.

A delicious-looking dessert of sugared berries and cream arrives, along with iced wine with sugar comfits.

If this dinner turns out to be an elaborate set up for offing me, I’ll regret not stuffing my face with a last meal.

I dart a glance at where Leesa sits, engrossed in conversation with a young man who appears a few years older than her. Though her head tils toward his, his eyes are on me.

As soon as he notices my attention, he looks away, as if worried to be caught staring.

A little weird, but whatever. I’m just glad my sister and I are finally back together. We’ve been co-conspirators since childhood. If anyone can help me find the information I seek, it’s Leesa.

King Jasper doesn’t understand the trouble he invited into his palace, but if he messes with us, I vow that he will.

The longer Jasper goes without mentioning the dragoncaller test, the more jittery my nerves become. And it’s not just me. The tension in the entire room keeps building as people wait for the king to explain my spot in the place of honor beside him.

Finally, the clinking of glasses heralds the end of the feast. King Jasper raises his chalice high. “To continued peace and prosperity.” His deep voice resonates through the grandeur of the ballroom. “And new friendships,” he adds, sneaking a glance at me.

Thanks, but no thanks.

Standing along with the other nobles, I feign a smile as we echo the toast and tip our goblets back. The potent drink heats my mouth and burns liquid fire down my throat. Once we finish, the king leads the procession into the adjacent great hall, where minstrels await with their instruments poised.

They weave an enchanting tapestry of melodies. If I weren’t trapped with an asshole king in the middle of an enemy kingdom, I might even enjoy myself.

The thought barely materializes before I sense a presence at my side. I whirl to find the king looming over me with an undecipherable gleam in his eyes that reminds me too much of his brother.

“May I have this dance?”

The words are proper enough, but I still fight not to roll my eyes. I doubt my refusal is on the table.

I smile and lie through my teeth. “It would be my honor, Your Majesty.”

The king takes my hand and leads us into the first dance. After a few moments of deference, other nobles pair up and join us.

The king’s steps are meticulous, each rotation executed with precision.

Step. Step. Quarter turn. Step. Arm out. Arm in. Step.

Much like dinner, I spend the entire dance on tenterhooks, waiting for the king to announce his reasons for this charade or spring a trap. Also much like dinner, I’m surprised and frustrated when the dance passes without any conversation beyond surface-level pleasantries. He asks if I enjoyed my meal. Which dish I liked the most. He even resorts to praising the fine weather lately.

As he spins me across the floor, I wonder if I can be executed for “accidentally” stomping on his toes.

The king handles me with surprising care and moves with grace. If not for the heat of his brother’s gaze burning into me from across the dance floor, I could almost let my mind wander and forget my surroundings.

Alas, Sterling renders a temporary escape impossible.

Finally, the song draws to its close. To my complete shock, Jasper leads me to Sterling.

Knox. Ugh. How long until his real name sinks in? Though I can hardly be blamed for struggling to remember. I swear, the man has more names than an entire small kingdom.

The king’s hands linger for a beat longer than is socially acceptable before he releases me. “Thank you, Lark. I have never enjoyed a dance or the company of a lady more. But I must beg your pardon for now.” His attention shifts to Knox. “Would you be so kind as to keep our esteemed guest entertained, little brother?”

Though posed as a question, it’s really a command. “Of course.”

If Sterling—Knox—resents bowing to his brother’s will, his face doesn’t show it.

As the king retreats, Knox offers me his hand. I want to put distance between us, to conjure up some excuse to sit this one out, but something in his warm eyes causes me to hesitate.

That’s all the encouragement he needs.

Knox grasps my hand with his, then splays his other hand around my hip.

“I’m tired.” More like exhausted.

His lips twitch. “Afraid you’ll enjoy yourself?”

Heat flares in my cheeks. “You wish.”

Not my best comeback, but I’m under duress.

The wicked gleam in his eyes makes me glad the music strikes up again, cutting off his reply.

Knox spins me onto the dance floor and folds me to him. We move as one, his confidence guiding us through the intricate steps. His touch is a whisper against my skin, kindling a flame that threatens to consume my composure.

I hate that I still long for him. How his touch still ignites a deep yearning inside me. If life were fair, his betrayal would render me incapable of wanting him.

My mind understands why I need to keep him at arm’s length, but my body didn’t get the message.

He leads me along for two beats, then guides me into a twirl. Once I complete the rotation, he tugs me close and whispers in my ear. “Is my company so offensive to you that you have to grit your teeth to get through a single dance?”

He pulls back before I can sputter out a reply and casts a wary glance at the nearby dancers. Seemingly satisfied no one noticed anything scandalous, he scans the side of the room where the king disappeared to.

“Not at all. Offensive is far too polite to describe the way I feel about being forced to withstand your presence. I’d rather be dipped in hot oil and stranded in the middle of the Seela desert during a heat wave than subject myself to your lying mouth.”

I strut away for two beats as he stalks after me. “I think you like my lying mouth a lot more than you’re letting on.”

When he reaches for me, I block his advance with my arm. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to spare your ego.”

His quirked eyebrow conveys his skepticism, and I find the ease with which he reads me a little unnerving.

As the dance dictates, Knox pursues, and I retreat. Our strides quicken, the pace of the music matching my heartbeat as they both build in tempo.

Dancing with one brother after the other, I can’t help but note the differences between them. Both are graceful on their feet, but much of the king’s elegance stems from familiarity and practice. He cares about the picture he presents and wants to show he’s the best, which leaves little room for improvisation.

Knox’s dancing is less studied but more fluid. He knows his body, and his grace originates from time spent in physical training and on the battlefield. He’s not afraid to deviate from the choreographed footwork.

And right now, he’s using his skills as a means of seducing me on the sly.

When we quarter turn, his arm brushes the side of my breast. As we step, his thumb draws lazy circles on my palm.

On the next set of spins, his muscled thigh thrusts between my legs, parting my skirt and grazing a sensitive area for less than a blink before he retreats to a respectable distance.

Heat kindles in my chest, a flame that’s reflected in his eyes. My pulse thrums a dangerous rhythm, syncopated with the longing coursing through my veins. With a twitch of his hips, he prowls after me.

The dance resembles a hunt, with the male partner performing the role of the hunter and the female acting as the prey. But while Knox is clearly stalking me and upping the stakes in whatever game this is, I refuse to be prey any longer.

Once, when I was still weak and uncertain, he held power over me. Not anymore.

If he wants to play with fire, he’d better be prepared to get burned.

The next time he has his back to the rest of the dancers, I covertly slip my hand between his legs and palm him over his trousers. He’s already hard, and with one squeeze, hisses air from between his teeth and grows even harder.

His pupils dilate while the hand on my waist tenses.

He laces his quiet words with a warning that’s instantly nullified by the way his eyes linger on my mouth. “Lark.”

Satisfaction pulses beneath my skin, and I can’t stop a smirk from forming on my lips. “You started this game. You can’t get upset when I join in.”

His hand covers mine and presses down. “Does this feel like I’m upset?”

My pulse stutters. “No.”

Tension crackles between us while need pools low in my belly. He releases me, and I return my hand to his shoulder as we twirl back into view. A lock of dark hair slips over his eye as he cocks his head, and I’m tempted to tuck it behind his ear, but I give my own head a sharp shake instead. Playing the game is one thing. Showing him tenderness is another thing entirely.

I can’t allow myself to fall under his spell again.

As we circle once more, I catch sight of Leesa, who’s fixed her attention on us. Her gaze is a solid reminder that she’s the only person I can trust. And whatever I do, I need to protect my heart and prevent Knox from unraveling me.

“Careful, Duchess.” Sterling’s breath caresses my ear. “You just might forget you hate me.”

Once the music ends, I bow and pivot, desperate to put space between us. I need to clear my head, to calm my racing?—

“You look a bit peaked.” I yelp when King Jasper appears out of nowhere and hands me a goblet. “Try this.”

Happy for the interruption, I accept the goblet and peer into the crimson liquid. “May I ask what it is?”

“Of course. It’s dragon’s blood.”

My face must relay my disgust because the king chuckles. The humor softens his stern features, erasing years and giving him a more boyish appearance.

Quickly, I refocus on the contents of my goblet. I don’t trust the transformation, and I don’t trust him. Anything that humanizes him is to be avoided at all costs.

“Not real dragon’s blood, of course. It’s the name of a popular Tirenese liqueur.”

My fingers tighten around the stem as I battle the urge to toss the contents in his face. Not because he deliberately provoked my reaction—though I’m sure he did—but because his manipulations only serve to remind me of that bullshit test with the dragons.

Good thing I left the short sword in my room. Otherwise, the Tirenese might have a legitimate reason to execute me: regicide.

With a pained smile, I take a sip, and the fruity liquid warms my throat. “I was just about to find something to drink. This is delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He places his hand on the small of my back, steering me toward the dais where a cluster of nobles chatter away. “I’d like to tell you a tale, if you’ll indulge me.”

Like I have a choice.

My throat tightens with apprehension. “Of course.”

We step up on the dais, and conversations fall silent when the king speaks.

“Nearly two decades ago, a loyal Tirenese couple close to my father had a child, a beautiful baby girl.”

Jasper pauses to sip his drink while an alarm rings in my head. Whatever his reason for dragging me up here with him, I bet I’m not going to like it.

“The little girl was beloved by her family, but when she turned four, tragedy struck. On what proved to be an awful day in Tirenese history, an enemy kingdom stole the girl from her home. Her father was killed in the attack, and she was believed to be dead.”

While he pauses for effect before the spellbound audience, I suck in a pained breath for the father I don’t remember. Was he a good man? Strong? Kind? Apart from this brief history of how he died, I know nothing about the man who created me…or my biological mother, for that matter. She could be in Tirene as we speak. One of the rapt faces here in the castle tonight. Or I could have other family here. Although if any of them are in attendance, they certainly haven’t come forth to claim me.

Jasper prolongs the drama, dragging the story out a little longer. “Still, we never gave up hope. With the assistance of my brother, we continued searching and discovered that King Xenon was hunting for a girl of Tirenese descent with specific abilities. Imagine our surprise and fury to learn that our kingdom’s stolen child was indeed alive and living in Aclaris. At Flighthaven, of all places.”

Boos and hisses follow that announcement, and the weight of far too many eyes sears into me. I shift in my seat and fix my attention on the king’s profile, silently urging him to get to the point already.

Eyes glittering, King Jasper raises his hand to silence the room. “They tried to take her from us, and after this morning’s demonstration, you all know why. But we prevailed. Their wicked king believed they could steal our power and use our own magic against us, but we proved them wrong. There’s only one true home for a dragoncaller, and that’s right here! In Tirene!” The table rattles as people begin to bang their fists. “Everyone, please join me in celebrating the woman beside me’s triumphant return home, not only as Tirene’s lost daughter, but as the first dragoncaller in centuries!”

Cheers and clapping erupt. People leap to their feet. All in all, the attention makes me want to crawl under the table.

The king turns to me, raising my hand in the air with a secretive smile that stirs an uneasy feeling in my gut.

He does nothing to hide his satisfaction in the crowd’s response, but what’s bothering me is that I get the impression he’s holding something back. Something big.

Maybe I’m wrong. If I’m not, I just hope whatever he’s hiding doesn’t have the ability to turn all of our lives upside down.