Page 14 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood (Dragons of Tirene #3)
Chapter Fourteen
Sterling’s arm curls around my waist possessively and tugs me close to his side. His display provokes gasps and a chorus of whispers. Ripples of surprise and envy spread through the room.
My smile remains a mask, painted on to fool the court. Inside my chest, the tempest of confusion and frustration builds.
Did he blurt that announcement out impulsively to shield himself from all the unwanted attention? Because we aren’t actually betrothed…right? Not unless he met my mother for a secret discussion. Or, you know, actually asked me to marry him at some point over the last few days, only I forgot due to some kind of sudden and inexplicable fugue state. Despite being raised in Aclaris, I was never presented at court to swear fealty to the king, so King Xenon’s permission wouldn’t work even if Sterling, in a fit of temporary insanity, decided to fly to an enemy kingdom and petition a man who’d love to see him dead for my hand in marriage.
No. This must be some sort of ploy rather than a binding agreement.
Call me revolutionary, but I believe the woman should get the opportunity to accept or refuse an offer of marriage. It’s her entire life on the line too.
Sterling and I have never discussed marriage before. From day one, our relationship was a secret. First, because Flighthaven forbade student-instructor relationships, and Sterling needed to keep a low profile since he was there under an alias. Then, once we left Flighthaven, King Jasper wanted me for himself to bolster his claim to the throne.
Only recently did circumstances allow us to conduct our relationship out in the open. With the ever-looming threat of the drachen and Sterling’s growing responsibilities following his brother’s death, conversations about our future together haven’t exactly topped our list of priorities.
A true betrothal between us would let me to sleep in his bed every night without the need for secrecy. The very idea zips a thrill through me, one almost strong enough to chase away my doubts over the complicated situation we’ve found ourselves in.
The murmurs grow louder and more disgruntled, blooming into a garden of backhanded compliments and veiled insults.
“Betrothed? I heard she was a political prisoner from Aclaris.” One woman with tight blond curls and a pale pink gown deliberately leaves my title off. “Since she’s supposedly a dragoncaller and may prove useful to Tirene.”
“Dragoncaller?” A lady with flawless ebony skin and a crimson dress that fits her like a glove flutters her lashes innocently as she delivers her insult. “I was told that was simply a rumor.”
Part of me hopes they’ll question my fire magic, too, so I’ll have the chance to set their corsets ablaze.
The gossip continues like these nobles are at a social event rather than court.
Cheeks burning, I stiffen, and Sterling’s grip on my waist tightens.
I want to say something—anything—to stop these obnoxious nobles from prattling on like I’m not standing right here, listening to every disparaging word they say, but I bite my tongue. I refuse to embarrass the prince. Betrothed or not, we’ll hash this out in private.
In public, I’ll hold my head high and handle the snide remarks with grace.
Or at least, I’ll try to until my temper boils over. Then all bets are off.
“Enough!” Sterling all but shouts the word, and the temperature in the room drops.
The mumbling stops.
“It’s okay,” I whisper so only he can hear me. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me.” He growls the words. “They’ve offended you.” Sterling’s thumb rubs a soothing circle on my hip before he pivots and faces the crowd. “Lady Lark is many things. Dragoncaller, my betrothed, and the woman I am madly, hopelessly, and irrevocably in love with, to name a few. You will show her the respect she deserves, both in my presence and absence, or you will answer to me. Do I make myself clear?”
My heart stutters at his admission and his defense of me.
The onlookers glance at each other, their masked concern barely concealing the scramble to avoid the crown prince’s wrath.
“Our apologies, Your Highness. My daughter is tired from travel and not thinking straight. Come, my dear, you need rest.” The man I assume to be the blond woman’s father ushers his daughter away with a firm grip on her elbow.
One by one, the rest follow suit, their attempts at alliances crumbling like sandcastles at high tide.
Sterling’s grip on me softens, and its only then that I dare meet his gaze.
The golden flecks in his deep brown eyes have turned molten, swirling with too many emotions to name.
The air thaws as the transition ceremony resumes its intended course. Nobles continue to seek favors, positions, and influence…for everything except the role of queen consort. Sterling made his intentions on that front crystal clear.
After an hour of standing around, I am finally certain that Sterling no longer needs my backing. I gain his attention by squeezing his hand. He glances away from the merchant he’s speaking with and gives me a small nod, allowing me to take my leave.
With my duties fulfilled for the time being, I slip through the throng unnoticed, moving with deliberate steps on the balls of my feet to soften the impact of my hard-heeled shoes.
Back in the sanctuary of my chambers, I ring the bell to summon maids. There’s no way a dress like this or accessories this expensive can simply be left lying around.
Frida and two more maids appear within minutes. Touched by the level of care I’m being shown, I thank the young woman as she undresses me, carefully folds away the dress, and then whisks it away to wherever fine silks are stored. The other maids take the gold jewelry away, leaving me to wash my face and dress in black breeches and a gray tunic for training.
There’s something cathartic about the weight of my gear, a reminder that despite the court’s machinations, I am master of my own fate.
I nearly jog down to the kitchen, where I am lucky enough to find several dragon’s blood fruits. Then I head over to the paddock to give the dragons well-deserved treats. Dragon’s blood fruits are the dragons’ favorite snacks—hence the name—and each of their maws are soon coated in the sweet juice and pulp of the fruit.
Once that’s done, I range farther, heading down to the training fields.
As I expected, they’re filled with soldiers. In the archery field, soldiers shoot arrows at distant targets. Some spar in the other arena. The session doesn’t appear to be a formal one, with soldiers milling about and chatting before partnering up. Bastian’s muscular back is to me as he exchanges blows with Blair, who towers over him and isn’t afraid to use his longer reach to his advantage.
A few of the soldiers call out greetings, and I wave in return. Since the night of the drachen attack, I’ve become more popular among the soldiers. In their eyes, my willingness to stand shoulder to shoulder with them against danger trumps any concern over my adoptive mother’s choice to rear me as a noble lady with no training.
As an added bonus, I no longer need to rely on Sterling as my sole training partner.
Agnar’s eyes light up when he spots me. With a knowing grin on his face, he squares his broad shoulders. “Ready when you are, Lark. You still need to work on your overhead defenses.” He towers over me by straightening to his full height.
“I’ve already endured an entire room of entitled nobles and tamed a paddock of dragons. Let’s see if you can keep up.” I know full well my words are all bluster.
From the devious look he gives me, Agnar does too.
My grip tightens around the hilt of my short sword. The familiar weight grounds me, helping me channel the restless energy coursing through my veins into each precise movement, each calculated strike.
Agnar lunges, and I have to dance to the side. As my training has proven, I can’t rely on strength alone to defend against such attacks. I must push them aside and get out from under them before I can respond.
Garrett, a young soldier with fiery red hair and freckles, snorts. “Nobles are easy to cow.” He hisses in pain when Bastian’s sword slices through the hip of his leather breeches.
“I’m a noble.” Bastian resumes his fighting stance. “Nobles are people. Anyone can be cowed if you know their weaknesses and how to exploit them.” As he swings for the same hip, Garrett jumps back. “See?”
Sweat beads on my brow, mingling with the dust of the training fields as I parry Agnar’s latest strike. His grin never falters, even as I counter with a swift jab at his exposed belly that he narrowly avoids.
“Better.” He huffs out the word, acknowledging the improvement in my technique.
“Your form’s improved since the drachen attack.” From the sidelines, Blair watches as we train.
“Survival tends to be an effective teacher.” My muscles hum with satisfaction, the tension from the throne room now a distant memory. With my gaze focused on Agnar, I nod to Bastian. “Thought you were supposed to be buried in parchment and prophecy?”
“Leesa’s ill, so she went to her chambers to rest.”
“Another headache?” A knot forms in my stomach at the mention of my sister’s ailment. She’s been pestered with severe headaches since we got back from the Lost City. Distracted, I glance away from my sparring partner to focus on Bastian. “Do the healers know what might help?”
Taking advantage of my distraction, Agnar lurches forward, this time with a swipe aimed at my arms. Flicking my wings, I throw myself back and a cloud of dust into his face.
Bastian’s steady voice doesn’t mask the worry lacing his words. “They’re hoping it’s just fatigue.”
“Or the aftershocks of the drachen’s terror.” It wouldn’t be the first time fear left its scars long after the threat had passed. “Agnar, have you suffered a strange illness or headaches since you were attacked? Any other pain?”
Agnar spits the dust from his mouth and continues his advance on me. “What are you talking about?”
“For lack of a better word, you were enthralled by the drachen.” I block his sword and push it down. The weapon slips to his side. I’m forced to jump as he rights the weapon and strikes before I’m ready to block. “I’m just wondering if lingering effects may be at the root of my sister’s headaches.”
Agnar isn’t pulling any punches today. “My head’s fine. But if you have air to talk, then you’re not fighting hard enough.” He advances, once, twice, three times, forcing me to focus on my sword and keeping his blows from landing.
When I’m not fast enough, he lands a blow on my ribs with the blunt side of his sword, enough to knock the air from my lungs. My flight training kicks in before he can strike again. I flick one wing, spinning myself out of his reach.
“Not bad. You keep this up, and we’ll be able to start flying sword training next.” After saluting me with his weapon, Agnar glances at Bastian. “You won’t always have a dragon as backup. Even dragonriders need to know how to fight in the sky. Especially if Aclaris ends up breaking the peace accord. Come train with us more often. I could teach you one-on-one, get you up to speed faster.”
The offer is sweet. As one of Sterling’s most trusted soldiers and also one of his closest friends, Agnar had to pick up a lot of extra work since the crown prince had to leave his command behind and take over his brother’s royal duties. “I will every chance I get. But there’s a lot to get done. Right now, I think I need to check with the healers and find out if there are more people who survived the drachen attack that have the same symptoms as my sister.”
Stepping to the edge of the field, I salute Agnar with my short sword before sheathing it.
Agnar shrugs and gestures for another soldier to come forward. “Offer stands. Whenever you find time, send word.”
With a nod to my comrades, I leave the training fields behind and head back to the king’s wing. If I’m worried about Leesa, Mother must be beside herself. And since she knew about this before I did, I decide to head to her chambers first to ask her about what’s going on. My mother always knows what to do in situations like these.
I’m halfway there when a piercing scream shatters the air, freezing me in my tracks.