Page 2 of Dragon Chosen (The Dragon Lady #1)

Fern

The sound of carriage wheels drew me closer to the window, and when I pressed my face close to the glass, I saw them.

Men in fine clothing, stepping free of the conveyance, others arriving on spirited horses, only to dismount and hand the reins to our stableboys.

Men whose faces were turned into vaguely handsome blurs by the warped glass in my bedroom windows.

I blinked, sinking down so only my nose peeked over the window sill.

One looked up then, forcing me to shrink back against the curtains.

He seemed to scour the facade of our manor, looking for something.

Me? I dared to wonder.

He had a thick mane of wheat blond hair and a fine beard, I think. My eyes squinted hard, trying to make the details out. The dark fabric of his tunic made clear how broad his shoulders were, how trim his waist. My eyes soaked in every detail hungrily.

Perhaps he was the one.

My mind worked as hard as my heart had moments before as I sank down to the floor.

Perhaps he was a good man, one who would see my worth without the aid of a pretty green dress.

What if he was just like Father said? A man who liked me for who I was, not the lie my corset told them.

What if…? I shook my head, not wanting to get lost under the weight of all my ponderings and instead got to my feet and walked over to my wardrobe.

My dresses weren’t as pretty as Rose’s. Mother told me that was because my sister’s shape suited current fashions better, but Rose thought otherwise.

She snuck into my room one night, carrying one of her dresses, swearing she’d ask the seamstresses to add some panels to it so it would fit me.

We both knew that wasn’t possible. Any unsanctioned change would bring our mother’s wrath down on her, and Rose wasn’t used to that.

I’d held her close and thanked her for offering.

But just because my dresses weren’t covered in jewels and beading didn’t mean that I couldn’t look pretty.

I flicked through the dresses, finally pulling out another green one.

It wasn’t pretty chiffon or satin, but the green cotton hadn’t been faded by washing. When I pulled it on over my head and then did it up, it felt comfortable. Surely that would be enough. As I stood before my looking glass, swaying the skirts back and forth, I tried to see the dress objectively.

Would the mysterious man with the beard see the colour of the dress and note the way it made my own blue eyes look a little green?

Would he appreciate the way the front lacing of the dress created a fitted bodice at my breasts, then flared out, skimming over all my lumps and bumps?

Would he take one of my hands, poking out from the belled sleeves and then press a kiss to my knuckles?

That’s what Bryce, Rose’s husband, did the minute he saw her.

My hand smoothed restively over the front, failing to replicate the moment in my mind.

Bryce was completely overcome when he saw Rose.

He’d sunk to his knees and asked for her hand in marriage before she even opened her mouth.

Love at first sight, just like they wrote about in the many books I read.

Their union had to have been written in the stars.

Was that why the bearded man had bothered to look up and zero in on just my window? Was he unconsciously seeking me?

Only one way to find out.

I set my hair into a bun. Not as neatly or as intricately as Agnes would’ve managed, but if this was fate, it wouldn’t matter.

That stray tendril of hair that spiraled down my neck would draw his hand, wanting to twist his finger around it.

That’s what happened to the heroine in one of my favourite books.

She felt shivers through her entire body at his touch, which had him smiling down at her, fascinated by her response.

Right then I replaced the characters. I was the heroine and the bearded man was the male lead.

Gods, it could be any of them really. If he and I were not suited, then surely one of the other men would do.

Then I’d be like Rose, mistress of my own home and out from under Mother’s tyrannical rule.

I made for the door, then stopped. Looking around at the room I’d spent much of my life in, I had to wonder what the next phase would be like.

My books were lined up on several bookcases.

This was a pastime Mother despised because she feared I’d become some kind of bluestocking, but perhaps I would marry a man who would encourage my love of books.

Gods, he might even have a library of his own.

The little watercolours I’d painted of the animals I’d caught sight of in the woods were littered across my desk.

Perhaps I could set up a studio in my new home.

Looking at the feathers and tiny skulls and curious coloured rocks I’d collected lined along my window sill, I knew I could find new ones wherever I moved.

I smiled then, ready to meet my future, before pausing.

Darting forward, I grabbed one book, then two, shoving them deep into my dress pockets.

I was sure I wouldn’t have a chance to read, but books had become a sort of talisman.

I wasn’t just carrying around a story, but a whole other world I could get lost in.

Part of me didn’t want to consider why I’d need that escape, but the other half wouldn’t allow me to leave the room without it.

I nodded and then pulled my door shut, heading downstairs.

Why didn’t I take the main stairs? Why didn’t I step down gracefully, meeting the eyes of each of the men clustered in the foyer?

I could hear their masculine voices, a low rumble in the background.

Part of me knew how Mother would react when she saw my old dress, not the new one, so I took the path of least resistance, which meant going down the servant’s stairs.

So far, so good , I thought as my feet touched the floor.

Go down the hall, towards the foyer. Find Father and sidle up to him .

He was always good at keeping Mother at bay.

The only thing that could, really. I’d let Father introduce me to each of the men, and…

My thoughts trailed away, because as I moved closer, I heard several men speaking amongst themselves.

“So your father put you up to this as well?” This was delivered in the low, sly tones men use when having an inappropriate conversation between themselves.

“Couldn’t help himself, could he?” another man said. “Not with that dowry. Pater is insisting I ask the little beast to marry me.”

Little. Beast?

My feet were suddenly stuck to the floor, unable to move nearer or away.

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” the first man said.

“Have you seen her? Fern, she’s called, and that’s far too pretty name for a pig.”

“Now hang on—” another man said.

“What else would you call something like that?” the second man continued. “Chubby little cheeks. Bright pink complexion. I’m fairly sure I heard her snort when she laughed at some idiot’s joke at dinner some years ago. Why?” There was a brief pause. “Were you hoping for a love match?”

He said that with such complete scorn. As if anyone thinking such a thing was possible was utterly stupid, and of course, that meant me. I heard the sound of glass breaking, but was that someone in the kitchen dropping a glass or just my dreams shattering into a million pieces?

My hand dove into my pocket, my fingers tracing the worn gilt lettering embossed there.

“Not really,” the first man drawled. “The elder sister? That was a possibility. A fine figure of a woman.”

“Takes after her mother,” the third man said. “Quite the beauty back in the day, I hear. It’s always an unfortunate thing when a daughter takes after the father.”

“His lordship is a fat fool as well,” the second man said.

That drew me closer. I walked close to the wall, as if hoping that would mask my presence.

“Thinking he can buy his daughter a fine husband. The best she can hope for is being ridden enough times to get a few brats on her, then leave her to whatever banal pursuits occupy her here.” He sucked in a breath.

“Then it's back to the far prettier arms of my mistress.”

They all chuckled then, that low, jovial thing men did when amused by things no woman would understand.

But I wanted to. I had no way of framing what they were saying, the agony of it shoved down deep to be digested later.

The characters in my books, they faced great cruelties, but never such small, unworthy ones.

An attempt on my life I could’ve dealt with.

Some labyrinthine scheme to kidnap and then ransom me back to my father, I’d read about that a million times.

But this? I drew closer, finally looking around the corner to see who was speaking.

“Still with Jessie?” I knew the first man.

He was the lord of Payneham’s third son.

Usually he would’ve been sent to become a dragon rider, but I was beginning to understand why no beast would bond with him.

That sharp grin, that knowing look, was enough for me.

I’d never want to see inside his head. “She’s a feral little thing. Always gagging for cock.”

“We had quite the time with her some moons ago, didn’t we, Payneham?”

The third man was no lordling. Mr Ferris’ father was one of the most affluent merchants in the capital, Wyrmpeak. There had been a lot of chatter about someone who lacked noble blood buying up the estates of impoverished lords, but everyone seemed to have accepted the reality.

“Not anymore.” The second man looked grim then, and I soaked up his bad mood like a fresh cup of tea.

He scowled at the two of them, his lips thinning under his neatly manicured beard.

The blond man, the one who had stared up at my window, he was the one calling me a…

I couldn’t even bring myself to finish that thought.

“Jessie is mine entirely and when I get my own estate, paid for by the little piggy’s dowry?—”

Whatever he had planned, he didn’t get to finish telling his friends about it.

“Fern?” I turned around to see Father standing there. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. I know it's natural to be nervous?—”

I’d been nervous plenty of times before.

Growing up under my mother’s tyrannical rule, it was one of the few things that kept me from continuing to make the same mistake over and over, displeasing her further.

That’s not what I felt right now. My heart was racing again, but in response to a very real fear.

Marry one of them? Bear them sons while they shrank back in disgust?

Watch them walk out the door with a smirk, knowing they were going to spend the night in another’s arms, not mine?

“No…” I said, shaking my head far more violently than I had when I saw the dress. “No.”

“Now, now, Fernie…” Father said, opening his arms wide as he used his best ‘be reasonable’ tone.

“No!”

Because as I looked over my shoulder, I saw all of them staring.

Payneham had the good grace to look stricken, but no doubt that was because he’d failed at what his father had told him to do.

The merchant’s son shook his head, smiling faintly, but the bearded man?

He grinned in the same way I’d seen some of the young lads do on the estate, when they had a wild kitten bailed up, right before I intervened.

It was spitting, trying its best to look big and keep them away, right as they moved closer.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mother rounded the corner, trying to maintain her social smile, all while hissing at me. “And what on earth are you doing in that old rag? Do you want to find a husband or not?”

“No.”

I said that far more calmly. My stomach felt hollow and full of acid, my legs weak, and yet my mind had never been clearer.

Whether this was the usual way of things or just because of some failing in me, I knew I didn’t want this life.

No husband, no children, if it meant avoiding being trapped in a loveless, terrible business transaction.

“No,” I told my mother, staring down at her, because that word could be applied to so many of the things she asked of me. “No, I don’t?—”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Her hand shot out, gripping mine like iron as she went to drag me forward.

Screaming, if that’s what it took, her tone making that clear.

It was then I realised something. She spoke about how desirable it was to be as small as possible, as if taking up space was a sin only women could commit, and I think I knew why.

When I planted my feet, she was jerked back, unable to move me.

A glare that was supposed to cow me did nothing for once.

“You must?—”

“Go,” I finished for her, wrenching my arm free and then walking towards the back door.

I didn’t run often. Mother always said it was unladylike, and perhaps it was.

Right then I started to jog, then sprint, going faster and faster as I left the house.

Past the kitchen garden, weaving between the clotheslines, hidden by the snapping sheets hung out to dry as I was ordered back.

Beyond the stables, the fields, my heart pounding now, but not from fear.

“FERN!”

I turned for a second, seeing both my parents and my sister standing there. The sun shone brightly behind them, making their expressions hard to read. Father waved me over, but I just shook my head, then turned and ran straight into the forest.