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Rhea

V aylen is here. Not only that. He’s walking in my direction.

As he approaches, it seems that every pair of female eyes in the tavern is glued to him. He moves gracefully, weaving around the tables, his attention homed in on me. My friends notice him and immediately seem to shrink. He’s a man whose presence intimidates. In fact, I have the same urge to make myself smaller, but I’m not a cadet anymore.

I’m a dragon rider. A Skysinger.

More than that. When I’m bonded, I’ll be his equal in power.

Lifting my chin, I stand taller. His blue eyes seem to twinkle with something like satisfaction as if he welcomes the challenge. Maybe he’s thinking of ways he can break me during training. He has a reputation for being strict with his Clutch.

Quickly, I scan the table he just vacated. A lonely tankard sits there. Is he here alone? No friends? No female companion?

When he stops in front of me, I click my heels and press my right hand to my left shoulder in salute. Behind me, my friends do the same.

“Good evening,” he says, nodding once. He looks down his nose at everyone. I guess he can’t help it since he’s so tall.

“Good evening, High Prime,” we reply.

Heratrix, we sound like a bunch of school children.

I clear my throat. “Everyone, this is High Prime Vaylen Stormsong.”

Murmurs of “a pleasure to meet you” sound all around.

“Skysinger Wyndward,” Vaylen says. “May I speak to you.” He flicks his eyes to the side to indicate a spot out of the way.

A thrill of pride hums in my chest at being called Skysinger in front of my friends. I nearly pinch my arm to remind myself this isn’t a dream. I wonder when that urge will pass. Wondering what Vaylen could possibly want to talk about, I set my ale on the counter and step aside with him.

“While in uniform,” he says. “Your hair needs to be battle ready.”

I know I’m supposed to say, Yes, Sir, but is he serious? He’s going to be a jerk on the day I should be allowed to wear my hair down and scream from the rooftops about it if I want to.

In answer, I toss my head back, grab one lock, and twist it around my index finger. “It gave me a headache. I had to do something,” I say the last bit suggestively, as if what I would have liked to do to relieve my headache was, regretfully, not an alternative.

He flinches, which lets me know he got my meaning. His mouth works. I look down at his lips, then with some effort, school my gaze back up. The man is so tempting. Somebody should have warned me he was this good looking, but all everyone talks about is his integrity and power. Why not write an ode to his cerulean eyes, and the intensity that burns in their depths? Why not sing praise for his masculine portent or the silky appearance of his gold-tinted brown locks? Or write a symphony that mimics the deep timbre of his voice and the way his strong words seem to resonate in my chest? And why not do all those things at once in an attempt to explain the commanding air of his presence, the way that when he walks into a room, the entire universe seems to hold its breath?

Heratrix, Rhea! You may be out of your league here.

He looks like he wants to say or do something. In the end, he surprises me by dismissing me with a cold hand gesture.

“That’s all I wanted to say, Skysinger Wyndward. You’d be wise not to ignore a directive from a superior.” With that, he walks around me and heads down the corridor that leads to the privy.

I stand there, pondering. The task of seducing him won’t be easy. I knew this might be a possibility, since his reputation for the rules and honor is widely spoken of. If he was a lecherous bastard, it might have been a breeze to accomplish my goal. Still, I’ve always enjoyed a challenge. I smile to myself, feeling exhilarated about the future that stretches in front of me, a future that seems in need of my immediate attention.

Without a backward look at my companions, I leave the tavern. This encounter with Vaylen is a golden opportunity, and I plan not to waste it. Once outside, I cross the street and stand in the shadows of a haberdasher’s awning. I wait for a few minutes, and I’m surprised to see Vaylen come out from the alley next to the tavern, which means he went to the privy and then used the back exit. Is he trying to avoid me? Interesting. Hopefully, it’s because I tempt him and not because I repel him. Our interaction last night on the balcony along with my intuition tells me it’s the former, but I need to be careful. It could be a fine line between the two with a man like this.

He lifts his jacket’s collar, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and walks toward the heart of Emberton. I wait for a few beats, then start following him. Staying under the buildings’ shadows, I walk as silently as I can. He glances back a few times in a casual way. I don’t stop walking. It would make it obvious I’m stalking him. Instead, I keep going, hoping he doesn’t recognize me. It’s hard to tell from this distance, but his demeanor doesn’t seem to change, so I think I’m safe.

In Brightscale, the affluent business district, he enters the Ember Crown Hotel. Is that where he’s staying? Goddess , he must be rich. The most I can afford is a hotel in Drake’s Row, and that’s only because I worked my fingers to the bone at the Academy’s stables, shoveling horse shit. Another smile graces my lips. As a Skysinger, money will never be a concern anymore. I will be paid handsomely, and soon, I’ll be able to stay in places like this.

A couple walks in my direction. She wears a high-waisted gown of dark, heavy silk, and he cuts a striking figure in a tailored coat of black velvet and a crimson cravat at his throat. When they notice me standing there, ogling the hotel, they cross the street, giving me a wide berth, which makes me realize my mistake. I need to keep walking.

I stroll away from the hotel and stop in front of a grand statue. I stare up at it, examining the dragon with its wings outstretched. They have many such monuments all over Emberton. This one is in honor of Kaminarix, a lightning elemental dragon that perished during the first Screechclaw attack on Cinderhold.

Fingering the coins in my pocket, I count them in my head. I may just have enough money to stay at the Ember Crown, but for what purpose? I might not see Vaylen again. The place is huge, so it could turn out to be nothing but a waste of money. Maybe it’s best to stick to my original plan: rent a room at the cheapest Drake’s Row inn. I can wait for another opportunity to get close to him and make my interest in him crystal clear.

No. I shake my head. That may be a bad idea. At Sky’s Edge, other Primes will be present, and he’ll be more guarded. Today is meant to be a day for letting loose. It’s a running joke at the Academy that soldiers on leave think with their groins, not their heads. Besides, running into him is an unexpected bounty I would be ill-advised to squander.

Whirling on my heel, I head back.

But what if he’s there with someone else?

My steps falter. I’ve never heard mention of Vaylen Stormsong having a girlfriend, but what if he does? What if he just keeps his relationship private? I ponder. Would a man known for his integrity flirt with another woman in a dimly lit balcony if he had a girlfriend? Unlikely, though stranger things have happened.

Wyrm’s rot! I need more information, and at the very least, this is a chance to get it. Resuming my steps, I expertly gather my hair and put it up in a bun. It won’t be as pristine as it should be, but it’ll help me get through the hotel door rather than be kicked to the curb. Indeed, when I bounce up the steps and the attendant takes me in with a quick appraising look, he greets me and obsequiously opens the door.

I enter, wearing a self-important air and realizing what a powerful thing the uniform I wear is. I wonder how many more doors it will open for me.

The vestibule exudes an opulent air. High, vaulted ceilings, ribbed with black marble, cast distorted shadows from the gas sconces that line the walls. A massive, obsidian-framed mirror, its surface slightly clouded with age, reflects the intricate, dragon-scale patterned floor. A chandelier shaped like a skeletal dragon hangs above, its dim light illuminating an ample reception desk.

As I take a seat in one of the luxurious armchairs near the front door, I tell myself there’s no reason to feel self-conscious. No one is looking at me. Everyone assumes I fit right in. Years of work at the Academy, along with Heratrix’s blessing, are as good as money in Embernia. By the grace of a dragon, I have climbed to the upper echelons of our society, even if I’m still as poor and destitute as my father’s heart.

Bless you, Zephyros!

I spot the day’s news sheet on a side table and quickly pick it up. Using it to hide behind it, I pretend to read, scanning my surroundings instead. Five minutes pass.

This is stupid. For all I know, the man is in bed already. What do I hope to?—

Vaylen appears, walks up to the counter, and speaks to the attendant. The man nods, then takes what looks like an envelope from Vaylen. I make a split-second decision. Setting the news sheet down, I stand and start walking toward the reception desk. As I go, I busy myself with the contents of my pockets, mentally counting my coin again.

When Vaylen turns, I take a few more steps before looking up. As our gazes lock, I act surprised, though I keep the reaction subtle.

“High Prime Stormsong,” I say. “I can’t seem to get away from you tonight.”

His eyes tighten. He appears suspicious. I mimic his expression. Two can play this game. He bristles enough for me to notice. Clearly, he dislikes the suggestion that his presence here is anything but a coincidence. Putting him on the defensive has had the intended effect. He’d rather protect his integrity than accuse me of stalking him.

“Excuse me,” I say, walking around him and approaching the attendant.

I take a risk by snubbing him. He may very well walk away, but it’s a tried method. Males are built to chase females, especially those they like, and he likes me. At least he did last night. This question stands now: Can he make rational thought prevail over basic instincts on a night like tonight?

“I’d like to rent a single room,” I tell the attendant, holding all my coins in my hand. The man is skeletal, with a hooked nose and a funny little mustache. He wears a sharp black suit with a starched white shirt.

“Of course,” the attendant says, scanning me. His expression grows pinched as if something suddenly stinks. He takes in my hair, which I suspect is less than perfect. “That will be five gold coins.”

I nearly choke. How can they charge that much for a single room? It’s robbery.

Wyrm’s rot! What now? This is so embarrassing.

“I… I just remembered that I?—”

“Sir,” Vaylen says behind me. “Have you not noticed her uniform?”

The attendant’s pinched expression disappears and is quickly replaced by a solicitous one. “Oh, my apologies, High Prime Stormsong. I… I was distracted.”

With nervous hands, he digs inside a drawer.

On the attendant’s side of the counter, I notice the envelope Vaylen gave him. The addressee reads Chief Inspector Cragmere . My heart leaps. I hold my breath, trying not to panic. It takes all I have because I can only fathom one reason for the letter: Cindergrasp’s murder.

The attendant produces a key attached to a thin piece of wood with the number E138 carved on it. He places it on the counter and slides it in my direction. I take it, trying to appear undisturbed, though I feel as if there’s an arrow above my head, pointing straight at the murderess.

“I’m so very sorry, Skyrider,” the attendant says. “I will be more careful next time.” He nods once slowly before looking up again.

I push all thoughts of Cindergrasp aside and take the key. “It’s no problem.” I’m thoroughly confused, but I will not balk at what appears to be a free room.

“Your room is to the left, on the east wing.”

“Thank you.”

When I turn, I find Vaylen walking away at a clipped pace. Hurrying along on tiptoes, I sneak up behind him. He’s headed in the direction of my room, after all.

I clear my throat.

He jumps and looks back over his shoulder.

“Um, how come?” I ask, holding up the key.

“It was in the brief you received last night. You would know if you’d read it,” he replies, hurrying his step.

I lengthen my stride to walk right beside him. “If you remember, I spent all night in the infirmary. I barely got a chance to sleep.”

He grunts. “Well, there are a few hotels in the city that have a contract with the Sky Order. Skyriders get a deeply discounted rate. Make sure you get a receipt in the morning, so you can claim it as an expense in your monthly report.” The explanation comes in rapid fire, the words clipped and matter of fact.

Wow, really? More doors opening. When I get back, I need to go over that brief to find out what other benefits I can enjoy.

A long corridor—carpeted in red, the walls covered in gold-trimmed wallpaper—stretches before us. We walk side by side in silence. My mind works for something to say, but then Vaylen stops.

“This is me.” He turns to the door on the right and pulls the key from his pocket.

The number on his door reads E137. I check my key, then glance over my shoulder. My room is directly across from his. What are the chances?

“ And … this is me.”

He seems ready to balk, but wouldn’t that be strange? Why would he do such a thing? He’s got his room. I’ve got mine, and the fact that they’re across from each other poses no problem at all, does it?

He keys the lock, so I do the same. I synchronize my movements with his so when he’s inside, ready to close the door, I’m his mirror image. We look at each other across the hall. He wears a deep frown. I put on an innocent, inviting smile. His hand tightens at his side.

“Good night,” I say, so quietly it’s almost a whisper, a gentle caress over feverish skin.

His throat bobs up and down, then he grunts and shuts the door, a near slam.

Well, he definitely seems rattled. It gives me a measure of satisfaction, though not enough. I close the door, disappointed, and press my back against it. I imagine him pacing circles in his room, ready to barge across the hall to tear my door down and get to me like some savage male ready to mate—the way male dragons were said to behave when Heratrix allowed it.

I snicker. What an idea! Vaylen is probably undressing and folding his uniform with anal precision, thinking of nothing but a good night’s sleep, while I stand here running a hand down my chest, traveling farther and farther south.

Stop it, Rhea. Who’s seducing who?

Actually, the man isn’t even trying, and here I am, wet in my undergarments from the mere thought of him shirtless. I wonder if his chest is smooth or peppered with hairs. Which one would I prefer? I’ve had both types, and I can’t say I prefer one or the other. I’ll have to wait and see.

I meander to the armchair in the corner and drape my coat over its back. Sitting, I remove my boots, then take off my trousers and jacket. The uniform shirt is long, reaching mid-thigh. In the small bathroom, I’m pleased to find luxurious soaps for body and hair. I pick up a creamy-looking bar with small purple flowers stuck in the middle and lift it to my nose.

Um, lavender.

I draw a luxurious bath and when I’m soaking in the tub, drowsy from the heat, I’m still thinking of Vaylen. My imagination has run away with the idea of taking off his shirt. I picture undoing each button slowly, revealing swaths of what turn out to be smooth, sun-kissed skin. Well, it seems I may have a preference, after all.

When I’ve released the last button, I push the shirt off his shoulders and take a step back to admire him. A shirtless man isn’t a novelty for me as it would be for most Embernian women. The sparring fields at Aerie Academy saw me and my mates through many gruesome workouts that left us breathless and shedding every last drop of sweat in our bodies. Removing one’s shirt, even for the female cadets, wasn’t unheard of, even if frowned upon by some of the oldest male teachers.

Holding the image of a strong man with perfectly defined muscles, my hand travels down my chest, caressing one breast and pinching the nipple to a point. A moan sounds in the back of my throat as my fingers settle over my core and begin to move in circles. Sensations ripple outward, sending goose bumps down my legs. A tense ache throbs in my center, begging to be released. My breaths come in short, shallow bursts, and I push my hips into my hand, finding my ministrations lacking. All my focus gathers into one small bud of pleasure. I move my hand more rapidly, my hips keeping the same pace, while I hold the thought of Vaylen’s bare chest in my mind. I’m on the verge of release, feeling as if I’ve reached the top of a mountain and I’m waiting for the inevitable free-fall.

It doesn’t come.

Frustrated, I growl and leave the tub. When I lie in bed, I feel exhausted and wound up. I close my eyes, fighting against many encroaching thoughts: Cindergrasp, Vaylen’s letter to Chief Inspector Cragmere, Gilbert’s death, Zephyros speaking inside my mind, my father’s unfeeling expression, the?—

I slam the mental door shut.

Compartmentalize, Rhea.

Forget the past and focus on the future. You’re needed here and now, and at the moment, the priority is sleep.