Page 27

Rath

Dragons were given bedservants for a reason. Urges, if not properly vented, became strange and more ferally aligned with a dragon’s nature. And, as Rath’s name implied—he wanted vengeance. Wrath. Blood spilled in his mate’s name.

Absent one fair-skinned and reddish-haired male to satisfy his baser needs—blood it was.

Blood, though, had to be spilled with contracts and words cleverly laid before he could make use of his sword and teeth.

Before men need witness his greater form.

Unfortunately for Rath, the King of Monsmount had little sense when it came to matters of a dragon’s temper.

He’d been waiting in a receiving room for over an hour, and neither he nor his companions that had flown with him had been offered as much as a thimble of water—let alone repast or drink.

With a suspicion that he was being eavesdropped upon, Rath sighed heavily. “They best hurry with a meal and a beverage soon before I select a servant or five to snack upon.”

The guards he kept with him remained silent, well aware of their master’s sense of humor.

As if by some miracle, within a few minutes, a tray of sandwiches and tea arrived, presented to him by a shaking servant woman with a slight hobble to her step.

Her uneven gait matched with a slight sag to part of her face.

A sign she’d been stricken by ictus. A shame.

In his land, they had magic that could have healed the damage done before it became permanent.

“My lady. Come.” Rath gestured toward her and tilted his head. A slight tremor in her gait came from both the ictus and fear, an unhealthy combination. Rath extended a hand and sighed heavily. “Give me your hand. Please.”

She paled, but obeyed, extending her good hand for him.

“The other hand.” He raised a brow and she, with considerable effort, lifted her clumsy hand and yelped, pale eyes glistening as Rath flipped her hand palm up, staring into the lines of her flesh.

Some said the lines could tell a person’s future—though they didn’t.

They told a person’s past. A lifetime eating the poorest, fattiest meats, the salt-preserved waste and soups.

He could tell by the swelling in her knuckles, the drawn pinch of her skin, and the way the hairs on her wrist lay.

Her trembling increased, but Rath paid it no mind as he drew his fingers over the palm of her hand, studying the lines. She swallowed hard. “My lord?”

Rath pressed a nail into the meat of her thumb and channeled a flicker of magic, the gold bracelets he wore tarnishing ever so perceptibly—something that non-dragon eyes would never notice.

In a pinch, he could use his own scales, but gold was easier to conduct his magic—more aesthetic, at any rate.

A soft gasp preceded her withdrawing her hand with a twitch.

“It should help. It may take some time, but it may ease some of your ictus.” Rath nodded his head ever so gently. “As thanks for being brave enough to bring our tea.”

She clenched her hand and rubbed at her shoulder, likely aware that something had changed. It’d take time for the muscle to build up, but the blood pressing on her sinews had eased once the clot had dissolved. She’d never be fully healed, but she’d know the difference as a kindness.

She bowed deeply and whispered a passing thanks before leaving the room.

“Bleeding heart, you have. Our king of wrath,” one of his guards muttered, Igmar, a lesser dragon from a lower family that sought to frequent his court.

“The kindness is the caress before the strike. It makes my cruelty sting more.” Rath stared at his nails and sipped his cooling tea.

On his second cup, the king and his entourage clattered down the hall, his guard assuming post at the doors as his attendant shored up his side.

“Good evening, King Reigh.” Rath made a point of not standing, the irritation evident upon the male’s wisened face.

“I apologize for making you wait. I was very busy wi—”

Rath held up a hand. “I have very good ears and this castle does little to quiet the goings on.”

Panic flitted across Reigh’s face as pale-blue eyes, watery and framed by sallow skin widened. With a barely perceptible tremble and a crack of his throat, Rath could almost see the lies churning behind his lips. Narrowing his gaze, King Reigh relented. “I owe you no excuse.”

“For that, you do not. This I accept. I take it you received my tribute not too long ago when I came for my Ashen?” Rath buried his amusement as the male sagged with visible relief.

“That I did. And your interaction with Earl Tippen has caused quite the stir.” He cleared his throat and brushed an errant grizzled gray hair away.

“I’m not sure what story he concocted to tell you, but would you rather entertain me with it or hear my version first?” Rath allowed a sliver of amusement to play about in his words.

“He said you gallivanted about his land without permission, murdered one of his servants, stole his wife, and humiliated him in front of his staff.” King Reigh gave Rath a put-upon glare.

“I am not sure where to begin.” Rath snorted, recanting his version of events—including how viciously Earl Tippen had beaten Asha. How he’d ordered the servant girl hanged for daring to warn him.

King Reigh rubbed his temples and sighed heavily. “We have an accord. We’re already at war, and Vierbalt knows better. We are taught very young what an Ashen’s mark looks like. Lady Wyverncrest would have told him if he didn’t know.”

“Precisely. You already have one country breathing down your neck. You’ve certainly earned my ire with the affront to my name and mate.

We’ve agreements in place to not tip the scales—but I can take my pound of flesh, and how I do so will be up to you.

” Rath sat up in his seat and gestured toward one of his guards.

The male leaned over with a sealed envelope which he presented to the king with a terse gesture.

With shaking hands, the king broke the seal and read the document, face hardening and paling as he did so.

“So I have no choice?” The king swallowed hard.

“I mean, it’s this or restitution, and really, what do you think the suffering of a dragon is worth? A prince of dragons, no less.” Rath gave his fiercest smile, baring teeth as he let his glamor slip, making them sharper in his mouth.

“Alright! I agree. I—there’s no need to threaten.” The king held his hands up placatingly as his guards braced themselves at the ready. Rath’s, for his part, didn’t even flinch. They knew their master could defend himself, but it was unfair for a dragon to fend off mortal flesh by his own claw.

“I make no threats. I merely ask that my demands be met… Or I will act. This is a negotiation.” Rath tilted his head a fraction, just enough to rattle the chains on his horns.

“What you ask for is… This will be a blight upon his—there will be no House Tippen after this.” The king sagged in his chair miserably.

“Such a shame.” Rath rolled his eyes and stared the king down. “Strip the family title. Let them take their wealth and leave. Put another family into place. I know many merchants who are in my favor at the moment, who do not thieve and grub who would love to attain status.”

The king winced and took a deep breath. “One who does not deal in war.”

“Correct.” Rath slowed his breathing and stared the king down before gesturing to one of his guards.

After, he stepped forward and handed Rath another letter, this one unsealed.

Sliding his finger, he unfolded the paper and extended it toward the king.

“There are three men I give my highest recommendations to. I find them quite adept. My first recommendation is a little controversial, but I do believe his contributions would ease Monsmount’s victory into place. ”

He couldn’t meddle, but it was in Sauria’s best interest for Monsmount to be the victor, but also for Ramolia to exist after.

After all, Ramolia was technically his mate’s motherland.

Trade would be the way to end the war, especially as it’d recently become difficult to import certain things.

“Put one of them in power. I foresee a slow but steady end to this war if things go my way.”

“Are you implying that Earl Tippen is the cause of this?” King Reigh stared at Rath doubtfully.

Rath snorted. “No. That would imply I had faith he could do more than philander and commit acts of pederasty with his young chambermaids.”

The king winced at the last accusation. Rath was confident he could gather testimony from his maids that Earl Tippen didn’t wait until they were of marriage age to visit their chambers. He hadn’t waited for Lyss, and Rath could see the truth in her eyes. There were no acts left sacred to her.

“I need her written testimony, you understand.” The king cleared his throat. “Not many chambermaids can write.”

“This one can. Her adoptive mother was from a higher noble house and taught her and my mate to read and write.” Rath stared at the floor. “But my mate is far from well educated. He lacks, and you know as well as I do if an Ashen is found—”

“They are to be reported to me and given access to a good education. I understand. Ashen are worth much to the kingdom.” King Reigh sighed heavily.

“I will appoint whoever you please to his lands. I will see to it his sons receive a small inheritance and are sent on their ways. Earl Tippen will have to be dealt with privately. The charges you bring are horrific and I will have him put to the blade for abusing an Ashen. I cannot bring forward the rest of this publicly. Nobles are pricks and pigs, and charges like these would bring unrest.”

Rath sighed heavily. “Write the decree for me to take back to my Ashen and his companion. You can tell your nobles anything you want, as long as Vierbalt dies.”

King Reigh stared at the floor, his face the perfect portrait of someone torn.

“Speak your mind.”

“I always do, Rath. We have a reputation with one another. I value you as you value me. Perhaps the exchange is not equal, but this has shaken your trust in Monsmount, and I feel it may have a lot to do with Sauria’s refusal to step in and pick a side.” King Reigh spread his hands genially.

“We cannot pick a side. It’s in our accords.” Rath leaned back in his chair.

“But. You could—let’s say… Buy the ports?” King Reigh raised a brow.

“Forfeiting the ports would require me to ban both Ramolia and Monsmount from docking any military vessels there. Yes?” Rath lifted his upper lip, showing a flash of intimidating fang.

“It is what it is at this point. Your father toyed with the idea of buying the port some time ago. I was against it because Port Angstruth put us at an advantage. There’s no end in sight.

We’re being robbed blind by merchants, and I only tell you this because you cannot and will not attack a human nation.

” Reigh stared Rath down, fingers tenting.

“If I buy the port, the money gained could be used for war. I cannot do that.”

“Buy the ports for the debt the kingdom owes Kennesmal—pay it directly to them. In exchange, we’ll negotiate an ongoing tax on the ports paid for by Sauria to use them and, as a neutral party, the kingdom will be unable to decide who can and cannot dock.

” A weary attendant gathered the nerves to meet Rath’s eyes.

He wanted the war to be over with as much as any of them.

“I’ve no mind for figures. On the surface, this seems great.” Rath leaned back in his chair and tapped his foot, lips pursed in consideration. “What’s in it for me, putting money and resources into Angstruth?”

“I’m certain you’d find a way to make it profitable.”

“And for you?”

“Marginal taxes, which we can find some way to sweep away with some sort of tariff forgiveness. We get a neutral guard of the—” Reigh tread lightly with those words.

“You want a dragon at your beck and call watching over it?” Rath bristled and sat up. “A dragon serving you.”

“A dragon peacekeeper. War is over. It’s not profitable. There’s no winning.” Reigh sneered and waved a hand, asking for his scribe to be brought in. “Name your terms. The only thing we have in the coffers is the tribute you sent for your Ashen and that runs thin.”

“Write out your proposal. I’ll present it to Ghreiden, and he can be your point of contact.

He handles projects like this. I’ll give my consent for him to make the deal and negotiate terms if , and only if, you allow me to be the one to take Earl Tippen down.

Witnessed.” Rath crossed his legs. “And it won’t be pretty. ”

“How do you intend on—” A certain paleness spread from one male to the next in Reigh’s retinue.

“I will devour him.”