Page 19 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Thirteen

Rosomon

M y body won’t stop humming. An entire night and day have passed since Saxon kissed me, and yet my lips are still burning, my heart is still galloping, and I can’t banish the man from my thoughts.

I’m not certain what would have happened had he kissed me again, or had he touched me under my clothing.

In my dreams he’s done both, and I now understand some of the jokes made by my fellow rider candidates during our travels.

And why some have wondered whether there will be wenches to serve us at camp.

Before my time in Saxon’s tent, I assumed my compeers meant they were hoping for wenches to clean our tents, or to prepare our baths and our meals, but I misunderstood. The lads are hoping for wenches to push their rods inside.

The bumpy terrain vibrates my cleft against the bench’s hard wooden surface, which only increases my thoughts of Saxon and his tent.

He wasn’t kidding when he said the travel moving forward would be more challenging.

If I had to guess, I’d say we’re now well into the Verax alps, and sometime soon we’ll head through the Drakmoor Pass.

The wagon jolts, and I’m lurched from leaning one way to the other. After our long uphill climb, we must have crested a ridge to head downhill. Confirming my assumption, the pace of the wagon accelerates, and the rumble of hard wheels over stones vibrates inside me even harder.

Closing my eyes, I touch my lips, allowing my memories to transport me from this noisy wagon and into Saxon’s arms. As the vibrations penetrate my body, my body rocks with the movement of travel. My insides are pulsing, my body giving me a thrill—an echo of Saxon’s touch between my legs.

It’s not the same. A muted version. And yet I’ve grown damp and slippery between my legs again. My cheeks heat as I enjoy the sensation.

The thought of something long and hard pushing into my cleft is terrifying. The act must be unbearably painful—the mare neighed in agony—and yet my curiosity and desire continue to build. Unpleasant or not, I long to know how it feels. Even if I don’t enjoy it, isn’t it better to know?

The wagon bumps to a sudden stop.

Samyull slides off his seat, landing hard on the wooden floor.

“Are you hurt?” I help him up, as the other boys laugh.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Are you quite alright?”

“Of course.” I look at Samyull quizzically. “Why?” I didn’t fall off the seat.

He shrugs. “All day you’ve been elsewhere. Caught in a dream. And your cheeks are quite flushed. Did you not sleep well last eve?”

“I am quite well.” I need to be more careful. If Samyull has noticed my change in mood, the others might too.

Voices shout outside the wagon, and I open a shutter.

We are very near the edge of a sharp cliff. Too near. I open a shutter on the other side of the wagon to discover we are even closer to a rock face—almost touching it. Egon opens the door at the back of our wagon and calls out, “What’s going on?”

From behind us, Prince Tynan gallops along the road toward our wagon. He stops so sharply that rocks fly up around his stallion’s hooves and Egon has to shield his face.

I shake my head. Tynan doesn’t deserve such a fine steed.

The Prince loops his horse’s reins around a rung on the back of the wagon, one the servants use to climb atop it, and then he disappears. Kneeling on the bench, I look out the portal, as he passes on the cliff side of the wagon.

Seeing him, I gasp.

His stride breaks, and he turns to face me.

I quickly cast my eyes down, feeling as if I’ve been struck by lightning.

There’s something about the swirling greens in Tynan’s eyes which affects me each time I see them up close.

Something I vow to avoid doing again at all costs.

Not only do I detest Tynan, I can’t risk being recognized.

Egon gets off the wagon and then walks past us, his back pressed against its wooden side, evidenced as the top of his head slides past the portal.

Behind the wagon, Prince Tynan’s horse neighs, and so I get out to check on the stallion. His coat is slick with sweat, his mouth heavy with foam from the bit. I have no idea when Tynan last let the beast drink, but it has been many hours since we passed a stream.

The rest of the men in our wagon exit, moving well down the road and away from the powerful horse. Most stand with their backs pressed against the cliff face to avoid any risk of plummeting.

Returning inside the wagon, I remove the lid from one of our water buckets and offer it to the horse. Instead of drinking, he bobs his head, agitated, favoring one of his front hooves. He’s far too distressed to let a stranger touch his leg. Instead, I hold the bucket within his reach and wait.

Finally, the stallion dips his nose, and as he drinks, he raises his lame hoof off the ground. Triumph floods inside me.

“Wheel came off one of the servants’ wagons,” Egon announces as he appears again at the back of ours.

Tynan’s horse neighs. He rises onto his hind legs, and the reins whip away from where Tynan looped them over the rung.

“Holy thrix!” Egon says as he scrambles away from the horse, staggering toward the cliff’s edge.

“Careful!” I lunge for Egon.

We grasp each other’s forearms. We’re going to fall to our deaths.

But I bend my legs, digging my heels into the rough road, grateful my feet found large stones to brace against. Egon’s eyes are full of terror, and I can only imagine that mine are too. He’s holding my arms so tightly, if one of us goes, we both will.

Egon tugs on me, and I’m forced to take a step toward him, toward the cliff. But it helps him gain his balance. I’m still pulling his much heavier weight back when he releases my arms, and I nearly fall onto my bottom as I stagger back.

“Holy thrix, Rosshall!” A moment of gratitude flashes in his eyes but quickly vanishes. Then he heads toward the other boys, shaking his head. “Runt nearly killed me. Should have let him fall off the cliff.”

My heart nearly pounds out of my chest. Egon is four or five stones heavier than I. If we’d grabbed each other’s arms a moment later, he would have pulled me over that cliff, but I acted without thinking.

I have no time to process my brush with death. Or Egon reversing our roles in what happened. Tynan’s stallion, no longer secured, continues to buck, backing along the path and pushing the group of men farther away from the wagon.

How can I calm him?

My apple. I still have one stashed in my rucksack. Retrieving it quickly, I approach the horse slowly, holding out the sweet, crunchy treat and praying to Othrix that he’ll take it, as he eventually accepted the water.

He stops bucking for a moment and snorts. I approach slowly, extending the apple and murmuring softly, saying nothing in particular, but using a soft soothing tone. The stallion takes the apple, and as he does, I slide my hand onto his strong neck, gently stroking.

“You’re safe,” I whisper softly. “I won’t hurt you. And I can help with your sore hoof.” I’m sure he doesn’t understand my words, but I hope that he’ll understand my tone.

His heart rate is slowing, he’s no longer bucking, and so I slowly let my stroking hand roam lower, moving down toward his lame leg.

Just as my hand reaches his knee, the horse bends his leg, exposing his hoof for me. I lack a proper pick but quickly retrieve a dagger from my jerkin. If I’m careful, this dagger will do the trick.

Immediately spotting the stone, I carefully remove it and release his leg. The stallion snorts as his hoof hits the road. Slowly rising, I take hold of his reins and lead him back to the wagon, and then loop the reins back over the rung, securing it with a proper hitch.

“Get away from my steed!” Tynan grabs my shoulder and yanks me away from his horse.

“I was just?—”

Tynan pushes me—hard. I fall back onto the road but quickly scramble to my feet. Fury burns inside me as I wipe small stones from my palms.

“Did you try to steal my steed, boy?” Tynan towers above me. “Is that your cowardly way of escaping death by dragon?”

I raise my chin. “If not for me, your horse would be long gone!”

He lunges forward.

I step back, instantly angry at myself for not holding my ground. “I didn’t try to steal your horse. I saved him.” I glance behind me. Surely one of the other candidates will defend me and explain what happened. Where is Samyull?

Tynan takes advantage of my momentary distraction. Grabbing my upper arms, he lifts me off my feet and slams my back against the cliff face, holding me there and glaring into my eyes. He’s close to two heads taller than me, and my feet are far off the road.

The impact knocks the breath from my chest. And I’m loath to admit that his eyes play a role in that too. The vibrant greens twist and swirl, as if they have minds of their own. And the contrast to the indigo curls, spiraling around his head, only serves to emphasize the vibrant colors of both.

His eyes are flashing with something beyond cruelty, something I can’t quite understand, but it draws me more deeply into them and makes me flutter inside. My cheeks heat as shallow rapid breaths return to my chest.

I blink, trying to ignore his striking beauty and see this man as he truly is—loathsome.

“Touch my horse again, and I’ll kill you.” Tynan’s voice is low and harsh. His chest is heaving, and his exhales scald my face with ire. His grip tightens, pinching my arms as he pins me against the rock face.

I can’t help but notice how easily he’s holding me aloft, but I won’t be intimidated by his superior height and strength, or distracted by his disarming male beauty. Letting hatred build inside me, I focus instead on the cruelty this man has clearly inherited.

“Pink hair,” he says, and I realize my cap has fallen off.

“Same shade as that princess who spurned my family.” Something flashes through his expression. “Every soul in Achotia will suffer for that bitch’s insult!”

“Your horse came loose.” I’m careful to deepen my voice as the breath returns to my chest. “Not only did I prevent his escape, I watered him, fed him an apple and removed a stone from his hoof.”

Shock flashes over Tynan’s face, followed by something else. Something I can’t identify.

His face moves closer and closer to mine.

Lightning bolts strike and sizzle inside me, as his intensely green gaze melds into mine.

His pupils are small in the bright sunlight, revealing two rings of deep green that frame the flashing brightness between.

That’s why his eyes are so striking but doesn’t explain why they affect me so.

I hate this man. I detest his arrogance and cruelty. I despise everyone in his lineage, especially given what his grandfather would have done to me. And yet my body is reacting almost like it does when I’m close to Saxon.

“I am your superior .” Tynan presses his body weight against mine. “Your better in every possible way.” His lips slither into a sneer. “I should toss you over this cliff for your impertinence. A quick lesson about respect, for the other recruits.”

Fear rises. He looks like he means it, and the pressure of his body as he pins me feels threatening in other ways too. His lower body is pushed hard against my thighs, against my cleft. I want to look away, but I can’t. I’m trapped, not only in his hold but also by his eyes.

“If you toss me over the cliff.” I finally find words. “Master Saxon wouldn’t like it.”

A hint of recognition—or something—flashes in his eyes.

Fear seizes me. I’ve been caught out.

If I’m to be sent back for my marriage, being tossed over the cliff seems the better option.

But Tynan drops me, as if I’m on fire.

The instant my boots hit the ground, he lunges forward again, looming over me as his hands land hard on my shoulders and he presses me back against the cliff.

“Tossing a runt like you is redundant.” He sneers. “A waste of my energy. You’re already dead. You won’t last your first day at camp.”

He releases his hold and turns away.