Page 20 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Fourteen

Tynan

T hrixing slag! Why does that runt vex me? I draw deep breaths, fighting to get control of myself.

The candidates will have to file past me to enter the wagon, and so I duck between Thunder and the cliff, so I can adjust my rod, painfully pressing against the front flap of my breeches.

Thrix if I didn’t get hard. Thrix if I didn’t press my cock against that runt of a boy as I held him pinned to the wall.

Clearly, it’s been too long since I’ve impaled a soft cleft.

I’ve taken every opportunity while on this trip, but few souls live this close to the veil, so it’s been a few days.

Until we get back to camp, I won’t get another chance to wet my rod, so I’ll just have to wait.

Any wench at camp will willingly spread for me upon our arrival.

I’ve never had even vague stirrings for a boy, but this little turd, with his bright purple eyes and soft pink hair, turned me hard as a rock.

For that alone, I should toss him over the cliff.

And even if he’s a peasant, he’s from Achotia, and someone must pay for the crime committed by his princess.

I’d do it now, if I thought word would get back to Khotor and gain me some favor with Father and the King.

Knowing them, they’ve already found many women to punish in her stead.

I stroke Thunder’s neck and then release his reins from the caravan.

Huh. The hitching knot was tied in the opposite direction to my normal manner. In my haste to discover why we’d stopped, did I fail to properly secure Thunder? Did that runt actually save my steed?

It doesn’t matter. Even if the boy did me a kindness, it would be an error to offer him thanks, and I was right to punish him for touching my steed. These candidates must learn the hierarchy at camp. And they must be toughened up if they’re to survive their first weeks.

I was lucky in that regard, hardened long before Father offered me up to the dragon masters.

I became strong and resilient through many beatings that started the day I could walk.

Father beat me for my own good, just as his father did it for him, and it turned me into the strong man I am now. A man who’ll soon be a dragon rider.

Pride fills my chest, wiping away the remnants of unwanted stirrings for that boy. These candidates will need more than toughness. Some may get a chance to enter the dragon enclaves, but few of those will be brave enough to actually attempt a mounting. And most who do will die trying.

I chuckle. Runt or not, the small turd did prove himself brave. Not only today, but on selection day too.

But bravery isn’t enough. If the runt doesn’t die during drills, he’ll most certainly die when he attempts to mount a dragon. Touching a dragon’s scales is one thing, climbing up, controlling the beast enough to mount her pommel is an entirely different matter.

One even I have yet to master.

Twice now, I’ve attempted a mounting, only to be tossed. While I’ve suffered bruises and broken ribs—and the first time, a dislocated shoulder—I lived. Most do not.

Master Treacher, the toughest and best of the three dragon masters, has urged me to try a larger beast on my next trial. A dragon that’s likely male, like his, and might better suit my temperament. Rider candidates who attempt but fail to mount the bigger dragons never live.

But I won’t fail. I never fail. Not at anything.

The dragons I’ve attempted to mount thus far were simply not good matches for me. Treacher is right. They were too small. He’s right to give me a chance to bond with a larger beast.

The caravan of wagons has disappeared into the distance, making its way down the switchbacks of the Drakmoor Pass.

Before I follow, I check all four of Thunder’s hooves for pebbles.