Page 9 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Six

Rosomon

H ours after the feast, I’m fully awake, unable to even consider sleeping. Sleep will only bring on the morrow.

During the meal, I catered to the King’s every whim and suffered several more blows when I failed to anticipate his needs. Nary a morsel passed my lips. I wasn’t even given an opportunity to sit.

Immediately after, I was ushered to my bedchambers and fitted for the gown I must wear for my wedding—my wedding to a man who is not only more than three times my age, but also beyond cruel and disgusting.

Turns out, the vile king has married multiple times, as has his son. Which explains how Prince Tynan’s current mother appears to be younger than he is.

Apparently, the royals of Khotor go through many princesses and queens, and although I’m strong, I predict much pain in my future. Perhaps more pain because I am strong. Obedience is not amongst my virtues, and I predict many more blows to the head in my future.

I shudder at the ways the foul King laid his hands on me earlier, how he struck me whenever I failed to keep his challis full, or to properly anticipate which type of meat he desired next on his plate.

And I hated even more how he grabbed me between my legs, then laughed, gesturing his knife with upward motions, after I jumped away.

But if marrying that horrid King is how I must serve Achotia, serve my father, it’s not only my fate, it’s my duty. How ironic that the sweet attention I’ve craved from my father came with such a bitter center.

My stomach grumbles, reminding me I’ve not eaten since I broke my fast before my long ride this morn. Sliding out of bed, I drape my robe around me, and tiptoe barefoot across the room, careful not to wake Nurse, who’s softly snoring in her berth to the side.

Slowly, I open my bedroom door, relieved to discover the footman there is asleep on the job.

Once outside my bed chamber, I stride with purpose down the corridor, hoping my confidence will fool the other servants into believing I have permission for this nighttime excursion.

It’s certainly not the first time the servants have seen me wandering the castle at night, and most are willing to look the other way.

Slipping behind a hidden door that conceals the maids’ route to the kitchen, I descend the narrow back stairways.

The kitchen is empty—thank Othrix—but still warm from the fires that cooked tonight’s feast. I don’t know the hour, but I expect that Cook and her staff will arrive back here soon to begin preparations for my wedding banquet.

I lift a carved wooden lid off a ceramic bin, smiling as I discover a loaf of bread that’s still fresh. I rip off a large chunk and then sneak into the cheese pantry to carve a wedge of hard saltmere cheese, my favorite. Do I dare look for some wine to round out my late-night meal?

Of course you should. I offer myself permission.

This could well be the last decision I make for myself—ever—and feels like my very last sup.

Unable to wait, I take a bite of the cheese and savor its sharp, salty taste as I walk quietly toward the wine cupboards.

Wine Steward often leaves flasks of wine to take the air overnight, and I’m happy to see dozens at the ready, no doubt because of my wedding.

I take a simple pewter goblet from the shelf, one used by Wine Steward to test the flavor, and then pour myself a portion of wine. I drink it down quickly and then pour another, as the tang of the first lingers on my lips and tongue.

Armed with my meal, I slip around a corner to the bottom of the narrow stone stairs used by Wine Steward. There, I sit to enjoy my meal. I’m unlikely to be discovered here, and I relax as I tear off a piece of bread, savoring its yeasty flavor along with more cheese.

On my third bite, I hear voices, and I push myself up a few stairs to be sure I stay hidden.

“The wine is just here,” Alfryd says.

I start to rise, pleased I’ll get the chance to share my late-night snack with my brothers. In fact—tears rise—this might be my last chance to spend time with them, ever.

“Your father keeps a fine selection of wines, it seems.”

I plop back down. Alfryd isn’t with Olifer as I thought. He’s with Prince Tynan.

“But none from Sidonia, I see.” The Prince’s tone is pretentious, as if he knows more about wine than my brother. And even if that’s true, there’s no need to point it out.

“Shall we take a flask upstairs?” Olifer asks, and I realize the younger twin is there too.

“No need for formalities on my account,” the Prince says. “Let’s remain close to the source.”

He and Alfryd laugh, and chair legs scrape the stone floor.

Soon, heavy goblets clank together.

“Sorry about your sister,” Tynan says. “Assuming you like her, that is.”

“We like her very much,” Olifer answers quickly, and my heart warms with affection.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Tynan says. “She’s in for a rough ride.”

“Speaking of rides,” Alfryd says. “You traveled a long distance to see your grandfather married.”

“I didn’t travel from Khotor,” Tynan says. “I no longer live there. And I’m not here for the wedding. Not really.”

“Why do you live away from your family?” Olifer asks in a tone which reveals that he dreads the thought such a thing might ever happen to him.

“Because I’m a dragon rider,” Tynan says, and I feel his pride and arrogance waft toward me. And yet, even I’m impressed. Was that Tynan’s dragon I saw today?

“No lie?” Alfryd exclaims. “I’d kill to become a dragon rider.”

Excitement stirs inside me. This young man’s astounding good looks don’t make up for his arrogance, but knowing he rides dragons does raise my opinion of him.

“You should enlist,” Tynan says to Alfryd, as if it’s nothing. “We are always looking for young men. Especially those of royal blood.”

“Why royal blood?” asks Olifer.

“Because of the prophecy,” Tynan answers, as if Olifer’s question was foolish. “You don’t know it?” He pauses. “There is a tale which foretells a rider who’ll balance the Darkness with the Light.”

“In Achotia, we don’t believe in fairy tales.” Alfryd uses his best I-am-a-man voice, even though, in my eyes, he is very much still a boy.

“It is likely hog’s droppings,” Tynan says. “But one of the dragon masters believes it, and travels the Seven Kingdoms conscripting blue-blooded men. He even believes I might be the one.” The faux modesty and over-puffed pride in the Prince’s voice lowers my opinion of him again.

“Luckily, my blood is red,” Olifer says. “I would never want to ride a dragon.”

Tynan laughs, and Alfryd joins in, even though I suspect the older twin doesn’t know what blue blood means either.

My brothers have read so few books that many such things go over their heads.

In our mother’s absence and our father’s neglect, I should have done better to ensure my younger brothers paid more attention to their studies.

Instead, I selfishly concentrated on my own clandestine education.

“I’d gladly train to ride a dragon,” Alfryd says. “Alas, as first born, I cannot take the risk.”

“Too bad for that,” Tynan says. “Me? I’m the tenth born son.”

“But your mother seems so young,” Olifer says.

Again, Tynan laughs at my little brother’s expense, and irritation boils inside me.

I’m tempted to stomp down the stairs to confront him for mocking Olifer, but I’m dressed only in my night shift and robe.

Appearing before the Prince this way would be scandalous, even if I’m to become his kin tomorrow.

With that thought, my stomach threatens to expel the few bites of my meal I’ve swallowed.

Perhaps a scandal would put an end to my marriage. Now there’s an idea! But this marriage is key to our kingdom’s future. I can’t do anything to risk it. The conflict between duty and my own happiness stirs the turmoil in my belly.

“By mother , did you mean my father’s wife?” Tynan laughs again. “That girl isn’t my mother. She’s wife number twelve. I was born to wife number six, who long ago went to the Great Beyond.”

“Have so many of your father’s wives died in childbirth?” Alfryd asks.

“Not all in childbirth.” Tynan’s tone turns grave but then switches back again. “Speaking of multiple wives, your sister will be lucky Queen number thirty-three for my dear grandfather.”

I shift up another stone stair, as if I can escape the words.

“What happened to the others?” Alfryd asks.

“Females don’t last long in our family,” Tynan answers. “Some fall from towers, some drown, a few die in their sleep, some are poisoned, and several have died after beatings for failing to obey one of my grandfather’s constant commands.” He delivers this list as if it’s trivia.

A chair scrapes the floor. “We must stop this wedding!” Olifer says.

“But…” Alfryd pauses. “This union is important to our kingdom.” I sense a hint of question in Alfryd’s voice. “Father told me—” He stops himself, as if he doesn’t want to reveal some important state secret. “Rosomon is strong,” Alfryd says after a pause. “She can withstand a few beatings.”

“Your father beats her?” Tynan asks more softly.

“No, but her nurse often did—at least when she was younger. The girl does not know how to behave.” Alfryd says this as if he’s my elder and disappointed in me.

“Our mother died in childbirth,” Olifer says softly.

“I heard,” Prince Tynan says in response. “Dying is what women do best.”

Leaving the remnants of my food and drink on the stairs, I dash blindly up them, my heart pounding a thousand times a minute.

Marrying King Vyktor won’t only bring the depths of misery, it’s a death sentence. At the top of the stairs, I enter the small dining hall, the one we use for fewer than thirty guests, and also when our family eats alone—me at one end of the long table and my brothers and father at the other.