Page 29 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)

Princess Serylla is sitting comfortably on the dragon prince’s back, looking quite at home there.

It’s a shock, to be sure. I had no idea she was one of the women who were captured.

It feels odd to introduce myself to someone I recognize, but I know she doesn’t remember me. We only met a few times when she was very small.

There’s a thirteen-year difference between our ages, but it doesn’t show.

I’ve learned to touch up my appearance with magic and keep myself looking young with the same spells those three court ladies wanted me to work on them, all those years ago.

And why shouldn’t I use such spells on myself? Most people would, if they could.

When I left court, Serylla was five and I was eighteen, nearly nineteen. I’m not sure how much she has been told about me, but she seems more curious than frightened. She’s not my problem at the moment. My priority is the irate black dragon who is bristling and growling at me.

“Witch,” he snarls. “What have you done to us?”

I treat him the way I usually treat angry men who think they’re important—with innocence and humor, and a slight twist of disdain and deprecation. I pretend I’m not scared of them in the least, even if I am.

I laugh, and I pat Kyreagan’s nose before wandering over to Ashvelon’s nest and pouring myself another drink.

I explain the spell to the Prince the same way I explained it to Ashvelon, except without any mention of my previous experiment on the big gray dragon, or my other successful transformations. Unfortunately, Kyreagan doesn’t seem to appreciate my calm, my humor, or the results of the spell.

“You will reverse this, or you will die,” he declares.

Ashvelon rumbles a warning, deep in his throat. “You will not kill her.”

“If she does not cooperate, I will,” Kyreagan says.

“No. I won’t allow it.” Ashvelon’s wings rise in sharp peaks. His shoulders seem to grow in bulk, rigid with defiance as he stalks forward.

Kyreagan takes on the same fierce stance, his wings and neck arched. “I am your prince, Ashvelon. You will do as I say.”

Now comes the test of my dragon’s loyalty. Will he protect me, or will he bow to the command of his leader?

“Obeying you got us into this mess,” says Ashvelon. “Shedding her blood will rectify nothing.”

Damn. I did not expect that level of rebellion from my dragon. I fear he’s coming on too strong.

“Boys, boys.” I step between them, my balance wavering a little, the liquid sloshing in my cup. Perhaps I shouldn’t have drunk quite so much wine first thing in the morning, on an empty stomach .

“There’s no need for this,” I tell the dragons. “The spell isn’t reversible—you can kidnap any other sorcerer you like and ask them. They’ll tell you it’s impossible. I couldn’t undo it if I wanted to.”

It’s true—I can’t undo the spell. It could be temporarily diverted or blocked by the right type of counterspell, but it is effectively permanent.

“Let’s focus on the good news.” I pat Kyreagan’s nose again, intending to calm him, but he only bristles more, so I move a few steps away, closer to Ashvelon.

“You can still have the mating frenzy that you’re all looking forward to so desperately, and you’ll get to enjoy hatching season.

The offspring that come out of the eggs might be a bit different than what you expected, but the whole point is to continue the dragon race, right?

So as long as the traits are preserved in some form—”

Kyreagan lunges, swinging his great horned head and knocking me aside, away from Ashvelon. The wine already has me off-balance, so the blow carries me farther than he probably intended, and I slam against the cave wall. My cup flies from my hand, spilling scarlet liquid.

There’s a half-second in which I see Kyreagan’s expression of surprise and regret before Ashvelon roars, spraying blue frost-fire into his Prince’s face.

Serylla is at my side. I’m not quite sure how she got off Kyreagan’s back and made it over here so fast, but I’m touched by her concern.

“Are you alright?” she exclaims. “He didn’t mean—he wouldn’t—”

“I’m fine,” I tell her. “I want to see!”

The two dragons are bellowing at each other, thrashing, clawing, jaws snapping. I can’t shake the image of two cats hissing, spitting, and batting their paws in a show of dominance. The comparison almost makes me laugh .

“Don’t crush the supplies,” I call to them. “Watch out for the wine! Please, god, not the wine.”

Serylla giggles.

I always liked her as a child, and I’m beginning to think I’ll like her as an adult, too, especially if she can laugh while two dragons are brawling a few steps away from us.

Grabbing my empty cup, I make a face at the spilled wine. “Such a pity. I’m going to pour another. Do you want some?”

“Please,” Serylla says eagerly. “My beverage of choice is tea, and I’ve felt dreadfully deprived. Wine will do the trick nicely, though.”

Realization dawns in my mind. “So that’s what Ashvelon meant. On our way here he was upset, kept saying that he’d forgotten to ‘do the tea’ or ‘ask about tea’ on behalf of his prince.”

“It’s alright.” Serylla shrugs, smiling. “These dragons don’t know what they’re doing half the time.”

“Much like human men.”

“You’re not wrong.”

I smile at her, then glance at her dragon. Perhaps Kyreagan is more than just a brawling, demanding, hotheaded male. His desire to provide tea for the Princess is actually rather sweet.

Cautiously I circle the battling pair and fetch a wine bottle from the nest before returning to Serylla. We watch them tangle and snarl, and I resist the urge to cheer loudly for Ashvelon. At last, to my dismay, Kyreagan pins him down.

A sharp pulse of terror pierces my heart as Ashvelon’s body heaves, trying to break the hold and rise. Kyreagan doesn’t let him up. He snarls at Ashvelon, a savage warning to submit.

Surely the Prince won’t kill him. Not when every dragon’s life is precious. But I’m terrified all the same.

If he dies…

I can’t finish the thought. I can’t imagine an after beyond that event .

If he dies… nothing . I will have nothing. Nothing will be worthy of my joy, my time, or my magic, ever again.

I can’t do this again. I can’t lose someone this precious again .

I’m about to leap forward, to plead for mercy, but Ashvelon’s choked voice breaks the silence. “I will not yield unless you swear not to kill her. Otherwise you will have to slay me, too. Are you prepared to do that, Prince?”

Kyreagan looks over at me. I can’t read the thoughts behind that yellow gaze, but his eyes narrow, and he turns back to Ashvelon. “You care for the enchantress.”

Despite my anxiety, I smile. I can’t help it. My dragon loves me loudly, openly, so obviously that the Prince can see it.

“Is that a crime?” says Ashvelon.

“Only if caring for her makes you a traitor to your kind,” Kyreagan replies. “Did you know what she was planning to do?”

I struggle not to move, not to change my expression, not to make any sign. This is the most perilous question Kyreagan could ask. I never actually told Ashvelon my plan in so many words, but he guessed it. I know he did.

Did you know what she was planning to do?

“No,” Ashvelon says. “I swear it on all the bones of my ancestors.”

He lied. Straight to Kyreagan’s face. And on top of that, he swore by the bones of his family.

That lie might have saved his life. At minimum, it spared him from punishment so he can continue to protect me. It’s the bravest thing I’ve seen him do, and the most rebellious. He defied his culture and defiled its most sacred oath to ensure that I’m safe.

“Very well.” Kyreagan’s lips curl in something like a smile.

His expression unnerves me. I find it difficult to read him, and that’s frightening on a number of levels. Was he really going to kill Ashvelon, or was he merely feigning the threat? Did he believe Ashvelon’s lie, or is he merely pretending to believe it, intent on playing some other game?

“I will promise not to harm her,” Kyreagan says, “if you swear, right now, to take her as your life-mate. She will be your responsibility and your burden.”

“Life-mate?” I exclaim. “Wait a goddamn second—”

“I will,” Ashvelon says immediately. “I do.”

“And you, Thelise.” Kyreagan whirls to stare at me.

There’s no actual malice in his gaze, just a ferocious intensity.

Like he’s trying to warn me or compel me to do this.

“Your one chance of survival is to pair with this dragon, the one who would defy his prince to ensure your well-being. As his life-mate, you will have protection from everyone in this clan who may wish to harm you—and trust me, I am not the only one enraged by what you have done. Do you agree?”

Oh, he’s far more complicated and clever than I gave him credit for. He’s furious with me for the spell, but he’s also trying to protect me and Ashvelon the only way he can, within the laws of his kind.

Life-mate. What does that mean among dragons? It’s certainly not a commitment I ever intended to make when I came here. Life on this island? Life in a cave? Fuck…

Kyreagan is still holding my gaze. I can feel the blood draining from my face. “I suppose I must.”

“Then I declare you bound forever,” Kyreagan says. “We will perform the bone-knitting ceremony after hatching season. Come, Princess.”

Serylla hesitates. “I want to stay here and drink wine, and look through the supplies. Maybe there will be soap.”

“There is,” I assure her.

“Then I’m staying,” Serylla announces to Kyreagan. “You go and speak with your people—your dragons, I mean.”

Kyreagan leaps off Ashvelon and prowls toward her, his golden eyes fixed on hers. Serylla flushes, but she doesn’t cringe. She isn’t afraid of him. If I had to guess, she and Kyreagan have a thorny, volatile attraction to each other.

He keeps his possessive gaze trained on the Princess while he speaks to me. “When will our human forms return?”

“Fuck if I know,” I say.

“Give me an estimate.”