Dragons Against Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice Book 2) (14 page)

R
osalind ducked
beneath the trunk of a half-fallen tree and remained in a low squat, scanning the scene ahead. She and Jaxon had flown into Forath a short while ago, using the forest as cover and keeping just above the tree line. In this moonless night, his dark russet scales blended well with the woodland colors, and with Rosalind riding upon his back rather than dangling from his talons, the camouflage worked quite well. After making their way on foot from a clearing behind the crumbling, long-forgotten church of a nearby village, they were now within striking distance, their presence yet undetected.

It was almost too easy.

He insisted upon doing a quick sweep of the nearby woods before meeting her at the lookout point, and as he returned to her now, she sensed his presence before seeing him. It had been this way since their flight—him moving in stealth and her knowing exactly where he was. To find a man she was so attuned to felt odd and yet completely natural.

Though each time she sensed his presence, it felt like a pinprick to her heart. Never had she sensed Quinn’s presence this way, knowing which way he would turn before he did so, understanding his instructions the moment they were given. So why was it different with this man? Were they related somehow?

Long-lost cousins, perhaps? A secret bastard son of Jarin?

That, she thought with a smirk, was highly unlikely. Since her mother’s death, the king had avoided women in general, turning away offered brides from his villages’ leaders. Which, admittedly, confused Rosalind. Did he not miss the warm bed and soft body a woman could provide? It was a wonder the man had impregnated his first wife, let alone that Rosalind herself had ever been conceived. So for him to have ever strayed into the bed of a known witch was unimaginable. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder…

“Two men, at the forest’s edge.” Jaxon lowered to his knees beside her and placed a warm hand upon the small of her back. “We should be able to see them from here.”

Rosalind flinched at his touch and felt her cheeks warm from embarrassment. It wasn’t as though she’d never been touched by a man before. Or even several, all at once.

“There.” She raised a hand in their direction. “Thomas and Jerrard. Alert but with lethargic reflexes. They shall be no match for the speed of your men, if they are indeed as quick as you say.”

“I do, and they are.” His hand remained upon her. “Now, where is this third set of guards at the castle, which you insisted Silas and I overlooked upon our last journey?”

A smile tugged at her lips—he had listened after all. She reached to claim his chin in her hand and turned his face toward the castle’s easternmost turret. The stubble on his face tickled her fingers, causing her to wonder how that face would feel against other areas of her body.

Perhaps I should bed the man upon our return to put all these secret desires to rest. Only then might I finally find some peace in his damned presence.

“Aye,” Jaxon whispered, his gaze fixed upon the hidden sentry. “Excellent work, Princess.”

“Thank you. Your Highness.”

His hand rose to cover hers as Jaxon turned to meet her gaze. “You do not believe me a prince?”

“I…” What could she say? It was true, she did not. But to insult him now might cause irreparable damage to her relationship with both him and his mother. And yet, she felt as though honesty was her lone option. “It is just that in all my years, I have known but two kingdoms. To learn of a third, to acknowledge a third, will take time on my part.”

“Does a kingdom require a castle?”

She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it to his face, leaning in to it. “I suppose not.”

“A king, then?”

“If one has been named, yes.”

“And a queen?”

His gaze began to glow, the color a deep brownish red. Rosalind’s body seemed to come alive at the sight, her heart hammering as her lips parted. “A noble king requires a strong queen at his side.”

Jaxon turned to press his lips to the center of her palm. “And is that what you wish to be? The strong queen at her king’s side?”

“Aye,” she breathed. “The strongest her lands have seen.”

With a low growl, Jaxon pulled her to him and claimed her lips with his own. Rosalind knew she should push him away, and yet she couldn’t. Didn’t. Her body would have it no other way. In his grasp, as his hands now raked into her hair, she felt a power she hadn’t with Quinn. With him, it had always been an act of disobedience to her father and submission to her lover.

But this, this was something else entirely.

Jaxon’s grasp was intentional, yet giving. Confident, yet conditional. She sensed that but a single push from her would make him cease his behavior. But she dared not push him away, wished to hold on to this moment, this surge of power. For like a wildfire in the dry of summer, surely it could not last.

All too soon, Jaxon indeed drew back, his gaze dark with desire. “A queen to be reckoned with, ye shall surely be.”

“Ah, but a throne I must first claim. Thus my offering to your mother, in exchange for her help in claiming the one that should have been mine.”

“’Tis not Prince Zayne’s heart you desire, but his throne.”

Again, he spoke not a question but fact. Again, she felt defenseless to answer with anything but the truth. “My father traded my hand in marriage for a pledge of peace with Edana, thus ensuring my ascension to queen. Here in Forath, I shall never sit upon the throne. Not with an elder brother, and a father yet upon it.”

“Do you love Zayne?”

Rosalind snorted. “No.”

“Yet you seek his hand in marriage?”

“To claim a throne, I must marry an heir. In a man’s world, ’tis my only recourse.” Anger began to boil her blood. “Besides, love is not what makes a mighty ruler. Power is.”

“Is that what makes your father a mighty ruler, then? His lack of love?”

“My father is a weak ruler, intent on avoiding war at any cost.”

Jaxon reached to cup her chin. “Or at the cost of his lone daughter.”

“Well, now he has two.”

“A blessing, not a curse.”

“Is it his side you take now?” Rosalind pushed Jaxon away and rose to her feet, grimacing as the feeling of pins and needles pricked at her legs. “Why bother with this attack? Why not send him a gift of wild boar or a basket of your finest harvest?”

“Life, Princess Rosalind, is always a gift. The strongest, bravest rulers understand this truth beyond all others. For it is their responsibility to keep their subjects, their flock, alive and well.” He stood as well but kept his distance. “To be the strong, wise leader I envision ye shall become, ye must first come to accept this one truth: to rule is first to serve, and no’ the other way around. And to love…” He stepped forward and bent so that his gaze was level with hers, “is the greatest act of trust and humility there is.”

With that, he started back the way they came, leaving her to digest his words in a moment of silent rage. Love? Bah. What did this man, this self-proclaimed prince who had been with one woman only hours before and now kissing another know of love?

Or of ruling, for that matter?

Far more than you,
whispered a tiny voice in the back of her mind. With a frown, she stalked off after him.

“I shall prove you wrong,” Rosalind muttered under her breath. “I shall prove you all wrong.”

T
ristan swooped
into a clearing near their agreed-upon hiding place, deposited Adelaide near its wooded edge, and then stalked a short distance from her to transform. From the look of the place, they had arrived ahead of Quinn and Zayne. And though Tristan knew he needed to transform and make way for the others, it took several minutes more before he was able to calm his inner beast and return to human form once again. And still his anger remained.

Few days in his life had gone so poorly. It had been bad enough to erroneously accuse his sister’s fiancé of treason and then be battered by her upon his confession, but to discover his oldest and closest friend had kept such an important secret from him all this time? He felt as though he’d been lanced by Quinn’s very sword.

“My mother is their queen.”

How? How could the lonely boy whom Tristan had befriended during his first excursion beyond the castle walls, the lad who had shared with him countless adventures and infinite truths, have felt the need to hide such an important piece of his life from him?

“You okay?”

Tristan spun to see Adelaide approaching with his pack of clothes. Consumed by his hurt, he had momentarily forgotten she was waiting for him. It only increased his ire that she looked upon him now with what appeared to be honest concern.

Any other time he felt conflicted with his feelings, Tristan would have sought the counsel of his father or Rosalind. Or even Quinn. At this moment, none were present and, as his throbbing cheek sufficiently reminded him, his twin was the last person with whom he now wished to converse.

“If you are asking if I was injured on our flight, the answer is no.” He swiped the sack from her grip and turned from her once more. “Now leave me to dress in peace.”

She remained close by, her voice far more timid than it had been outside the dungeon. “No, I mean are you upset? With Quinn? That was quite a bombshell he dropped on us back there.”

“Bombshell?” Tristan tore his trousers from the pack with more force than necessary and began to dress. Her foreign words annoyed him so. And her presence. And her keen perception.

However had she come to read him so easily, after spending such limited time among them?

With a frown, he tugged on his shirt and fought with its closure. Was there anything his twin could not do? Her first full day at the castle, she had won the hearts of every servant and turned the heads of every soldier. She had driven their father to a possessive, paranoid madness over trying to keep her safe and somehow managed to tame the temper of the forever-scowling Quinn. Worst of all, she had found her true mate and fallen madly in love in only a matter of days, while Tristan had yet to kiss a girl, let alone find his one true match.

Jealousy flashed through him like a bolt of lightning, stirring his beast nearly to the brink of transformation. He clenched both fists and drew in a slow, deep breath.

“Oh, right. No bombs here yet. Um, a surprise. The whole ‘my mother is head of the witches’ thing seemed like it was a pretty big surprise.”

“You have no idea.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But I can tell you’re upset. So if you’d like to talk about it, well, I’m here.”

“Here to do what, exactly? Strike me again? Ridicule me for my flawed deductions earlier? If it is all the same to you, sister, I would rather be left alone.”

“Look, I’m sorry about punching you earlier, okay? But you didn’t really think I’d come running up to hug you either, did you? I mean, come on, you order me kidnapped—not the first time that’s happened around here, by the way—and nearly got the man who means everything to me killed.
Everything
.”

“Both mistakes for which I have apologized profusely and which I wish not to have brought up again.” Anger coursed through him. With a growl, he turned to retrieve his emptied sack from the ground. “Forathians might well struggle to respect a Prince who cannot defend himself from his own sister.”

“At least you know how to be who you are.”

The quiet admission stilled Tristan’s hands. He cast her a wary glance. “I beg your pardon?”

“They think I’m simple, you know. Not all here”—she tapped her forehead—“because I’m always oohing and aahing everything. You, though, have already won their respect. Word on the street is that you’re the heart and soul of that castle, and while you won’t put up with tomfoolery, every act of kindness bestowed upon the villages came from your hand.”

He stared at her with mouth ajar, unable to speak. Barely able to stand. She stepped forward, one brow lifted and both hands now clasped behind her back.

“You don’t believe me? Ask anyone. Martha from the kitchen. My handmaiden, Ellen. Heck, little Damien in the stables. Your subjects aren’t stupid, Tristan. They see who the glue is holding our castle together.” Her voice was softer now as a teasing grin tugged at her pink lips. “And it sure as hell ain’t me.”

Despite the anger that’d raced through him moments ago, Tristan felt his lips pull into a mirrored grin. He reached for her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side. And, unlike Rosalind, she neither swatted at him nor sought to escape his embrace.

“We always had lacked a court jester.”

Addie shrugged. “Hey, I aim to please.”

They stood together for a long moment, staring out across the clearing in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Beside the forest’s edge, a doe and her fawn stepped into view, nibbling at the flora. Tristan felt his anxiety slowly slip away.

“I’m sorry about earlier. Hitting you and all.”

“And I am sorry for not believing your proclamation of Zayne’s innocence, Princess Ade—”

“No.” She pulled away and placed a hand upon her chest. “Out here I’m not ‘Princess’ or ‘Your Highness’ or any of that official stuff. I’m just plain old Addie. Got it?”

Tristan chuckled. “Very well, then. And you may address me as…Tris?”

“Nah.” Issuing a soft snort, she poked him in the rib cage. “Sounds too girly. How ’bout you stick with Tristan and we’ll call it even. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Cool.” Her gaze shifted to scan their surroundings. “So, what was it that we’re supposed to be doing for Quinn again?”

Tristan cursed beneath his breath. “I nearly forgot.”

He gathered his bag, checked to make sure nothing had been left behind, and grasped her hand. “Come, we must prepare for his and Zayne’s arrival.”

“He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”

The worry in her voice rattled him. His sister was truly in love with Prince Zayne, of that he was certain. As he was that Zayne, formerly rebellious son of Robert, did indeed worship the very ground upon which his twin walked. Guilt tore at Tristan yet again for his foolish actions and the life that was nearly lost.

A life, he vowed silently as they hurried forward, he would do everything in his power this night to save.