Dragons Realm (5 page)

Dante bent to the old man’s ear, and in a voice so low it was barely aud­ible, he whispered, “Have a cour­ier bring the doll to Castle Dragon in the morn­ing.”

The old war­lock looked sur­prised, but he stared after the de­part­ing mother and child and nod­ded pro­fusely. “Yes, yes, of course, mi­lord.”

Dante nod­ded, waved him away, and then turned in the dir­ec­tion of the tav­ern. He sud­denly felt the need to have a stiff drink with his broth­ers, and he wanted to get on with his day. It wasn’t like the ex­e­cu­tion had bothered him; ac­tu­ally, not at all. And he didn’t feel as if he had truly gone against Drake’s wishes, either—at least not in a way that really mattered. After all, he had no in­ten­tions of re­peat­ing his father’s mis­take or his twin’s tra­gic reck­less­ness: A Sk­la­vos Ahavi was not meant to be made im­mor­tal, nor was she born to be a queen. And de­sir­ing a wo­man, any wo­man, so much that a prince would sac­ri­fice his duty to the Realm in or­der to keep her af­fec­tions, that he would take his own life in her ab­sence, was un­fathom­able to Dante on every level.

No
, Dante Dragona would not make the same mis­takes his father and his twin had made.

He would
feed
as a dragon must; he would pro­duce the re­quired heirs; and the Realm would al­ways come first.

Still…

What harm could there be in giv­ing an Ahavi her sis­ter’s doll?

CHAPTER FOUR

Castle Dragon

M
ina Louvet gingerly
climbed out of the slip­pery bath in her private bed­cham­ber, care­ful to main­tain a sturdy grip around the edge of the tin basin. She reached for a woolen towel, planted both feet solidly on the wooden floor, and began to dry off as quickly as pos­sible. Shiv­er­ing from the cold, she angled her body to­ward the hearth for warmth and glanced to­ward the door­way.

There was someone in her
room.

A fig­ure in the shad­ows.

A murky im­pres­sion, like a waif or a ghost, and it flickered in the re­flec­tion of fire­light, dan­cing in her peri­pheral vis­ion.

Gasp­ing, she quickly wrapped her­self in the towel, turned in the dir­ec­tion of the shadow, and strained to take a second look.

It wasn’t a shadow at all.

It was Dante Dragona.

And he was stand­ing in the door­way like a notch in the frame, ut­terly mel­ded and si­lent, as if he simply be­longed there, as if he were part and par­cel of the wood­work it­self.

Mina cursed be­neath her breath even as she ex­haled in re­lief.
Thank the Spirit Keep­ers it wasn’t an ac­tual specter
, yet what it was—
who it was
—was far more daunt­ing. Her heart began to race from a dif­fer­ent kind of fear, and she struggled to steady her nerves.

As far as Mina knew, Dante was sup­posed to be away from the castle.

Just yes­ter­day morn­ing, he had traveled to War­lo­chia on im­port­ant court busi­ness, and she was sur­prised to see him back so soon. Just what his busi­ness had been, Mina had no idea—the Ahavi were not privy to such mat­ters—but by the weary look on his face, it must have been some­thing grave. His eyes were haunted with subtle shad­ows. His jaw was set in a hard, im­plac­able line, and his usual dis­cern­able ex­pres­sion was in­scrut­able.

“Mi­lord?” She spoke cau­tiously, still won­der­ing how he had entered her bed­cham­ber without mak­ing a sound. She hadn’t heard the tell­tale creak­ing of the large iron doorknob, nor had she heard the panel set­tling back into the frame—and the real­iz­a­tion un­nerved her. Dante was far too pred­at­ory for her lik­ing.

“Mina.” Her name was a mere whis­per of breath on his tongue.

She un­wit­tingly clutched the towel, bunch­ing it up in her fist as she pressed it closer to her ra­cing heart. “How did you—”

“Shh.” His eyes grew dark with subtle re­flec­tions of mys­tery, and then he took a grace­ful step for­ward, his move­ment as subtle as the flut­ter of a but­ter­fly’s wings. “Come to me, Ahavi.” His iron chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths.

Mina bowed her head and forced an un­com­fort­able curtsy:
By all the Spirit Keep­ers, she was try­ing to be obed­i­ent
. “Of course.” She took a bold step in his dir­ec­tion and then hal­ted. “Just give me a second to get dressed.” Her eyes dar­ted across the room to the enorm­ous four-poster bed and the pale linen night­gown laid out so neatly on top of it. “I’ll only be a mo­ment.” She tried to shuffle for­ward without meet­ing his gaze, hop­ing he would al­low her this small in­dul­gence.

A harsh, gut­tural growl brought her up short. “I said,
come to me
,” he re­peated, his voice like an icy wind.

Mina froze in place.

She got it.

She did
.

The prince ex­pec­ted noth­ing less than im­me­di­ate sub­mis­sion and ab­so­lute obed­i­ence from his ser­vants, and she was no ex­cep­tion. Al­though she had no de­sire to op­pose him, it was just so hard to jump at the snap of his fin­gers. And right now, she would have given her right arm to be prop­erly dressed, to not feel so in­cred­ibly vul­ner­able. She linked her hands be­hind her back in an act of sub­mis­sion and peeked at him through mol­li­fied lashes. “My prince, I only wish to—”

“Si­lence.” He shot her a clear, un­mis­tak­able warn­ing with his eyes. “Not an­other word.”

Mina stood mo­tion­less, await­ing his next com­mand. She couldn’t help but no­tice that the flames in the nearby hearth were flick­er­ing wildly in re­sponse to the dragon’s rising ire; the cres­cents were sway­ing to and fro as if tossed about in a tur­bu­lent wind; and the macabre re­flec­tion cast a haunt­ing red shadow against the bed­cham­ber wall, al­most as if it were de­cree­ing a warn­ing:
Now is not the time to defy or in­cite the
beast.

Mina con­trac­ted her dia­phragm as she breathed, still try­ing to calm her nerves.

Surely, Dante un­der­stood the rules…

He had to know that there were bound­ar­ies gov­ern­ing the five-month in­tro­duct­ory period when the king’s sons se­lec­ted their pre­ferred Ahavi, lines that could not be crossed, prin­ciples that must be honored. Surely, Dante un­der­stood that the princes were not to
bed
their po­ten­tial con­sorts be­fore the Fi­nal Choos­ing, not a day be­fore the Au­tumn Mat­ing. It was strictly for­bid­den for so many reas­ons: Not only was it seen as dis­taste­ful and as­sum­ing, but to do so was akin to play­ing a dan­ger­ous game of chance, tak­ing a per­il­ous and un­ne­ces­sary risk, flirt­ing with im­min­ent dis­aster.

Dragons were ter­rit­orial by nature.

One male could not have
car­nal know­ledge
of his brother’s wife, nor could he risk im­preg­nat­ing the wrong con­sort—who’s to say he would not be de­vi­ous enough to slip her the fer­til­ity elixir? Should a Sk­la­vos Ahavi end up car­ry­ing the wrong prince’s child, her right­ful mas­ter would be in­clined, if not driven, to des­troy the il­le­git­im­ate off­spring, to murder his nephew in an act of dom­in­ance and ter­rit­ori­al­ism.
No
, car­nal re­la­tions were for­bid­den dur­ing the pre­lim­in­ary months. Un­for­tu­nately, they were about
all
that was for­bid­den.

Trust­ing what she had been taught at the Keep, Mina forced her­self to meet Dante’s in­tim­id­at­ing stare head-on. She gathered her cour­age and took an­other step for­ward, mov­ing clearly in his dir­ec­tion.

It must have been too little, too late.

His eyes flashed am­ber in re­sponse to what he clearly per­ceived as an un­hur­ried pace, and then they turned even darker still—heavy, shad­owed, and dis­ap­prov­ing—as he used the power of his mind to wrest her for­ward more quickly.

Drawn by the dragon’s power, Mina took five quick, or­ches­trated steps to­ward Dante, shuff­ling mind­lessly like a ma­ri­on­ette on a pup­pet­eer’s strings, un­til she fi­nally stood be­fore him, her toes nearly touch­ing his. It was the same thing he had done that first day in the court­yard, and she felt ut­terly frus­trated by the all-too-fa­mil­iar situ­ation.

It wasn’t as if she couldn’t learn.

Quite the con­trary, really. She got it. She was just hav­ing trouble with the
im­me­di­ate
part of obed­i­ence.

Hold­ing her breath, she prac­tic­ally cowered be­fore him.

“Why do you in­sist upon try­ing my pa­tience, Mina?”

She sighed, feel­ing like she just couldn’t win, know­ing there was no ac­cept­able reply. After all, what could she say? Dante had no idea what this was like for her, what it was like for a mor­tal to stand in a dragon’s pres­ence. And why would he?
How could he?
To him, her lame at­tempts at com­pli­ance were measly at best. To her, they were Her­culean feats of bravery. She held her tongue, hop­ing to ap­pease him with si­lence.

He stared at her ex­posed shoulders, un­con­sciously lick­ing his full bot­tom lip while re­veal­ing the slight­est hint of fangs, his mouth turn­ing down in a scowl. “Ah, I see…si­lence.”

Mina trembled as he openly ap­praised her from head to toe, as if do­ing so was his gods-given right, and truth be told, it prob­ably was.

“Turn around,” he com­manded, subtly in­clin­ing his head.

Mina froze. Her heart began to race in her chest, and she in­stinct­ively clutched the towel above her breasts. She wanted to obey so badly it hurt, but his re­quest was just so ter­ri­fy­ing. Surely, Dante would not force him­self upon a Sk­la­vos Ahavi like a drunken com­moner with a taw­dry bar­maid. Surely, he would not take
a vir­gin
in such a bar­baric man­ner.

Dearest An­cest­ors, be mer­ci­ful!

“W…why… mi­lord?” she asked sheep­ishly.

Dante’s per­fect brows creased in frus­tra­tion, fram­ing his harshly beau­ti­ful face like an angry crown as he waited for her com­pli­ance. “Have I not warned you, dear Mina, about ques­tion­ing your lord?” He lowered his voice and whispered, “About chal­len­ging
the beast
?” His eyes fixed on the towel, the way she was hold­ing it just above her breasts with white-knuckled fin­gers, and his voice prac­tic­ally vi­brated with heat. “Do you really want to chal­lenge the dragon’s dom­in­ant in­stincts
now
—in your present state of un­dress?”

Mina shivered. She drew in a deep breath and slowly turned around, clutch­ing the towel even tighter, if that was pos­sible. She could hear his breath­ing—it was shal­low be­hind her—and the feel of his warm breath pulsated against her ears.

“Bet­ter,” he said. And then he spoke so quietly, she had to strain to hear him. “At the Keep, you were schooled in all the ways of the dragon, were you not? You were taught when and how to sub­mit?”

“Y…y…yes, mi­lord,” she whispered.

“Good. Then you un­der­stand our vari­ous ap­pet­ites?”

Mina no longer just shivered. She lit­er­ally quaked where she stood, her slender knees knock­ing to­gether. She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. She was ter­ri­fied, bey­ond hu­mi­li­ated, and ut­terly speech­less.

Dante reached out to touch her, al­though whether or not he meant to com­fort her or threaten her, she had no idea. He slowly ran his fin­gers through her hair in a chilling caress, stop­ping to twirl sev­eral damp tendrils between his thumb and fore­finger be­fore let­ting them drop to her shoulders. And then he swept the lot of her hair away from her neck, pla­cing it gently over the left side so that her right shoulder stood com­pletely bare.

Her skin tingled be­neath his min­is­tra­tions. Her neck felt overly sens­it­ive and un­nat­ur­ally ex­posed, yet there she stood, frozen like a statue, sub­mit­ting as a good Ahavi should.

Lower­ing his head to whis­per in her ear, he said, “I am weary, Mina. Tired and fam­ished. My dragon wishes to re­an­im­ate his fire.”

Mina blinked back tears and bit her bot­tom lip. She didn’t dare ut­ter a word. She couldn’t if she tried. A dragon’s
fire-lust
was all-con­sum­ing once it began to burn. She knew this. All the Ahavi knew this. And if she tried to ex­tin­guish it now, she would only make mat­ters worse, per­haps suc­ceed at in­cit­ing an­other need al­to­gether, a much more prim­it­ive, car­nal hun­ger. She tried to brace her­self for what was com­ing next, but her legs felt weak be­neath her, and she had to take a quick shuttle-step to the side to keep from los­ing her bal­ance.

Dante stiffened and stood up straight. Whether or not he had taken her si­lence as an af­front, she didn’t know. Whether or not he was feed­ing on her fear, she didn’t want to know. She pur­pose­fully let her shoulders drop, just as they had been taught to do at the Keep, and then, in or­der to re­lax, to ease her ri­gid pos­ture, she began to count her breaths, one after the other, si­lently in her mind. She paid care­ful at­ten­tion to her dia­phragm. She fo­cused on the way her chest rose and fell. She visu­al­ized the air mov­ing in and out of her body as a golden ray of light, and she con­cen­trated on cir­cu­lat­ing it in smooth, even waves. She did everything she had been taught over the last six years.
Re­lax. Let your­self go. Drift away in your mind.

Just breathe.

“Good girl,” Dante whispered, and he genu­inely seemed to ap­prove. He en­circled her shoulders with his power­ful arms and lightly fingered the top of the towel. “Let go,” he com­manded.

Mina swal­lowed hard and tried to com­ply, but her hands would not obey.

He gently pried her fin­gers loose from the fab­ric. “Do not fight me, Mina,” he warned as the thin towel began to slide down her waist.

Mina gasped as the towel fell to the ground and her body was in­stantly bared in the fire­light, ex­posed to the dragon’s gaze. Dante drew in a harsh in­take of breath, and she clenched her eyes shut, try­ing to re­call her train­ing, strug­gling to re­mem­ber her duty, en­deavor­ing to re­turn to the rhythm of her breath­ing.

When he took a step back, mov­ing sev­eral inches away, she nearly col­lapsed with re­lief, but then he placed both of his hands on her shoulders and began to slowly mas­sage her muscles. It was al­most as if he were a pot­ter and she were a lump of clay as he kneaded her arms, slowly ran his palms down her bi­ceps to her el­bows, and then gently traced the out­line of her fore­arms to the junc­tion of her wrists. He lif­ted his hands and re­posi­tioned them at her waist, meas­ur­ing her slender mid­riff with ten splayed fin­gers, cup­ping her belly with his out­stretched hands. When his palms brushed over the curves of her hips and his thumbs slid ab­sently over her but­tocks, she panted in near des­per­a­tion, try­ing to dis­pel her fear.

He knelt be­hind her, and Mina’s eyes grew wide.

Dear god­dess of mercy
,
she was
na­ked!

What was he about to do?

Her eyes flit­ted across the room as she des­per­ately searched for a fo­cal point, an ob­ject to fix her at­ten­tion upon. She quickly settled on a brass oil lamp, situ­ated next to a tattered tome on the fire­place man­tel, and she could prac­tic­ally hear the gov­erness at the Keep whis­per­ing in her ear:
When you’re stand­ing be­fore him, and he is touch­ing you; when the pain is too in­tense, or the de­grad­a­tion is too severe; when the de­mands he makes of your body feel too ex­treme, like you can­not com­ply, find a fo­cal point or an ob­ject across the room and place your full at­ten­tion upon it. Study it. Mem­or­ize it. Name its vari­ous parts in me­tic­u­lous or­der. Count down the seconds, the minutes, or the hour; and do it in meas­ur­able in­cre­ments.