Page 45 of The Flame King's Queen

“Scared?” he asks, an arrogant tilt to his smile.

I have no stomach for a friendly sparring match with Kane, and no obligation to indulge him either. “I’ll tell you what. Enter the events at the Dragon Games that include sword fighting, and I promise you, both Stesha and I will give you what you’re hankering for.”

“Who’s better, him or you?”

In Old Maledin, it was always Stesha who was a better fighter than me, and that was only natural because he was bigger than me and he had more experience. These days, I’m getting better and better.

“Me. I’m the best swordfighter in Maledin.” A few of the soldiers around me raise their eyebrows or elbow each other. Stesha snorts in disgust.

Kane eyes me narrowly. “I can taste lies. It’s not very kingly to make empty boasts.”

I grin at the dragonmaster. It’s not, but I enjoy annoying Stesha. And it’s not too black of a lie when we’re equally matched.

“I’ll enjoy knocking you both on your arrogant asses in the games.”

“Now who’s boasting?” I turn and walk away because I don’t enjoy sparring with Kane, with swords or words.

“I want to spar,” Kane shouts.

“My men will be happy to give you all the bruises you desire.”

Four of my soldiers step forward, holding their swords, hungry for the chance to give this hateful man a beating.

Kane gives them a baleful look, and then follows me. “Wait. I want to talk to you about your mate.”

I round on Kane with a snarl. “You test my patience too far. Speak of her, and I will cut out your tongue.”

Kane doesn’t cower, but he does take half a step back. “I don’t want to talk about her specifically. I want advice. How did you make your mate submit to you? I have heard that your mate made things difficult for you and refused you again and again. Now she seems well trained and looks to you in all matters, though she’s as mouthy as ever.”

Well trained. Welltrained?I want to tell him to fuck off and mind his own business, but Kane and Ravenna show all the signs of repeating my parents’ miserable, abusive relationship. “Isavelle is notwell trained. I showed her she didn’t need to be afraid of me and she came to me.”

“What kind of Alpha are you?” Kane asks with a curl of his lip.

I grab fistfuls of his jacket and yank him toward me. “What do you think being an Alpha means? Is it treating your mate like this?” I shove him away from me, and he stumbles.

“I can do whatever I like,” Kane says, pushing his lanky hair out of his face. “Why else would I have been given this size, this strength, and a dragon?”

Kane was kept prisoner by drugs and violence and forced to commit unspeakable acts. I would feel sorry for him if he hadn’t made it so plain that hunting witches was pleasurable to him. “Isavelle has told me how you suffered under the Brethren. When you were at your lowest, she showed you mercy, and you still hate her.”

Kane glowers at me. He hates being reminded of a time he was so weak and injured and a small, scared, downtrodden little witch was the one to reach out and save him. But I don’t care that he hates it. He needs to understand that Omegas don’t owe him anything just because he’s suffered. We’ve all suffered.

“You’ve been given something that every Alpha in Maledin craves. A true, fated mate. An Omega who can make your life sweeter than you ever imagined, but only if you forgive and forget all the shit that was done to you in the past. Those people who ground you into the dirt? They’re nothing. They’re dead. You’ve been given wings, so rise above it.”

17

Isavelle

Ihave never seen more dragons in the skies over Maledin than I do in the following weeks. Every dragonrider is excited about the upcoming Dragon Games, and they’re spending all the time they can spare in the skies. Residents of Lenhale are treated to flamboyant aerial displays, and it’s not unusual for there to be spontaneous races between dragons while the people below cheer on their favorites. The city people wear sashes, bandanas, or neckerchiefs in the colors of their favorite dragon and rider pairs. A great number of them wear black and red for Zabriel and Scourge, which makes me proud to see. Others sport white and sky blue for Stesha, silver and black for Sundra and Merrex, green and yellow for Calliope and Verdun, and a dozen more colors for the many dragons of the flare. A few people even wear turquoise and gold and wave happily to me as I pass by. It’s mostly young women, and we’re so flattered that the first few times we see the ribbons, Esmeral and I stop in our tracks. Our supporters are delighted to meet Esmeral and stroke her scales, and my dragon adores all the attention. I remind the women that Esmeral and I aren’t going to win, but they tell me that they’re just excited to see us fly together, and tell mey’denris ol Ma’len fennar,or congratulations about the baby.

No one wears yellow and black for Kane and Auryn, but I doubt many people know that a former witchfinder and his feral dragon have entered the competition. Auryn is rarely glimpsed in the skies and keeps away from the capital.

It’s very pleasant to spend hours down at the dragongrounds, practicing with Esmeral or watching the other dragons and their riders as I polish her scales. I can’t help but seek out the only other Omega dragon with scales the palest shade of gold. Most of the time, he sleeps, making him the laziest dragon I’ve ever seen. When he’s not snoozing peacefully against whichever dragon is the stillest and warmest, he roams among the flare, ignoring the pecking order, and making the other dragons shriek with indignation and snap at him.

The flare’s organization was invisible to me at first, but now I’ve learned their patterns. The highest-ranked dragons rest and groom themselves closest to the flare’s Alpha, and woe betide any Beta—or worse, Omega—who upsets that unwritten rule by wandering wherever he or she chooses. Unless there’s danger, the lowest-ranked dragons remain at the edges of the flare, longing for the day they’ll be able to pass into the inner circle.

Calyx moves past Nilak, and she shrieks at him and viciously grooms his wings with her teeth. She noses him back to the edges of the flare and stretches her proud head to the sky, no doubt feeling better that order has been restored.

I recognize Calyx’s behavior from back when I first met Esmeral. She cared nothing for the pecking order while she was maturing either, which got her on Nilak’s bad side, though Nilak never groomedherwings. Calyx must be looking for his mate among the Alphas, and I wonder if he’s also looking for a rider. Esmeral would chase me all over the city when she was trying to convince me to be her rider.

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