Page 40 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood

In public, I’ll hold my head high and handle the snide remarks with grace.

Or at least, I’ll try to until my temper boils over. Then all bets are off.

“Enough!” Sterling all but shouts the word, and the temperature in the room drops.

The mumbling stops.

“It’s okay,” I whisper so only he can hear me. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me.” He growls the words. “They’ve offended you.” Sterling’s thumb rubs a soothing circle on my hip before he pivots and faces the crowd. “Lady Lark is many things. Dragoncaller, my betrothed, and the woman I am madly, hopelessly, and irrevocably in love with, to name a few. You will show her the respect she deserves, both in my presence and absence, or you will answer to me. Do I make myself clear?”

My heart stutters at his admission and his defense of me.

The onlookers glance at each other, their masked concern barely concealing the scramble to avoid the crown prince’s wrath.

“Our apologies, Your Highness. My daughter is tired from travel and not thinking straight. Come, my dear, you need rest.” The man I assume to be the blond woman’s father ushers his daughter away with a firm grip on her elbow.

One by one, the rest follow suit, their attempts at alliances crumbling like sandcastles at high tide.

Sterling’s grip on me softens, and its only then that I dare meet his gaze.

The golden flecks in his deep brown eyes have turned molten, swirling with too many emotions to name.

The air thaws as the transition ceremony resumes its intended course. Nobles continue to seek favors, positions, and influence…for everything except the role of queen consort. Sterling made his intentions on that front crystal clear.

After an hour of standing around, I am finally certain that Sterling no longer needs my backing. I gain his attention by squeezing his hand. He glances away from the merchant he’s speaking with and gives me a small nod, allowing me to take my leave.

With my duties fulfilled for the time being, I slip through the throng unnoticed, moving with deliberate steps on the balls of my feet to soften the impact of my hard-heeled shoes.

Back in the sanctuary of my chambers, I ring the bell to summon maids. There’s no way a dress like this or accessories this expensive can simply be left lying around.

Frida and two more maids appear within minutes. Touched by the level of care I’m being shown, I thank the young woman as she undresses me, carefully folds away the dress, and then whisks it away to wherever fine silks are stored. The other maids take the gold jewelry away, leaving me to wash my face and dress in black breeches and a gray tunic for training.

There’s something cathartic about the weight of my gear, a reminder that despite the court’s machinations, I am master of my own fate.

I nearly jog down to the kitchen, where I am lucky enough to find several dragon’s blood fruits. Then I head over to the paddock to give the dragons well-deserved treats. Dragon’s blood fruits are the dragons’ favorite snacks—hence the name—and each of their maws are soon coated in the sweet juice and pulp of the fruit.

Once that’s done, I range farther, heading down to the training fields.

As I expected, they’re filled with soldiers. In the archery field, soldiers shoot arrows at distant targets. Some spar in the other arena. The session doesn’t appear to be a formal one, with soldiers milling about and chatting before partnering up. Bastian’s muscular back is to me as he exchanges blows with Blair, who towers over him and isn’t afraid to use his longer reach to his advantage.

A few of the soldiers call out greetings, and I wave in return. Since the night of the drachen attack, I’ve become more popular among the soldiers. In their eyes, my willingness to stand shoulder to shoulder with them against danger trumps any concern over my adoptive mother’s choice to rear me as a noble lady with no training.

As an added bonus, I no longer need to rely on Sterling as my sole training partner.

Agnar’s eyes light up when he spots me. With a knowing grin on his face, he squares his broad shoulders. “Ready when you are, Lark. You still need to work on your overhead defenses.” He towers over me by straightening to his full height.

“I’ve already endured an entire room of entitled nobles and tamed a paddock of dragons. Let’s see if you can keep up.” I know full well my words are all bluster.

From the devious look he gives me, Agnar does too.

My grip tightens around the hilt of my short sword. The familiar weight grounds me, helping me channel the restless energy coursing through my veins into each precise movement, each calculated strike.

Agnar lunges, and I have to dance to the side. As my training has proven, I can’t rely on strength alone to defend against such attacks. I must push them aside and get out from under them before I can respond.

Garrett, a young soldier with fiery red hair and freckles, snorts. “Nobles are easy to cow.” He hisses in pain when Bastian’s sword slices through the hip of his leather breeches.

“I’m a noble.” Bastian resumes his fighting stance. “Nobles are people. Anyone can be cowed if you know their weaknesses and how to exploit them.” As he swings for the same hip, Garrett jumps back. “See?”

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