Page 11 of Veiled Flames
“I can see you are disappointed.” He looks away from me and into the fire. “Seeing you unhappy pains my heart. Wearing those jewels, you look so much like your mother, and I know I have not shown you the love you deserve.” He turns back to face me.
“Rosomon.” He uses my given name for the first time in my memory. “I need you to do this. Your upcoming marriage is crucial to the security of Achotia. Without it, Khotor won’t help to protect us.”
I swallow the selfish objections rising bitterly in my throat.
Perhaps being married won’t be as horrible as I presume.
Four
Saxon
The banquet hall in the Achotian castle is very large. Massive stone buttresses support a timber structure of impressive height, and moonlight shines through leaded windows high above, each with the symbol of Othrix implanted into the glass. Along the room’s sides, torches sit at short intervals to light the space, and large iron chandeliers hang on chains, each holding dozens and dozens of lit candles. The room is bright, even though the sun dropped below the horizon more than two hours ago.
From all appearances, Achotia must be one of the richest amongst the Seven Kingdoms. I take note. As dragon master, I may call upon this king for gold in the future.
Today, all I asked of my host was a son.
My meeting with the King of Achotia was met with the same rage I’ve come to expect from the seven sovereigns, when I ask them to give up a son to ride dragons.
The only sovereign who seemed more than willing to contribute a conscript was the King of Khotor. Four moon cycles past, he willingly gave me his grandson, Tynan.
Prince Tynan is now a senior rider candidate, and when I learned that my recruiting trip would coincide with the Khotori King’s visit to Achotia, I invited the prince to join me, allowing him a short visit with his family.
I shake my head. After the few things young Tynan has revealed, not to mention my own experiences in meeting his kin, I don’t understand why the young prince would wish to see his elders. The King of Khotor is the vilest man I’ve had the displeasure of meeting, and Tynan’s father, the Crown Prince, is perhaps worse.
The only good thing I can say about the Khotori royal family is that they gave me a prince to ride dragons.
My fortune was not so good today. The King of Achotia has two sons, twins having but five and ten, and he has no current wife to give him more. I can’t insist on taking his heir, and the younger twin is frail, not yet fully matured into manhood. Given this, I agreed to wait until the small lad reaches the age of seven and ten.
Although I joined the camp much younger than he is now, Olifer, the younger prince, will be of no use to me if he dies his first day. Had I known the boy was so small, I wouldn’t have made a stop here tonight. But on the morrow, I hope to salvage my wasted time, and find some strong volunteers from the nearby villages.
Conscripting princes may in itself be a folly. My fellow dragon masters don’t believe the prophesies, but I can’t ignore them—not if there’s a possibility of truth. The tales of the Prophetsportend a special rider, one of royal blood, who’ll bring balance between the Darkness and Light.
When I first heard these tales, they sounded like hogs’ droppings, and I can’t imagine what such a balance could be. But given the drastic increase in the number and severity of the ruptures to the veil, ruptures that increasingly vibrate in my bones, I must do everything that I can. Both to protect the Light and my own secrets.
I first heard these prophecies during my youth in Catha, which seems many lifetimes ago. I now have eight and thirty years and have spent the bulk of those as a rider of dragons. Having but one and ten years when I arrived at camp, it took me two years to bond with Surath, my dragon.
Surath has allowed me to ride her pommel now for over twenty years.
Not wanting to endanger anyone near the castle, I settled my dragon in a cave I found in the forest—not long before I encountered that feisty and enchanting stable wench on her stolen horse.
I grin, thinking of the wench. But I’m here on business, not pleasure.
Based on the chatter in the room, there’s to be a wedding. That’s of no consequence to me, although I pity any lady given to a man of Khotor. Even Prince Tynan has a cruel streak, a trait I’ve been working hard to extract from him. But cruelty seems inbred in the Khotori royal family, based on the behavior I’ve observed, including today by that bridge.
My mind drifts back to the bewitching young servant girl with the soft pink hair, and I wonder if I might catch another glimpseof her before leaving at sunrise. Given she stole that fine horse and rode it so well, I assume she works in the stables. Strange work for a girl—but if I’m right, I’m unlikely to find her serving in the castle tonight.
Just as well.
Never has a female beguiled me so. If I’d had another moment with her, I’d have crushed my lips against hers—and other parts of me soon after. As we rode, the bounce of her rounded bottom against my rod conjured visions of an entirely different kind of ride I wanted to take with the pink-haired wench—one where I’d be drilling deep into the pleasures housed in her cleft.
If she works in the stables, no doubt she’s been well ridden by many a man. Still, I’d love to become one of their number. Perhaps I’ll seek her company in the stables before I leave. My rod stiffens.
The wench’s image has imprinted inside me—as has the fresh scent of her pink hair, its color and texture; the softness of her skin, pale like silver; and the dancing glint of defiance in her bright eyes, as violet as a summer sky. In all the Seven Kingdoms, I’ve never found a female so comely, but her effect on me was fueled by far more than her beauty.
My interest was captured by her abilities with that horse; by her bravery in wanting to defend the honor of the piss wench; by her smart mouth, and by the way she bravely fought me. All of those things combined to compel me to taste her, to take her, to devour her whole. And her body gave off every signal that she wanted the same from me.
Females are plentiful enough at camp, but I often dip my rod in a few juicy clefts while away, and I regret it was so close to darkwhen I met that stable wench. My urge to take her against that tree was strong, but not as strong as my desire to see the girl and her stolen steed safely back to the stables, before the castle gates were sealed for the night.
