A Time For Dragons

Chapter Eight -- Vhaeryn

Cold tightened around his heart as Vhaeryn sunk into the chair before the desk, eyes fixed to the letter in the middle. Iraerya was alive. He scanned the letter twice to make sure he read the signature at the bottom right and it wasn't some trick of the mind. Queen Iraerya of Nairn, a knife twist in his heart. Through all his captivity she never once visited, and he spent the first few years searching for her at every opportunity. Perhaps it was all retribution for him taking Dragon Right with her all those years ago. Mother insisted and she'd seemed so wise then, insisting they needed to keep the blood pure and that though he felt nothing for her the feeling would come with time. It didn't.

"My sister is Queen," he glanced up at Madara and quickly averted his eyes. She was nude, her clothes draped over a back of a chair before the fire. One glance at her and his body tingled, he needed her not some pale creature of silver. "You'll catch your death." He stood and walked to the wardrobe, retrieving a thick fur lined robe which still held the scent of the Magistrix's perfume.

"Mhm. Some say the king shut her up in the tall tower."

"She's happy." He draped the robe over her delicate shoulders, lingering near and catching a whiff of her scent that made it hard to focus on anything but her.

"Is she? Far be it from me to correct a King, but even I know that letters by noble ladies are often read by multiple parties and survival often skews words." She smirked and looked up at him. For a moment he stilled and placed his hands on her shoulders, stroking through the soft furr. "What the hells are you doing?"

Those black eyes of hers narrowed and he took a step back but didn't apologize. Dragons don't apologize, which was why he hadn't hidden his nudity from her or shied away from the fact that touching her had so obviously affected him. He wanted her to know what she awoke in him, though he knew he shouldn't.

A dragon flew by the window and Vhaeryn returned to the wardrobe looking through until he came across the Lord's clothes. The shift he pulled on was edged with finely embroidered lace covered in little green black and red dragons but the soft linen tented about him so he swam in the extra fabric. Looking at the finery he paused, thinking of the similar wardrobe he'd had in his rooms at Black Dragon Keep before the usurper and the year of four kings.

"We were to be wed." He swallowed and leaned against the desk, as Madara sat up straighter on the chaise, there was a line of exposed skin from her neck down past her naval. He could see her under him writhing as he kissed along that path her soft pleas for more filling the air.

"No, I was betrothed to—"

Her voice shook him from his trance.

"A lesser lord after I rejected you." He sighed. "I wanted to..." Dragon's don't apologize. His father's voice boomed in his head and his cheek stung all over again. "Express my regret over your situation."

"Your regret?" She snorted and crossed her ankles wrapping the robe tighter about her. "What is it exactly that you regret?"

He took a step closer, their gaze fixed on each other. "That I couldn't hold the capital. If I had they'd never have burned you."

"Yes, they would have. Kings don't concern themselves with commoners, or those a half step above."

"When this is done, I'll find you a good husband."

"I don't want a husband. The brand gave me freedom. If I wanted a husband I'd have one by now. Besides good men tend to not like spoiled women."