Dragons Against Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice Book 2) (9 page)

His length hardened painfully, demanding entrance and release. But he refrained, wishing to please his Adelaide before seeking pleasure himself. She clawed at the quilt beneath her, writhing and mewing beneath his laving tongue. He held her in place, unwilling to free her from this most intimate of kisses. Her body began to grow more and more rigid beneath his hold, and when the time was right, Zayne eased two fingers into her cool, wet core. With a muffled scream, her climax came swiftly, her center pooling from the release.

As she worked to catch her breath, he kissed each of her thighs and the soft patch of blonde locks above them. But his own need was too great for further delay. He eased her body toward the center of the bed, then lifted both the backs of her knees in his hands and savored the view as his length slid into her cool wetness.

A throaty moan escaped her lips, and his gaze found hers. He drew back and slid in farther, eliciting another moan. A quiver rippled through her, momentarily tightening their connection, and Zayne nearly came undone. But he held back and maintained a slow, easy pace, wanting to savor the moment, the feeling, the view.

Lord, that view. Her smooth, pale skin flushed with desire. Her lust-filled, heavy-lidded crystalline gaze. Her glorious peaks, her silky golden locks. If he lived to be five hundred, never would he tire of any of it.

“Oh God. Yes. Faster, Zayne. Faster.”

He did as she asked, his desire intensified by the urgency in her voice. Addie closed her eyes, brows furrowed in concentration. She moved with him, hips undulating and hypnotizing. All too soon, she was biting back a second cry and Zayne felt her tighten around him. As the second climax ripped through her, it pulled him over the edge into sweet oblivion as well.

Spent and sated, he lay beside her and pulled her close, determined even now to ensure she felt safe. Protected. Loved. For to lose his Adelaide, to allow fear to drive her back into her other world, would surely kill him. As she curled into Zayne, her soft body a perfect fit to his, he silently vowed to do everything in his power to ensure she remained here—no matter who or what might stand in the way.

R
osalind followed
a stone-faced Jaxon through the halls of his mother’s…home? Castle? What should she even call this place? Each room they passed held an interior different from the last, some looking more like the forest that surrounded their village than the residence of its leader. Rather than comment on the uniqueness of such a place, she held her tongue, sensing the frustration that rolled off her escort in waves.

She had done nothing, said nothing to upset him when she spoke before the queen, yet Rosalind felt as though Jaxon’s anger was with her. Since his return from assisting Rachel to her room, he had barely looked at her, let alone met her gaze. His movement had lost its fluid, confident grace and was now stiff and seeming on the verge of attack.

An attack Rosalind must seek to avoid if she was to find success in Weston.

So when he led her into a chamber at the end of a long hall with the instructions, “Do not under any circumstances leave this room,” she answered with but a small nod and quiet word of thanks. Only then did his gaze seek hers, so intense she felt as though he was searching her very soul for the answer to some unasked question. Then, without a word, he returned to the hall, closing the door securely behind him.

With a sigh of relief—for to remain under his gaze was exhausting in and of itself—she collapsed onto a nearby chaise. This village, this clan, had her quite vexed. No one seemed to speak in full sentences, but rather spoke in riddles. Why had the queen dismissed Adelaide’s reappearance until hearing of Prince Zayne’s involvement? And then to leave without another word?

A rap sounded upon the door, and a tiny-framed woman stepped into the room. She wore a bright yellow gown that hugged her bodice then extended unruffled to the floor. It swirled about her as she approached with a tray of breakfast tea and meats. Her braided brown hair hung the length of her back, the style making her topaz eyes look all the wider. Rosalind cast the woman a wary look.

“Princess Rosalind, I am Ella, sister to Giselle. The queen asked me to see that you were made comfortable and fitted with clean clothes. Tell me, is there a color gown you prefer?”

Finally, the presence of rational thought.
She offered the woman a small smile. “Please tell the queen her hospitality is greatly appreciated, as is your kindness.”

“I shall. And you are quite welcome.”

She gave Rosalind a brief tour of the room and an adjoining smaller space that contained both facilities for her to relieve herself and to freshen up. Once Rosalind had done both, she returned to the main room, where she found Ella waiting for her with several gowns draped over one arm.

“Blue, do you think? Or red, perhaps?”

Rosalind eyed the gowns, again so unlike those worn by women in her kingdom. Less frill and fluff, yet still elegant and sensual. She found herself wondering if the sight of her in such garb might lessen Jaxon’s unexpected anger toward her. But the thought only brought with it guilt as she pictured Quinn next, wearing a dark look of jealousy.

“Would you pick for me? It is too difficult to choose as they are both beautiful.”

“Red, then.” Ella set the other down and helped Rosalind dress.

“Is this your preferred color?”

“No, I prefer lighter colors. Colors of the sun, the flowers, and the fields.” Ella finished with the gown’s ties, then turned Rosalind so that she could see herself in the room’s large mirror. “But on you, this color looks magnificent.”

Rosalind found herself blushing at the compliment, though she could not argue otherwise. The gown fit her perfectly, both in girth and length. Its bodice emphasized the curve of her full breasts, while its long, flowing length added an air of mystery to what lay beneath the simple lines of the fabric. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything else I can retrieve for you, Princess?”

She looked from her reflection to the smiling woman beside her. “If one were to wish a bath be drawn, where would one go? I saw no tub in this space.”

“True, there is not. We choose to bathe in the stream on the west edge of town, where the waters are clear and cool, and serve to cleanse both body and spirit. ’Tis a tradition of ours, contrary to what you are accustomed to, I am afraid. I could take you there now, if you like. Or if you prefer bathing in the dark for modesty’s sake, I would be happy to lead you to the water’s edge at twilight.”

Rosalind’s gaze shifted to the room’s lone window, awash in sunlight. It was one thing to intentionally expose herself to the willing men in her castle, but something else entirely to bathe before a village of strangers. Would they stare? Would Jaxon see?

Why does he haunt my thoughts so?

She looked back to Ella and smiled. “Tonight will be fine, thank you.”

“Very well. Do try to make yourself comfortable, and rest if you like. Dinner shall not be served for several hours, and the queen has asked that you remain here until then. She apologizes for being absent these next few hours, but as your host, she has many preparations now to make.”

“Oh?” A wave of unease washed over her.

“As Rachel said, we have been expecting you.” Ella’s smile widened. She walked to the door and paused. “And seeing you in that gown will indeed improve Prince Jaxon’s mood. It was for him that I brought it to you.”

With that, she glided into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her, leaving Rosalind in stunned silence. What had she done to alert Ella of her thoughts concerning Jaxon? And then she remembered…

She was among witches.

Not only did it seem she could trust no one in this village, but she would need to guard her thoughts better as well. Especially thoughts about a mysteriously captivating man she had no intention to pursue.

T
ristan stood
in the courtyard at dusk, quiver on his back and bow in hand. Sleep had escaped him last night, his thoughts consumed by worry of the oncoming war. In his heart, he knew Forath would defeat the witch clan and bring his sister safely home. But the conviction that he would survive such a battle yet eluded him.

Until now, his experience with weapons and confrontation had been minimal—not because he was afraid of injury so much as his father had been opposed to any risk that might have resulted in him losing another child. Or so that was Tristan’s belief. And while such thinking had kept him from battlefields in the past, in the upcoming skirmish, he would most definitely be needed—they all would. But could skills developed within the castle walls truly offer him the protection he needed beyond?

“You look as weary as I feel.”

Tristan nocked the arrow to his bow, his gaze fixed upon the target ahead rather than shifting to meet that of his best friend. “I have not the time to feel weary, not as we stand on the cusp of war.”

He drew the arrow back, steadied his aim, and released.

Bull’s-eye.

But will it be enough?
whispered a voice in the back of his mind.

The soft, quickened patter of footsteps sounded to his left, and Tristan turned to watch his twin trot by along the castle’s far wall. Since her arrival, she had done the same each evening once the courtyard emptied of hurried servants and training warriors. Jogging, she called it, dressed in those odd purple slippers of hers and garb best suited for a man rather than the gown of a lady. He had tried to convince her not to dress that way, of course. To not do these joggings and draw further attention to herself, but she insisted it helped keep her body strong and her mind clear.

Tristan believed it was more that the routine brought her comfort, something he had thus far been unable to do.

“What lands did she grow up in, then, that they taught her to dash about like a frightened doe?”

“She runs not so much frightened as determined, as if she desires to do so.” Tristan shook his head and looked at Quinn. “I understand so little of the reasoning behind my sister’s actions.”

“A problem Prince Zayne does not seem to have.”

Heat flared in Tristan’s cheeks. “The servants say it is because they are true mates. But am I not her twin? Her own flesh and blood?”

“Aye. And yet you stand here, fuming, rather than trying to learn more about her.”

“What do you wish me to do? Make a fool of myself and trot alongside her?”

“To know a person is to understand them. Walk where they walk, go where they go. Read what they read.”

Tristan narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at, Blackstone?”

“Princess Adelaide and her fiancé escaped from my attention for a short while this afternoon. Several servants spied them walking from the scroll room with parchment, ink, and quills. But the room they occupied directly afterward was empty upon inspection.”

“So?”

“So, as the supplies were not returned, it begs the question, where did their writing instruments go? My guess would be Adelaide’s room. If the ink is there, the scroll may be there as well.”

“Or tossed in a fire and long gone.”

“I have confirmed that no fires were lit in any room save the kitchen today, sire, and no one saw either of them there.”

Tristan studied Quinn as his friend watched Adelaide run by on her second pass. Blackstone was not one to waste breath on irrelevant information. And had he himself not observed Prince Zayne laying script to a parchment this very morn?

“You believe the scroll may contain information about Rosalind?”

Quinn’s intense gaze shifted from Adelaide to him. “Aye.”

That he was here, in the courtyard, instead of searching Adelaide’s room himself, was a sign of Blackstone’s great wisdom. If Adelaide had discovered Quinn in her room with the tension that seemed to live and breathe between them, she might well have demanded his dismissal. But if she were to discover Tristan searching her chambers… Well, she couldn’t order a prince from their home.

“Keep an eye on her. If she finishes jogging before I return, send me warning in the form of an owl’s cry.” Tristan glanced from his sister to the window of Prince Zayne’s guest room, which cast a dim glow against the darkening night sky. “Betrothed or not, I must ensure there is no traitor in our midst.”

Z
ayne sat
upon a rather uncomfortable side chair, pulling on a boot, when a knock sounded at his chamber’s door.

“Prince Zayne? I bring a message from the king.”

“You may enter.”

A lad appeared in the doorway, too young in Zayne’s opinion to be a warrior and yet dressed in the same lightweight armor as Jarin’s other men. The boy strode across the room and stopped several paces from Zayne, his face utterly serious, his movements awkward and stiff. The prince worked to keep from grinning as the squire bowed and awaited permission to continue.

“Speak, squire.”

“King Jarin wishes you to know he has received word from King Robert of Edana, requesting that you take wing this day and return home to assist in quelling an uprising in the northern region. Your warrior Brom, however, is to remain here, to assist your betrothed and her family as needed.”

Zayne hung his head. Curse this prolonged illness of his father. Had the man been at full strength, he would not have made such a request. And though with battles came risks, Zayne was far more concerned about Adelaide’s reaction to his early departure than his own safety. She was sure to be displeased.

But an uprising was not something to ignore, not if peace in the kingdom was to be preserved. And only peace could ensure the safety of both his mother and his betrothed.

Zayne straightened and offered the boy a nod. “Thank you, squire. Please inform the king I shall join the royal family for breakfast and then make haste to Edana.”

The squire bowed once more, then exited the room, his movements awkward but infused with an air of relief as he disappeared from view. The lad behaved so unlike the squires in Edana, who were bold young men, confident in their actions. Had Jarin done this to the boy? Filled him with fear of retribution before he had a chance to prove himself?

Zayne brushed those thoughts aside and rose from his chair. He had grander things to consider than the skittish behavior of an adolescent stranger. Battle plans to make, warriors to ready.

An Adelaide to calm.

Oh, how he dreaded greeting her with the news of an early and unplanned departure. But surely she would understand. To protect his kingdom and ensure peace throughout the land was his duty. The sooner she understood that, the easier these absences would become. Or so he hoped.

Besides, at home he would be able to speak freely with his mother about her sisters and their clan’s intentions for both Jarin and Adelaide, and whether or not the rumors of Rosalind’s capture were in fact true. Though he had sent her a scroll yesterday, none had arrived since in response. Either her scripting had been delayed, or there was more to the answer than she felt safe to pen. For all their sakes, he prayed it was the former reason, not the latter.

With a sigh, he rose and headed downstairs. Upon entering the dining hall, he found the Bennetts already seated, a rare, playful banter ensuing between Adelaide and Tristan. Zayne watched them for a moment, his presence yet undetected. Both their faces wore grins, the mood between them unusually light. Addie was dressed in a lovely blue gown, the color of which sent his thoughts on a journey to their first night in his hidden lair. A night that had changed both his future and his heart.

The king’s gaze flashed to Zayne then, the look of pleasure upon his countenance fading to its customary guarded state. Zayne stepped forward with a bow, wondering if Jarin might ever look upon him any other way.

“Forgive my tardiness, Your Majesty.”

“Prince Zayne. Please, join us.”

The smile accompanying Jarin’s greeting was clearly forced, while Adelaide’s lit the room as her gaze fell upon Zayne. Guilt and regret plagued him at the sight, knowing he would soon leave her side. Again. He crossed the room to stand beside her, then reached for her hand and placed a kiss upon its ever-soft skin.

“You look radiant as a dove, my lady.”

Pink tinted her cheeks at his compliment spoken in the presence of her family. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Aye. And you?”

“Sure.”

Her radiant smile wavered. So slight was the change, he doubted the others had seen. But Zayne knew her well, and guilt for his upcoming early departure rattled him further.

“So, what’s on tap for today?” she asked. “A horseback ride, maybe? You haven’t gotten to see much of Will lately. He’s probably all lonely, down in the stables.”

“I would hardly say that. Several of our mares are in heat.” Quinn looked to Zayne, his eyes narrowed. “Your steed has taken it upon himself to become the resident stud. The stable hands have had a hell of a time keeping him restrained.”

“A behavior that seems to run in the family,” said Tristan, his voice low.

Zayne shot him a dark look.

“Oh dear.” Addie worked to smooth a grin from her face. “Well, always good to freshen the bloodlines, I suppose, right?”

“Hardly the topic for a lady, Princess Adelaide.” Her father’s frown deepened as he looked from his daughter to Zayne. “You will, unfortunately, be forced to leave the beast here when you return this day, Prince Zayne, will you not?”

A small gasp sounded beside him. Like a coward, Zayne kept his eyes trained on Addie’s father to avoid the look of disappointment that now surely tarnished her sweet face.

“Aye. To travel by wing shall return me all the sooner to assist with the rising turmoil in Edana’s northern region, Your Majesty. If you would allow it, I wish for my stallion to remain in Forath’s stables, to be used by Brom as needed during his continued stay.”

A smile curled the corners of King Jarin’s lips. “Yes, of course, by all means leave your steed. We shall take good care of it while you are away.”

There was something about the king’s answer that set Zayne on edge. That his betrothed had fallen silent, however, worried him even more. He commenced with a hasty meal, sensing a difficult departure on the horizon.

* * *

A
ddie walked
hand in hand with Zayne as they made their way to the stable. Though the day was brilliantly sunny and warm, she couldn’t shake the chill that had settled over her after learning he’d been called back home. Into battle, no less. And here she was, yet again, helpless to do anything but watch him go.

“So…you’re leaving. Again.”

His hand tightened on hers, though his gaze remained steadfastly ahead. “The northern region has been on the verge of an uprising for some time now. It seems they have chosen to strike while our king is weak.”

Uprising. Strike. Words that implied fighting, pain.

Death.

She wished there was a way to stop all their Neanderthalish ways, to get them to use diplomacy rather than fire and brimstone. But in this world, fighting seemed to be all they knew. Perhaps when she was queen, Addie might have some say in how the kingdom’s subjects were handled. Today, however, diplomatic resolutions weren’t an option.

She cast a glance back at the castle, wishing there was someone else they could send in his place. Why request that Zayne hurry home? Why not Brom? Surely he could lead the charge just as well. She hated to think that way, as she’d grown quite fond of the bossy, burly warrior. But he wasn’t her betrothed, and she sensed he could handle himself in battle far better than anyone else she knew. Then again, he wasn’t part of the monarchy either. Which was why Zayne had been called home, not him.

“I hate the idea of you going off to battle, Zayne. Promise me you’ll be careful?”

“I promise.” He offered her a sideways glance and smirked. “Besides, just the sight of a few dozen of our dragons flying into their village will send the majority of them dashing for retreat. The uprising shall be squelched before my sword shall even be lifted.”

“If you say so.” Addie sighed in resignation and changed the subject. “Did your mother send a scroll back with anything about her sisters?”

“No.”

The chill she felt wove tighter in her mind. “Are you worried?”

“No.”

Something was up. Zayne was too calm, too…composed. Warning alarms sounded in her head. Then again, he was about to head off into battle. Maybe he was more worried about the uprising than he wanted her to believe. Rather than badger him about his true feelings, she tried to do what any woman would as her beloved headed off to battle—offer him love and support.

For truly, that was all she had to offer.

Knowing she wasn’t allowed much beyond where they now were, she drew to a stop and waited for him to turn and face her. Eyes full of remorse stared down at her, and Addie wished she had magic of her own that would blast that northern region into compliance. She stretched to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Come back as soon as you can.”

Zayne wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, tighter than usual which only made her worry more. After a long moment, he drew back to cup her chin and bent to kiss her gently.

“Always,” he whispered, then released her and continued on alone.

Addie watched until he stepped into the stables and out of view, then turned back toward the castle. Though she felt the heated prick of tears threatening, she refused to allow them passage. If Zayne said he would be safe, she was going to have to learn to trust him. Surely he had a better idea of what he was walking into than she did.

* * *

Z
ayne strode
through the stables and stopped at his steed’s stall. Though he would not be riding the stallion home, he knew if anything in this forsaken land could calm him before transforming, it would be a few quiet moments with his horse. The two had been through many an adventure together and more skirmishes in Edana than he could count. Zayne would miss him on this one and wondered if any other horse in his family’s stable would be a tolerable substitute for Will.

Will
. Zayne shook his head. Even now, he was unable to escape the thought of his beloved fiancée. Upon her arrival, she had turned all he’d believed about his kingdom, his world, on its head.

And his heart inside out.

It pained him no end to leave her again so soon. And though she had worn a brave face, he knew her well enough by now to know she was silently plagued by worry and disappointment. But these were the ways of his land, his future kingdom. Zayne was as helpless to resist the demands of his father as was a leaf caught in the current of a stream. To cling to Adelaide, to this castle, instead of returning to Edana would bring certain retribution from Robert, perhaps even an attack.

Zayne tried to imagine what it must be like in the world Addie had grown up in, where rulers had learned to battle more often with words rather than weapons. But there was no reasoning with Robert, or Jarin, for that matter. Power had turned one king into a tyrant, while the potential loss of it consumed the other with paranoia. Zayne wanted nothing to do with either power or ruling. But he had no choice in the matter—blood bound him to a future throne. And so for his countrymen and women, he would do the best he could to be a fair and honest ruler.

Adelaide would see that he did.

The image of her, seated beside him in Edana’s throne room, served to push his dark thoughts aside. Though she knew it not yet, she would make a fine queen, as her heart was pure and her thoughts free from the vengeance and bitterness of Jarin’s younger daughter. Zayne had held great reservations about taking Rosalind as his queen—not just because he didn’t care for the woman, but because of her rumored dark and vicious ways. Perhaps if she were to return, Adelaide’s kindness might serve to melt the ice around her half sister’s heart.

One could only hope.

“Take good care of my beloved, Will. Carry her safely, should she be permitted to take you out while I am away.”

With a final pat to his steed’s neck, Zayne turned for the stable’s far doors. He would do as his father asked, fly home and smother the northern uprising, then return to Forath to ensure his sweet Adelaide had yet remained safe from harm. For while he did not believe the witches would come for her, Zayne was less certain as to the intent of Forath’s younger princess. Had she indeed been captured, held by a rogue clan deep in the forest until a substantial ransom was paid? Or could she instead be plotting her revenge?