Fire of a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 3) - Paranormal Fairytale Romance (13 page)

Arabella trundled across the span of the room to take her friend by the shoulders and stare her in the eyes. “Don’t you talk smack about my best friend. She dropped everything to take care of me and my baby. She’s
awesome.
And I don’t want to hear anyone say anything else—including you.”

Rachel smiled through the tears. “You have to love me. You’re my sister.”

“No, I don’t—but I do.” She gently squeezed Rachel’s shoulders. “You are exactly the kind of woman a man like Cinaed falls in love with. Let it happen, Rach. Don’t fight it.”

Rachel swiped away the tears from her eyes. “Now you sound like that horny voice in my head that wants to jump his bones whenever he walks into the room.”

Arabella grinned and released her. “That’s what I’m talking about. I don’t know how you’ve resisted him this long, to be honest.”

But Rachel just shook her head. “I’ve got things to do other than chasing after hot dragons.” She pulled away and eyed the pile of packages. “These gifts aren’t going to unwrap themselves.” And with that, her friend stalked back to the pile and dug into it again.

But Rachel was right—Arabella had to focus on getting the baby here. Once that was accomplished—once Arabella had all of her dreams come true, even the ones she hadn’t known she had—she was going to make sure Rachel’s came true as well.

Lucian had enough of ceremony
to last him the rest of his five hundred years.

Assuming the magic of his dragonling son’s birth actually occurred.

Lucian watched as the House of Fyre filed out after depositing their gifts—sacks of gold. Traditional dragon gifts, to be sure, but nothing special. Lucian was just glad Cinaed missed the parade of assholes that was his former House. Lucian hadn’t realized they were coming until they showed up at the perimeter station. It was the House of Smoke’s front door, where every immortal had to stop first and ask for the wards to be dropped so they could gain entrance to the keep. Lucian had been reluctant to permit the House of Fyre entry, but his mother and father convinced him that repairing old wounds was more important. And that historic occasions such as the birth of his son and the renewal the treaty practically demanded it.

Lucian still didn’t like it.

As it was, the House of Fyre made their visit perfunctory and short—which worked well, considering the Summer Court Queen was waiting with arrogant impatience at perimeter station. The House of Fyre was leaving just in time.

“That went rather well,” Leonidas said, adjusting the cuffs on his jacket. “Let us pray to all that’s magic that the Summer Queen is likewise terse in her congratulations.”

His brother was chafing under his formal attire. The ceremonies were keeping him from whichever female he had seduced lately and left languishing in his lair. Lucian didn’t begrudge him the desire to be elsewhere—he felt it, too. And Leksander had been in an outright dark mood ever since Erelah and her Seraphim faction leader, Markos, had made their appearance. It was getting insufferable to be in the same room with him.

Leksander spoke into his phone, whispering soft commands to the dragons guarding the royal entrance just off the throne room. They had divided the House of Smoke in two, with separate wards protecting each. That way, only the half with the throne room had wards dropping and rising with every visitor that came to call.

Mostly, it was just dragons.

But the fae were unpredictable, and if anything, the Summer Court had more reason to hate Lucian and the House of Smoke than the Winter Court. The magic of his blood bound them to an ancient treaty that reminded them of the betrayal of the past. And those past times weren’t so distant for the fae, given they lived far longer than Lucian’s five hundred or a thousand years, depending on whether his dragonling survived. The current Queen of the Summer Court was a direct descendent of the original queen whose life and love forged the magical bond that undergird the treaty—and whose blood ran through Lucian’s veins. The original queen was ten generations back for Lucian, but only one for Nyssa, the pure-blooded fae daughter who was born before the queen’s liaison with the dragon she fell in love with. Nyssa was one of the original aggrieved offspring; Lucian and his brothers and his mother and father were the bastard children who had snarled up fae politics for the last twelve thousand years.

And in all those twelve thousand years, no summer fae had visited the House of Smoke. Not for the birth of a new generation or any other purpose. Speculation was rampant as to the cause, but Lucian suspected it was merely the fact that the Winter Court had been making a habit of interfering with the House of Smoke’s lineage. The rivalry between Winter and Summer was strong—and it had to tweak Nyssa that Zephan had such an influence over affairs that affected her court as well.

Leksander finished speaking into his phone and gave Lucian a nod.

Lucian straightened and faced down the length of the throne room.

Just as with the Seraphim, the door opened before the queen made her entrance. He had heard tell of her beauty—all the fae were spectacularly beautiful—but he was unprepared for the ethereal quality of it. Her hair was white—not the snow white of someone advancing in age, but the unearthly silver-white of a woman who has chosen the color precisely. The curls were piled on top of her head and fell down the back of her silver-and-white ruffled dress, which swept the floor behind her, floating in some kind of magical wind as she glided down the cleared aisle. Dragons on either side leaned back, and even Lucian could feel the power emanating from her. Zephan, a prince of the Winter Court, had powers he chose to flick Lucian’s way when they fought, but this was altogether something different. Strings of silver decorated the open neck of her dress, sparkling and flittering lightly as the queen took her time strolling to the front. As she drew closer, Lucian could see her nearly-clear eyes were rimmed with violet.

“Cousin,” she greeted him. For all her cool, unearthly beauty and color, her voice was warm, more so than the winter fae and their affinity for coldness and dark.

Lucian restrained a reflexive smile. He didn’t make the mistake of assuming he could use the same familiarity. “Your highness.” He dipped his head in greeting.

“I hear you have a child in waiting,” she said.

“We appreciate your visit,” Lucian said carefully. His runes were dancing along his skin and managed to climb his neck, enlivened by the nearness of their queen. He was
dragon,
and his allegiance was forever with the House of Smoke, but the magic in his veins knew no boundaries, and it recognized the fae of its origin.

The queen raised a dark, pencil-thin eyebrow at the movement of his runes showing above his formal attire. “I wish to see for myself this woman who would bear the next generation of the House of Smoke.”

Lucian’s heart seized, but he kept his expression cool. He flicked a look to Leonidas—his brother’s face had gone blank, no doubt steeling against the rage that the fae queen would even suggest such a thing.

“I’m afraid my mate is indisposed at the moment,” Lucian said, slowly and measuring out each word. He could feel the tension mounting throughout the throne room. “She is but days away from delivery.”

Nyssa gave him a barely perceptible nod and let her gaze travel for the first time around the room, taking in his brothers, his mother and father seated on their thrones behind him, and the dragons standing now at hyper-alert attention behind her. Lucian had no doubt that she could, with a flick of her wrist, bat them away. But even if she wished to make her own unescorted trip to the other side of the keep to where Arabella was safely tucked in his lair, Nyssa would not be able to get past the wards they had erected.

At least, he hoped.

“I sense that she is well-loved and well-protected,” Nyssa said coolly. “As it should be for someone who has to fulfill a treaty with True Love.”

Lucian frowned, unsure whether that was meant in sarcasm or not. The summer fae were as inscrutable as the winter fae. But her meaning was unimportant as long as she didn’t make a move against them.

Nyssa held up a hand, and with a slight tremor of her fingers, a tiny bronze dragon appeared in her palm. She held it out to Lucian, and he cautiously stepped forward to take the gift from her. His heart hammered. Gifts from fae—not something he actually wanted to keep inside his home, much less close to his child.

“Thank you.” He stepped back.

Leonidas was scowling at the tiny dragon, but holding his tongue—Leonidas himself was a bronze dragon. Was there some kind of significance to that? But it wasn’t his place to say anything. As the crown prince, Lucian spoke for the House, but he wasn’t sure what he could say that would be of help in the situation.

“It is merely a dragon,” Nyssa said with the faint trace of a smile—one that actually enhanced her beauty even more and somehow softened it. “Although it possesses the ability to soothe a child. We so rarely have children at Court, I am not familiar with how they behave. But I hear that children cry. Inexplicably. The token should alleviate that.”

“A thoughtful gift, indeed.” Lucian made a mental note to dispose of it as quickly as possible.

Nyssa tipped her head as if it were a genuine compliment. Then she turned, a graceful pirouette that preceded her slow glide back toward the door. But she only went two steps before stopping and throwing a glance back over her shoulder. “Cousin, take care. There is more to this birth than you know. The immortal world is watching.”

Lucian scowled and opened his mouth to ask what the hell she meant by that, but she turned her back on him and slowly strode down the throne room. He decided to let it go.

When she reached the doorway, she made her own exit. With the wards temporarily down, she was able to use a fae doorway to her realm, where in the Summer and Winter Courts existed. The doorway was literally a rip in the fabric of space and time that she simply glided through with her silver-white hair and flowing dress.

As soon as she was gone, Leonidas spoke up. “You’re absolutely forbidden from letting that dragon anywhere near my nephew.”

“Agreed,” Leksander said, coming up to stand next to Leonidas and Lucian at the front of the throne room. “I do not wish to guess what manner of spell she has put on this token.”

Lucian nodded and handed it over to Leksander. “Maybe your angelfire girl can find a good way to dispose of it. One that won’t have the magic backlashing on us.”

He agreed with a sharp nod, but the dark look that had temporarily lifted from Leksander’s face settled on it again.

Leonidas scowled. “What did Nyssa mean by there being more to the birth than we know? I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Neither do I.” Lucian grimaced, but he’d had enough of the immortal world for the day. All he wanted was to get back to Arabella and his son and reassure himself that they were both still all right.

He raised his hands to the gathered dragons from his House, all getting a bit restless after the fae queen had made her exit. “You’ve all been extraordinarily patient throughout this time of formalities.” His voice carried and quieted the crowd. “I appreciate your fealty even more now than ever. But I believe we’re done dealing with royal matters now.” He threw a smile back to his mother and father. His mother was beaming at him, but his father looked like he had just been startled awake. Lucian held in his laugh and turned back to the House. “I think we could all use a rest.”

A twitter of laughter went through the crowd. The House had great affection for King Larik, but they knew he was nearing the end of his thousand years. And there was a bittersweetness that the arrival of his son would mean that his father and mother were probably in the final year of their lives. The House knew it as well. They were gentle with his mother and father in all things, another thing that earned his love for his fellow dragons. “Be well, my friends. The next time you see me, I hope to have a dragonling in my arms.”

A roar of approval went up, and applause broke out with some whooping and hollering. It brought a broad smile to Lucian’s face, and Leonidas clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling wide as well. Lucian turned and hugged his brother, fiercely. Not only would he lose his mother and father in the next year, but his unmated brothers would likely go to wyvern as well. He was gaining everything—a mate and a child—and losing everything at the same time. The fatigue of the proceedings and the bitter sweetness of it washed over him.

Definitely time to get back to his lair—and rejuvenate in love again.

Dragons were drifting throughout the hall, muttering and laughing and chattering up a storm. Above all the noise, Lucian heard one word jump out and stab into him.

“What?”
It was Leksander shouting his disbelief into his phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Lucian flicked a look to Leonidas, and they both strode quickly over to where Leksander stood off to the side of the thrones.

“What is it?” Lucian asked.

“Get up here
immediately,”
Leksander growled into the phone. Then he slapped it off and gritted his teeth. “Tytus is here from the House of Drakkon.”