Queen of Dragons - Shana Abe

He dropped the ends. He backed up a step and the ox bucked again and then bolted, charging past them all with a thunder that actually shook the earth.

"Maricara is correct," said a new voice, Joan, to her left. "We need to go. The second story of the farmhouse is in view, and there are men headed this way."

Without another word, Kimber Turned, and so did the other three. Mari was last to leave, still sickened with her heart and the jolting of the ground as the ox fled for its life into the sun-baked fields.

They dined this time. He was too hungry not to dine, and at least if they retreated into the human convenience of the princess's hotel, he'd know exactly where she was. And that was of the utmost importance.

"Now they know," she was saying, her lips slanted down, her lucent pale eyes accusing and extravagantly long-lashed. "If you had not broken the rope, if you hadn't freed the ox, the hunters might not ever have known we were there—"

"They know anyway," Kimber said, and took another bite of his roast. "The ox was a blatant trap. Breaking its rope changed nothing."

"You were the one who said not to Turn—"

"With humans nearby. And we didn't."

Maricara muttered something foreign under her breath; he didn't bother to ask for clarification. She began sawing at the beefsteak upon her plate, her gaze cast down, as if the rare meat and grilled asparagus offended her nearly as much as Kim had.

He'd reserved the hotel's sole private parlor for their supper. He'd had to impress the resort supervisor with the weight of his title in addition to laying out a preposterous sum for the teal-and-smoked-glass room—which the supervisor assured him was quite booked for months in advance—but it was worth it, because they all had to eat, and the things the five of them had to say now could not be for any ears but their own.

He had no idea where Maricara's guard might be; his own were in the public room adjacent to this, eating a meal no doubt just the same as his own.and a good deal cheaper. They were strong men, solid. The fact that more than half the house of their Alpha was currently confined to this chamber would keep them extra-vigilant.

Every now and again a lace-capped maid and two footmen would enter through the white swinging door that led to the hall, bearing food, taking away food. Out of habit Kim and his siblings would fall silent whenever the chamber was breached. The princess was hardly speaking in any case.

Candles had been placed in front of nearly every sheet of glass striping the walls; the hearth was unlit. The candlelight reflected as if from the bottom of a cave, or a distant firestorm, yellow-gold flames stripped to sepia, shadows the color of tarnished copper twitching back and forth across them all.

Maricara sliced at the stems of her asparagus. She'd donned again the bare sheath of satin she dared to call a frock; the diamonds in her hair caught the smoky light in dim, scintillating glimmers. She'd taken the chair at the end of the table, close to an open window and far from the four of them. He supposed she still thought they might rush her, or trick her, even amid a semipublic evening supper. And she had a point, he had to admit. He was at the head; she was at the foot; silver salvers of steaming roast and potatoes and boiled carrots dotted the bleached holland between them. It put him in mind of what they might look like together in the formal dining hall of Chasen Manor.

As husband and wife.

She took a bite, chewing carefully. She seemed tired. Even with her beauty, even with her diamonds and obvious displeasure, her movements had noticeably slowed. There were faint circles under her eyes he hadn't noted before.

Perhaps it was just the lighting. It was gloomy as a tomb in here.

She glanced up at him without lifting her head, catching him staring. Kim was held in a gaze darkened to stone and felt something in his chest begin to squeeze.

Yes, whispered the cold, cold dragon, turning over in his heart. She's Alpha, and she's untamed, and still she belongs to you.

He knew, logically, that it was true. He knew what had to come. But when she looked like this, smaller and more fragile than before, her perfect poise beginning to fracture, just a little.

He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to force her. He didn't want her to be thinking about the window behind her, of men and guns, and how soon she might be rid of him. He damned sure didn't want her anywhere near livestock again.

The world offered a rich and intoxicating melange of aromas to their kind, at times so many it could confound even the most acute of warriors. But Kimber had spent years learning how to separate the nuances; he could smell the difference between river water and pond; between an owl on the wing or a hawk; between a butterfly quaking over flowers and a moth over leaves.

Everything around the windmill today had reeked of blood and days-old animal panic—and of Maricara. There could be no question she had been there before. The combined scent of mud and animal and her had been so strong it had very nearly drowned out something more important, something he had not at first even recognized was significant: the more pervasive odor of men. Many men. And something else with it, something mild and elusive...not unpleasant, not unfamiliar. But he'd never encountered anything like it before; Kimber didn't know what it was.

The smell rippling around the ox had been primarily of dust and hay and more sweating fear. The princess once again. The oak tree had the correct bouquet, as did the grass, and the pile of manure not far off. But this time he'd noticed at once the stench of man. The same men, in fact, as the ones from the windmill, which seemed bloody unlikely indeed. The trail there had been fresher, much fresher. Someone had scraped his hand on the rough knot of the rope not more than two hours before; perhaps the man in the woods. Kim had smelled the human skin on the hemp. The barest thin whiff of human blood.

Emanations of hammered steel, when there had been nothing of metal about. Cotton drenched in dye. Leather and perspiration. A great deal of saltpeter and flint.

And once more, it had all been accompanied by that elusively familiar scent of the Unknown.

He rubbed a finger over his lower lip, considering it. "It was a stupid thing to do," his bride-to-be said now. "Pigheaded," Kim reminded her.

"That too. I took you there only so you could see what the hunters had done. If they'd been any closer—"

"But they weren't. There was just the one fellow, and he was taking his time in the woods. It's not as if they could follow us, after all. It was a clean getaway."

"For their lure, as well!" Her cheeks began to flush. "They were waiting for a drakon. You might as well have left a calling card."

"You don't know it was a trap for a drakon," said Joan.

"Of course I do."

"The papers said wolves."

"The papers," commented Rhys, who was on his third glass of wine, "are run by gin-guzzling fatheads. They're hardly going to print the word 'dragon,' are they?"

Audrey intervened before Joan formed her retort. "Why did you free the ox, Kimber?"

He shrugged, uncomfortable. He wished the deuce his twin had stayed out of it; she alone probably guessed that he'd no good reason.

The ox had been afraid. That was really all there was to it. Perhaps he shouldn't have Turned, but he did, and once he had, he'd had no cause not to set it free.

It had been afraid. Through no fault of its own, through an accident of birth and circumstances, it had been tethered to its death.

"What's this?" Rhys sounded amused. "Tenderness for a mere beast?"

His brother had found the one spot in the chamber that held no light. Shadows crossed back and forth around him in layer over layer; even from here Kim could hardly make out his face. But there was that note to his voice, that particular hard tone that sent a dull warning across Kimber's skin.

"In the end," Kimber said, "we're all beasts."

Silence fell. It took nearly a minute before the clinking of silver sounded again against the china. When Kimber raised his eyes it was to find Maricara now staring at him, unblinking.

"Speaking of beasts." Rhys lifted his drink; the ruffles at his cuff fell back in ghostly folds. "What was it you called these men before, Princess, in the council meeting? You had a name for them, these human hunters."

She looked away, the spell broken. "Sanf inimicus. "

"What does it mean?"

Maricara sighed, examining an asparagus tip at the end of her fork. "Something like...'soft enemy.'"

She returned the asparagus to her plate without eating it. "Or, some of our kind prefer to call them delis inimicus, instead."

"Delicate?" guessed Joan.

"More like 'delicious.'" The princess looked up at the sudden hush around the table. "Oh. Not I, of course."

"You have no guard here," said Kim, laying down his utensils. "Do you?"

She lifted a brow. "How very perceptive, my lord. It only took you all this while to riddle it out."

Audrey made a sound of disbelief. "You came to England unaccompanied?"

"Why not?"

"Why not? You're a princess, to begin with, or so we've been told." Kimber murmured his twin's name; her voice only rose in response.

"No, Kim, honestly, I want to know—she arrives unannounced, she's placed us all in danger—how did you book passage? Who acted as your maids? Who handled your meals, and your lodging, and your clothing and jewels? I doubt very much indeed you managed all that by yourself. You're what—nineteen? Twenty? Was there not one reasonable soul among all your retinue who perhaps mentioned it was not a fine idea to ravage the countryside?"

"No passage," said the princess. "No maid, no retinue. I flew here alone."

Joan set her wineglass upon the table with a thump; the Riesling inside sloshed like liquid amber.

"You.flew?" "Yes."

"Brilliant," said Rhys, from his dark place.

"Or just bloody insane. " Joan forgot herself so much as to lean forward with her elbows on the holland. A pair of side curls from her wig skimmed right above her plate. "You flew as a dragon across entire countries? What if you'd been seen? What if you'd been shot? I cannot conceive your people allowed you to leave your land without escort."

"Well, that's the difference between us, isn't it? You English have rules to confine yourselves. My rule is only to be free."

"Brava," said Rhys.

"Free to kill cattle," retorted Audrey, with a flick of her fingers. "Free to consume hapless geese." "Stop this, " hissed Kim, and his family lapsed back into silence.

Maricara placed her napkin upon the table. Kimber tensed, prepared to push free of his chair. But she didn't rise, and she didn't Turn. She only took a heavy breath, the bodice of her gown straining, gleaming satin.

"Maricara," he said softly. "We've all had a long day."

"No," she said, first to him, then to the rest. "No, she's quite right. It wasn't well-done of me." She offered a shrug and then a small, tight smile, her gaze angled downward. "I don't even like goose."