King's Bride_A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy Read online

  King’s Bride

  A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy

  Ava Sinclair

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Drakoryan Bride Series

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright 2018 Ava Sinclair

  All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any written form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without written permission of the author/publisher.

  Cover design by Maria Solis Carmona

  Images by Adobe Stock Photos

  Chapter 1

  Zara

  You will be a lovely queen.

  “No”

  Yes. You will be the bride of a great and powerful king.

  “No. I don’t want to be. You can’t make me.”

  The pale face staring from under the hood is menacing, its dark eyes devoid of pity or understanding.

  “Let me die. Just let me die.” My voice is weary as I turn my head away. “I will never marry your dragon.”

  The hooded man smiles. I told you. He will not be a dragon when he marries you. He will be a man.

  In the distance I hear a rumble and the clatter of rocks. The dragon is coming.

  “He is a beast.” Tears of fear and anger sting my eyes. “He will always be a beast. I will never marry him. You cannot make me.”

  The eyes under the hood narrow. That was foolish, my dear. Now you’ve made him angry. The hooded figure steps back, and through the iron bars of my cage I see something glowing red in the dark precipice below.

  “No.” I begin to whimper. “I’m sorry!”

  But it is too late. The cavern reverberates with the sound of the dragon’s growl and in the distance I hear the terrified screams of the other maidens. Even though we’ve been separated, they still cry out in fear when they hear the ShadowFell.

  He is coming. His head is huge and covered in spikes; two large horns curl back towards the outstretched neck. His long body undulates as he moves, the great hooks on his wing joints grappling to snag the rocks as he edges towards me.

  “Don’t. Please don’t!”

  I know what’s coming. I can smell the dragon’s sulfurous breath. I can hear the hooded man chanting the incantation that will allow me to be consumed by dragon fire without dying. I fall to the floor of the cage, moving to the far edge. I grab the bars and scream. I can hear the mother maidens sobbing and calling my name.

  The dragon has reached the ledge. It’s waiting for me to turn and look. I know what I’ll see if I do — the great maw of its mouth, the fire blazing at the back of its throat. I beg the gods to release me from this torment.

  The dragon growls, the sound ancient and gravely. I turn, holding onto the cage as it inhales, the intake of air so powerful it threatens to pull me away from bars I grip for dear life.

  “Noooo!” I scream, knowing there is no inhale without a fiery exhale.

  Heat engulfs me as the dragon roars, exhaling flame. The force of his anger reverberates through the cavern; I am vaguely aware of the rocks falling all around the cage. But I can only feel now. I writhe and scream. Words cannot describe what it is like to be burned alive and not be saved by death.

  “Zara! Zara!”

  Hands. Cool hands. I am sitting on a bed, staring into the face of my sister. Sweat has plastered my gown to my body. My breath comes in ragged gasps. I begin to cry and Isla wraps her arms around me, covering my tear-stained face with kisses.

  “It’s okay. You’re here. You’re safe.”

  I’m shaking. I can still smell the sulfur and when I hold up my hands, I almost expect to see melted flesh fall away from bone instead of smooth white skin.

  “Bad dreams again?” Isla searches my face. She’s not left my side since I came here. “Do you remember them this time?”

  “No.” It’s a lie. The dreams are getting more frequent and detailed, so much so that I’ve come to see them for what they are—repressed memories of my time with the ShadowFell. I rise from the bed and head to the wash basin across the room. I dip my hands in the cool water, splashing it on my face.

  Water. I get a sudden image in my mind of a stream of it running down the rock I’m chained to, of putting my tongue to the stream, lapping it eagerly. I’m in the dark, and around me I can hear the whispers and soft sobbing of other women, but I cannot see them.

  “It’s a big day for you, Zara.” Isla’s words bring me back to the present. I put a towel to my face.

  “Yes, I know.” I turn back to her.

  She smiles. “I’ve picked your dress. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not.” I pile my hair up on my head, affixing it with two pins. It’s damp with sweat. “You always had a better eye for clothes than I did, especially now that you are a lady.”

  “I may be a lady, but you’re going to be a queen!” Isla puts a hand to my face. “My own little sister, Queen Zara of the Drakoryan Empire.” She hugs me. “Think on it. Four strong men to protect you. Four princes who will take to the skies to battle not just for the crown, but for you!”

  She steps back, searching my face. I know what she’s looking for. Expectation. Excitement. Anything but the haunted look I try to hide.

  “They will never let anyone hurt you again, Zara.”

  I manage the smile I know she wants to see. I have to be strong, or at least pretend to be. I have to be perfect, or at least the image of perfection. The Drakoryans saved me. I owe them my life, and that’s what I’m about to give them.

  Chapter 2

  Prince Bymir

  Mount Fra’hir. Mount Za’Vol. Mount Jo’lyn. Mount Im’Ryl. Mount Gro’han.

  I stare out at them from where I stand at the uppermost ridge of the tallest mountain of all, the Mountain of Kings.

  Each mountain ringing the valley of the Drakoryan Empire — and there are many—lends its name to the lords who make it their own. The mountain castle is where they take their bride and raise sons.

  The Mountain of Kings is different. The first king to rule here was King Arok, who bested his brothers Dax and Yrn for the crown and the right to claim Genev, the first Drakoryan queen. Arok’s brothers remained as princes, successors to is crown should he die before their sons could battle for the right to rule.

  No king has died before old age. Even before the last ShadowFell battle that claimed his life, our father King Vukuris, often told us he dreamt of the Long Sleep. Our kind, being neither man nor beast, do not go to the Summerlands, but if that troubled Vukurcis, he did not show it. He had a good and long life, he said, and was tired. He was ready for rest.

  I cannot get the image out of my mind—our mighty father, his life’s blood spraying from his throat—plummeting to his death. I cannot forget the feeling of joining my brothers to breathe the fire that consumed both his body and the funeral pyre.

  No mortal man can summit the Mountain of Kings. Only a dragon can reach the top. This morning I flew up through t
he frozen mist to land on a ledge and then shifted back into my human form. I am here for two reasons— to think, and because the direction of the wind sweeping up the peak blows dust and ash into the sky, where it floats past. I put my hand out, looking at the particles that land on my palm. Is this bit of gray dust part of my father? I close my hand and draw it to my chest. Drakoryans do not weep like women, especially Drakoryan princes. But it is hard not to feel bleak. The humans in the valley look at us in awe and with no small measure of envy. But right now, what I would not give to be fully human, if only to imagine my father in the Summerlands, looking down on me and my brothers.

  “If only you could tell us what to do, Father King,” I say into the ashy wind that swirls past, pushing apart clouds to reveal the neighboring Mystic Mountain, the split in its side gaping like a wound. The sight of it brings fresh pain. We failed to protect it; the enemy plundered its magic, driving the witches that called it home Inward.

  What would King Vukuris say if he were here? He’d tell me the past is something that happened, but the future is something we shape. He’d tell me that war is inevitable so long as evil is in the world. He’d remind me our curse comes with responsibilities. The ones who created the Drakoryans did not give us the option of ending our bloodline by choice. We are compelled to continue our destiny. Defiance of our destiny is not an option.

  These were just words when I was a little thing at the king’s knee. Now that he is dead, I know the truth in them. The desire to take a mate is strongest in Drakoryan royalty, where more is at stake than just the claiming of a virgin.

  I wonder, did my father sacrifice himself when he went into battle? He consulted with the oracle Ezador many a night, and towards the end expressed an increased interest in divination. Did he know the ShadowFell’s attack on the witches’ sacred space would drain the enemy? Did my father, weaker with age, foresee this? Did he time his death so that a new king could be installed before the enemy returned?

  My brothers and I all think it so. We discussed it in the wake of his death. But as the fire of his funeral pyre had cooled, another had started in his sons. We can barely stand the sight of one another now, but tonight we will have to endure one another’s company as, for the first time, we greet the woman we will claim as our queen.

  It will be our final peaceful moment before we take to the skies to battle for her and the right to rule this empire.

  Chapter 3

  Zara

  My sister has decided I should wear a heather green gown, with a split front revealing an underskirt of ivory shot through with golden threads. The bell sleeves are lined with the same ivory fabric, the ends so long that they hang to my knees.

  Isla frets as her maid pulls the strings on my bodice.

  “You’re still so thin, Zara.”

  I look away, feeling guilty. Winter’s icy grip has eased somewhat. Hunting and foraging has enabled the villagers and Drakoryans alike to stretch stores of food, and there is now hope that it may last until first planting and harvest. Food is still rationed, though, except for mine. I am to be queen, and must regain my strength. To hear my sister fret over my slight form makes me feel like a failure.

  She is instantly solicitous. “I’m sorry. It is not your fault. You are fuller than you were.” She pauses. “Zara. I always said I would kill the ShadowFell that burned our village and took you and the others. That hasn’t changed.”

  “You’re so fierce, Isla. I think you should be queen.”

  “Don’t say that.” She takes my hands. “Besides, my lords would be entirely lost if I were to leave them, and not at all understanding.”

  “They do love you. I can see it in their eyes.” I pause. “Isla, Lord Turin told me the moment he saw you that he knew you were meant for him and his brothers. Do you think it will be the same for me, when I meet Bymir and his brothers?”

  “Princes, Zara.” Her correction is firm but gentle. “You must address them as such. Prince Bymir, Prince Rargi, Prince Yrgi, and Prince Oneg. Once you are claimed, you may call them by their names. Until then, you must defer to them as royalty.”

  My sister steps back. “You look so beautiful.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Do you think they will love me, or is it as the servants whisper?”

  Zara narrows her eyes. “What do they whisper?”

  “That the princes are only taking me to deny the ShadowFell king my hand.”

  She turns away. “You listen to too much talk, Zara. This isn’t the village.”

  “There’s truth in gossip, sister. You said so many times yourself.” I take hold of her. “Isla, you’ve always been my protective older sister, but don’t protect me from the truth. I don’t want to greet these princes feeling like some starry-eyed little fool when they only see me as some prize snatched from the enemy.”

  “Zara…” My sister sighs. “Come here.”

  She takes my hand and guides me to a window seat. It overlooks a ravine, and the view makes me dizzy. The abyss reminds me of my life. From the day I woke up here, I’ve felt like my existence was a void waiting to swallow me up. I have no more control than if I were falling into the chasm below. Her words do nothing to help matters.

  “It’s true. I will not lie to you. The ShadowFell killed King Vukuris. Now they must pay a price. They, too, must lose something precious. Seadus, the enemy king, intended you to be his bride. There is something special in you, more special than all the other maidens. The princes will have you for their own.”

  “So they’ll mate with me to soothe their spite?” I stand from the seat and turn back to her, crossing my arms.

  Isla fixes me with the same disapproving look I would get from her at home whenever she was about to give me some advice for my own good.

  “Listen to me, little sister. Whether it be spite or lust, privilege or want of peace, Drakoryans have taken village women since the dawn of time. We women cannot control this fact. But we can control how we cope. I did not go gently to the beds of my lords. I made them earn my favors. No Drakoryan can force a woman to his bed, not even a prince. So while you may be—as you fear—a bride taken for spite, that does not mean they will not have to win you.” She puts her hand on my belly. “Their future lies here. Within your little womb. No matter how royal or arrogant, they know this.”

  Tell me. Tell me when I become man that you will come to my bed. A voice, deep and gravelly, invades my thoughts. A memory. I feel a flush of heat on my face. My sister is calling my name, but it sounds strangely distant.

  “Zara!” Her wavering image comes back into view. “Are you all right?”

  It takes all my strength not to shudder. Stop, I silently beg my mind. Please stop. “I’m fine. Just suddenly hungry.” I look past her to where a bowl of dried fruit sits on a table. “Do you think I could nibble a bit of something. And maybe have some water?”

  “Of course.” She kisses my cheek and hastens off to fetch me the last bite of food I’ll enjoy before heading to the Mountain of Kings.

  Chapter 4

  Prince Rargi

  I have been thinking of what it will be like, having a female. Not claiming one—I know well enough what that is like. Drakoryan males sow their seed far and near among the serving class, never having to worry about producing bastards. Our seed only takes root in our mate, and only after all brothers in a family have claimed her, and then only after the Deepening that binds us in thought.

  I know the feel of a woman. I know how to trace the curves of her body to make her sigh, where to dip and delve and probe to make her moan. I know how to use my tongue and cock to make her beg, then beg for more.

  What I don’t know is how to be with a woman, what to say. I was small when my mother died of a fever that even the healing pools could not cure. The witches were apologetic when they told my father that it was Fate taking her, that when a human has run her course of days, not even the pools can bring her back.

  The day they took my mother’s body away was the
only day I saw my father cry, if that is even the word for that kind of grief. He tore through the castle, screaming one word —No!— over and over. He tore at his clothes and burst into flame in the great hall, the transformation so fierce as to crack the rocks as he tore his way outside. It took magic to fix the rift, and the witches made him promise never to do such a thing again.

  I run my hand over the crack, trying to imagine the kind of love that can do that, that can send a dragon through the side of a mountain. My brothers and I have looked upon all the ladies of the Drakoryan Empire, fair jewels all. I will not deny that a few of them stirred my lust, and I felt jealous to think of the long winter nights they spent pleasuring their mates. But I never thought of the other things women offer, like companionship and conversation.

  My father taught me to be a dragon. My mother taught me to be human. At court, she would encourage me to talk to strangers. It was easy enough, she said, and good practice for future rulers. Just find something in common, she said.

  I stare at the crack on the wall. The ShadowFell killed my king and Zara’s parents. It hardly seems the basis for a relationship, but at least we hate the same dragons.

  “Rargi!”

  I turn at the sound of my name to see Ezador the Wise enter the room. He’s been holed up in his tower more often than not since our father died. Even though there’s no one else in the hall now but me, he still manages to make an entrance.