Dragon's Blood (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy #2)

“You have to let me in to care for him,” Dareena snapped, flinging her door open so she could scold the guard posted outside their chambers. She could hear Alistair moaning in pain, and it was driving her mad with anger and fear for his health. “Someone needs to mop his brow and make sure he’s comfortable.”

“We’ve been given orders not to leave you two alone together,” the guard said sternly. “Prince Arolas doesn’t want you tupping each other again.”

Dareena’s cheeks burned with anger. “Does that sound like a man in the mood for ‘tupping?’” she demanded, stabbing a finger toward Alistair’s door. Some protective instinct surged inside her, eroding her common sense, and she marched right up to the guard, close enough to grab his sword. The guard merely looked down his nose at her—he dwarfed her by a good head and a half, and obviously did not consider her a threat. “He’s sick, and if he dies on your watch, there will be grave consequences.”

The guard’s eyes flicked toward the door, then back at her. “Very well,” he said grudgingly. “But no funny business. I’ll be right outside.”

“Of course,” Dareena said sweetly, stepping aside. The guard opened Alistair’s door for her, then waved her in. He was tangled up in the sheets, tendrils of hair clinging to his sweaty brow, and Dareena felt a wave of pity as she looked upon his pain-contorted face.

“There now,” Dareena said soothingly as she untangled him from the bedding. She was tempted to undress him again so she could give him skin-to-skin contact, but she was acutely aware that the guard could come back in to check on them at any moment, so she merely climbed under the covers with him and snuggled up against his big, trembling body.

“I-I’m supposed to take c-care of you,” Alistair chattered as he wrapped his arms around her. He tucked his face into her hair and breathed deeply, likely soothing himself with her scent. “Not t-the other way around.”

Dareena kissed the top of his head. “We are partners, Alistair,” she said as she rubbed his back. “We take care of each other.”

He only sighed deeply, relaxing into her embrace. Gradually, the shivers subsided, and the next thing Dareena knew, he was snoring lightly into her hair. Smiling a little, she played with the ends of his hair, twisting the silky blond locks around her fingers as she used her presence to keep the warlock spell at bay. She knew another bout of sex would rejuvenate Alistair again, but with that guard listening in the hall?

A knock came at the door, followed by the sound of a familiar voice. “Hello?” Princess Basilla called. “May I come in?”

Dareena blinked in surprise. She tried to get up to answer it, but Alistair mumbled something unintelligible and tightened his grip around her. “Yes,” she called back, even as an apprehensive shiver came over her. What would the princess say when she saw them together?

The princess entered the room, still dressed in the same pale green and gold gown from before. She looked a bit startled to see Dareena and Alistair in bed together, but the surprise morphed into a small smile as she pulled the chair out from beneath the small writing desk and sat down next to the bed.

“The two of you look cozy together,” she said, sounding almost wistful. Her green eyes, a shade lighter than Dareena’s, trailed over Alistair’s sleeping face, and she kept her voice low. “Almost as if you belong together.”

“We do belong together,” Dareena said possessively, pulling Alistair tighter against her.

“Then why is it that you are married to Drystan instead?”

“I’m not married,” she said, exasperation creeping into her voice. “There has been no time for a wedding. But when we do marry, I will be wedding all three of the brothers, not just one. I am already bound to all of them—I can feel the connection in my heart, just as clear as they do.”

“That’s right,” Alistair said, finally opening his eyes. He pinned Basilla with a fierce stare that said there would be hell to pay if she tried to separate them, anti-dragon spell or no. “We belong to Dareena, and she belongs to us.”

Basilla stared at them for a long moment, her eyes round with shock. “I have never heard of such a thing,” she finally said, “but I suppose I myself would not mind having three lovers, so long as they do not boss me around too much. Unfortunately, my father has other plans.” Her voice colored with displeasure as she flicked a skein of hair over her shoulder. “He plans on marrying me off to Mordan, the crown prince of Shadowhaven. There is no formal engagement yet, but Father has been strongly hinting at the possibility—I imagine I am to be some form of payment in exchange for the help the warlocks have given us recently.”

“I met Mordan once,” Alistair said, sitting up with a frown. Dareena propped some pillows beneath him and slid her hand in his own, afraid of breaking contact with him. “Long ago, when he was still a youth. He was a pale, sly boy, and liked to slink around and eavesdrop on his betters. He always looked like he was up to something. Animals tended to go missing when he came to visit—cats and dogs and the like. One time, my sister Ara scolded him when she noticed him sneaking pastries out of the kitchens without the cook’s leave. The next morning, she found her beloved calico out on the terrace, the body wrapped up in its own entrails.”

Basilla recoiled, and Dareena clapped a hand over her mouth as her stomach pitched. “That is beyond awful,” Dareena said, her lip curling in disgust. “How could a young boy be capable of such cruelty?”

Alistair shrugged. “Some people are born bad,” he said. “Others are made that way by their fathers. I don’t know the warlock king very well, but my impression of him as a young man was that he was not a man to cross, and he had a dark aura around him.”

Basilla sighed heavily. “At least I will be able to insist upon separate apartments if I am forced to wed him,” she said. “What of Shadowhaven itself? Do you know what the capital is like?”

“My brother Lucyan told me it was a large, sprawling city full of magic and metal. There are as many metallurgists and factories as there are potion and spell shops.”

“Metallurgists?” Basilla echoed, sounding horrified. “That sounds terrible! Elves cannot abide such things—they hamper our magic, and too much exposure can shorten our lives. Our own armor and weapons are crafted of mithril—the only metal we can stand to be around.”

“Well, never mind separate apartments then,” Dareena said, alarmed at the thought of Basilla wasting away in a similar manner to Alistair. “If you marry him, you’ll have to insist on a separate residence entirely.”

“Too true,” Basilla said firmly. “Outside the capital, and far away from all those nasty metals.”