Most knew of dragon sickness and understood his need to keep his treasure where he could survey it; many a time had he slept under the gold in his dragon form, instead of taking up the large bed standing right in front of them.
He realized that Xandrie might want to have a say about the decorating. Or, more likely, she’d have them move to a pretty, small room somewhere upstairs. The thought should have alarmed him, panicked him, but he genuinely didn’t care. Whatever she wanted, he would give her.
More shocking realizations came to mind; how long had it been since he’d counted his gold, now? Since he’d cared about it?
No need to ask; he hadn’t spared it any mind since she crash landed into his life and changed everything he knew to be truth. He was obsessed with nothing and no one now – only her. There lay the cure for dragon sickness.
“A little too much, right?” he said, embarrassed by his foolish display of gold, but she shrugged.
“There’s a bed. That will do very well.”
Good point.
She pulled Rhey’s lips back to hers, and he bent to take her behind the knees and hold her back, carrying her to his unmade bed. There was just a tunic and a pair of pants on her now – neither stood a chance. He had to battle her to remove her clothes, as she was just as determined to pull his from his limbs.
Fuck.
Her skin was so smooth, silky, milky, and perfect, he could have stared until the end of time, if only his woman hadn’t wrapped her small hands around his shaft, and pumped it, visibly intending to drive him to madness.
She got it.
Growling like the beast he was, he jumped to her, parting both of her legs as far as they could go, and buried his face in her soft mound of auburn hair, eating her folds. She screamed, yelled, begged, and screamed again, shouting his name so loud everyone in the castle knew their King was torturing his mate. He didn’t stop, ignoring her pleas until warm slickness drenched his beard.
Xandrie was panting like she’d just run a marathon, and although ninety percent of his mind wanted to maim him for it, he did consider letting her rest. But he’d just opened his mouth to suggest such a thing, when the woman pushed against his chest, forcing him to fall back on his mattress.
“Let’s give another meaning to dragon rider,” she said, before straddling him, and pushing his throbbing dick deep inside her.
Where he belonged.
He came quickly, and wasn’t even embarrassed by it; right after emptying himself inside her the first time, he grew just as hard and took her from behind – the second time, recovering took three minutes. By the tenth, or eleventh time, they were both spent; they collapsed, wrapped into each other like they might perish if they didn’t hold as tight as they could.
Seconds later, as he fell asleep, Rhey heard her whisper, “We’re alive.”
Fights
The morning of The Claming, there was a decided chill in the refectory when Xandrie came down for breakfast. She’d gotten used to eating alone in her own quarters, but now that she was a contender in The Claiming, she was to break bread with the women who’d won their preliminaries.
Saskia, who Xandrie had fought on Demelza’s behalf, was icy and aloof, which was to be expected. Xandrie had kicked Saskia’s ass; she had every right to shun her. But the fact the other women were looking down their snooty snouts at her was a bit disconcerting. She could see them sneaking glances at her and tittering. One unabashed snot even cut her off when she reached for the tongs to ladle some black pudding onto her plate. It was no accident. The woman elbowed her way around Xandrie, almost standing on Claws’ tail.
The tiger growled, low and menacing.
“Keep your beast in check.” The woman didn’t even do her the courtesy of looking at her.
“Don’t mind them.” The voice behind her was friendly, in total contrast to everyone else at breakfast. The woman – a burnished Amazon, with hair of gold and eyes that danced and smiled – held out her hand. “Janive,” she introduced herself. “I’m a friend of Demelza’s.”
Xandrie shook her hand. “What was her problem, do you think?”
“The crowd loves you, and you’re favored by the King,” Janive told her, “but you can’t expect your competitors to be happy that you’re in the mix.”
Xandrie was relieved that Janive was so frank. Pretending something wasn’t happening, when it clearly was, only made for headaches and sleepless nights. Yet something deep down told her to be careful; she didn’t quite buy Janive’s friendliness.
When they made it down to the Arena, they were met by a clerk, who said, “For this round, you’ll be fighting guards from other houses.”
Xandrie cocked her head. “How does that make any sense? No guards fight for the King’s hand.”
“It’s a test of skill. You’ll be awarded points for technique.”
She nodded; sounded fair, and she’d rather spar with guards, in all honesty. At least they didn’t look like they’d enjoy bleeding her for fun.
Xandrie took her place in the competitors’ pit, adjacent to the ring.
Saskia was first to enter. She was fast on her feet and Melnak, the blade the King had given her, sang. Xandrie studied her. She had a tell: right before she went in for the kill shot, she feigned right. Every time.
That might be useful.
The air was filled with grunts and clashes, punctuated by sighs and applause from the crowd. When Saskia and her opponent put up their swords, a page stepped forward with Saskia’s score: nine out of ten. Saskia nodded at Xandrie as she passed, but it was more of a “screw you” nod than a greeting.
Contestant after contestant took to the ring and was dispatched by the guards with ease. No one came close to Saskia’s score.
When Demelza finally stepped forward, Xandrie felt her stomach clench. Her friend assured her that her arm was healed and she’d be able to fight, but it had only been a month since Saskia had ripped into her and Xandrie was sure the palace mages didn’t have half the skill her sisters had when it came to healing. She wanted to close her eyes and look away, but honor dictated she must not. Even if Demelza failed miserably, as the women who’d gone before her had, Xandrie had to bear witness to her fierce spirit and total unwillingness to yield.
Claws nudged his head under her hand, as he always did when she was tense. She was glad of his soft, warm presence and did her best not to clench his fur in her fists each time the guard lunged at Demelza. She needn’t have worried. Demelza was every bit the kickass warrior Xandrie knew her to be. She fought with her usual ferocity and skill and left the ring with a stunning score of seven.
“Not too shabby for someone with a gimpy arm, right?” she teased her, amused by her worry.
Xandrie clutched Demelza and squeezed her tight. “I am so proud of you.”