Whatisn’tnormal is the dead silence when Marek enters the room. Or the dozen pairs of eyes following his every move.
Gossip runs fast through Ostomar.
“Fuck off,” Marek growls, not in the mood. “Yes, I just signed my life away. No, it’s none of your business, except for some orders for the ground guards. Kamil!”
Kamil swings his arm away from a pretty bedworker’s shoulders and hops over a table to salute Marek. His black and green hair is the same color as his dragon Yavran’s scales.
“Yes, Stormrider?”
“I’m stuck in Ostomar for the next month,” Marek says. “Don’t stay up too late tonight, because you’re leaving for Talorna tomorrow. Tell Velka she’s in command until I’m back north.”
“How late is too late?” Kamil asks, eyes sliding towards the bedworker.
“That’s up to you.” Marek makes eye contact with Kamil’s adjutant on the other side of the room. “Because Delline will make sure you wake up in time regardless.”
Laughter roars around them as Kamil swears.
“Is Loska upstairs?” Marek asks the room.
“Yes, Stormrider,” someone answers.
Marek doesn’t wait around. His riders only have so much self-restraint, especially this many beers into the night. Marek doesn’t want to answer questions right now, so best not to give anyone the opportunity to ask.
His title is wing-marshal, but they all call him Stormrider. Part name, part title, part legend. Marek has never felt less legendary than tonight, caught in such ordinary palace drama.
This should be Vana. That snake is good at navigating this sort of—
Marek stops on the stairs, hand tightening on the railing. Thisshouldbe Vana. And Vana had to have known the likely consequences of skipping out on this betrothal. Kazia doesn’t have magic, so he would have no use for a grail. The easiest way to keep the treaty intact was to use Marek as Vana’s replacement.
Was Vana already thinking about that when he asked Marek’s help flying south? Probably. Smart of him not to say anything. Brotherly obligation or no, Marek wouldn’t have been so eager to help if he knew the pit Vana was pushing him into.
Fuck, he’s an idiot. He still doesn’t know why Vana left. Something to do with the Fellrian’s death in the Opal Tower? The betrothal itself?
Marek resumes his ascent.
Loska curls up on the roof, his chin resting on the parapet. Wind whispers around him, and while Marek could redirect the wind, he doesn’t bother. He’s tired and annoyed and in no shape to safely control unnecessary Dire magic.
Marek drops his bag and sits at Loska’s side, leaning right behind his foreleg. One of the recruits must have taken the harness off, but the rig base is still on his neck.
Did your new mate kick you out of bed?Loska asks.
Of course. The gossip has even reached the dragon roosts.
“I kicked myself out,” Marek grumbles, crossing his ankles and settling more comfortably against Loska’s warm side.
Ah, playing the feisty cliff wyrm.
“The what?”
The feisty cliff wyrm is difficult to catch,Loska explains.It’s a clever ploy. Don’t be too difficult, though, or the hungry dragon will give up in annoyance.
A hungry dragon is not how Marek would describe Sei. More like a startled rabbit, freezing in place instead of running away. Marek feels monstrous for distressing Sei today—both the outburst in the courtyard and his foul mood in the bedroom. He owes Sei a better apology, but it’s useless when he’s still so fucking frustrated. His anger clearly scares Sei, so until Marek calms down, he needs to keep his distance.
No, that still might not work. Sei was already nervous of Marek from the start. And the way Sei apologized for being scared of Marek?
Sei might want this betrothal even less than Marek. He’ll be relieved to be rid of Marek, as soon as Marek figures out how to end it.
“Nobody will be catching anybody,” Marek says. “This betrothal is just political. I’ll be rid of him as soon as I can.”
