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“My uncle is a good man.” Her expression hardens, and she turns to me. “Luria betrayed us both, and I want her to pay for it.”
“I understand the need for vengeance, but you must seek it carefully. For it rarely comes without a terrible price.” I cup her chin, tilting her face up to mine. “Ten years ago, my mother was murdered by a rival Clan leader, who was as close to my father as a brother. And my father was so consumed with grief and the bitterness of his friend’s betrayal that he left to hunt him without telling anyone… without me or any of our warriors.”
“What happened?” she asks, her gaze searching mine. “Did he find him?”
“Yes.” I clench my jaw as the painful memory returns. “But it was a trap. My father got his revenge by killing the Dragon who took my mother’s life, but he was fatally wounded in the process.”
I shift my gaze to the dancing flames in the hearth. “I know why my father did what he did… but I wish—” My voice catches as I struggle to speak around the knot in my throat, surprised at how acute the pain still is after so many years. “I thought I would have many more decades by my father’s side to learn from him, but I was wrong. I am the youngest King to ever claim the throne of my people, and there are many who question my rule because of it.”
The thoughts I leave unspoken are the ones that plague me most. There are many times that I have found myself wondering if perhaps they are right. That I am too young to bear the mantle of rule.
But I do not dare speak this aloud because it would only be construed as weakness, and there is nothing worse among my people than a Dragon that is weak.
“I am sorry, Aurdyn.” Freyja reaches across and gently cups my cheek.
Sorrow shines in her eyes, but I do not want her pity. Dragons respect only strength, and females would never tolerate weakness in a potential mate.
“Why?”
“Because I know what it is to lose someone.” Lowering her eyes, she shakes her head softly. “I’ve always thought that saying ‘I’m sorry’ is not quite adequate to encompass the acknowledgement of such terrible loss, but I… do not know what other words to replace them with.” Her small brow furrows. “If I did, I would give them to you, for I heard them often enough after my own parents died to know they are not quite what they should be.”
“Mal’von,” I murmur, and she lifts her gaze back to mine in a questioning look. “It is an old word in the archaic form. Loosely translated, it means: I grieve with you for that which was lost and can never be replaced.”
Her blue eyes meet mine evenly as she whispers in return. “Mal’von.”
Silence settles in the space between us before I finally break it with a question. “You are skilled with a blade, but I’ve always heard that humans do not allow their females to fight. Is this not true?”
“Most do not, but the people of Ruhaen are different than most. All are taught to fight with sword and shield. Women fight alongside the men.”
“Even a princess?” I ask.
She tips her chin up proudly. “I am a shield-maiden of Ruhaen, as was my mother and the line of strong women before me.”
I did not think human females were trained in battle, but I am pleased to be wrong. It seems there is much more to this human princess than I thought, and I find myself eager to learn more.
CHAPTER23
FREYJA
“Freyja, wake up,” Aurdyn speaks softly in my ear. “We must ready to leave.”
Still sleepy and groggy, I lift my head from his chest and squint up at him. It’s still dark outside and the only light in the small room is from the fire in the hearth. “What time is it?”
“We have a few hours before dawn. We must leave before everyone else is awake.”
“What about the storm?” I glance at the window, noting the thick layer of snow on the sill and ice covering the pane. “I thought we were staying here for two days.”
“I checked outside,” he says, and I wonder when he managed to do that, because I never felt him leave the bed. “It is still snowing, but there is a break in the storm. We should leave in case the weather turns bad again.”
Aurdyn sits up, and I quickly pull the thin blanket over me like a cocoon because it’s still cold in here, despite the roaring fire across the way. Rolling onto my stomach, I bury my face in the bedding and groan. I hate waking up early.
“Are you all right?” he asks, voice laced with concern. “Do you feel ill?”
“No.” I mumble into the mattress. “I’ve just never been a morning person.”
“You can sleep in all you want once we reach my kingdom. But until then—” He rips the blanket from me, and I jerk up to sitting. “You need to get up.”
“What are you doing?” I hiss. “It’s cold!”
