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My temper flares hearing my bride attached to another man. “She’s not the dead king’s bride. She’s my bride, her name is Lady Isavelle, and you will address her as such.”
“Of course,Ma’len. I meant no disrespect to you or the lady.” He waits, and it’s clear that he has more to say.
“Speak your mind, quickly. I have things to do.”
“Lady Isavelle believes she’s human, and she was in deep with the Brethren. She could be a spy. She may attempt to assassinate you.”
“She didn’t know I existed before she was about to be thrown on the king’s funeral pyre.”
“But there were days and days she was separated from you and held captive in the monastery. The High Priest is your most dangerous enemy right now, and she was with him. Now the lady is working among the refugees, and any one of them could secretly be Brethren and pass instructions to her. I only ask you to consider your safety. The guards you have around her are an excellent idea, but perhaps there should be more of them.”
“There are guards around Isavelle to protect her, not to protect me, and I will be alone with my mate as often as she and I both wish it. She is of the people. She’s a true queen in that respect, just like my mother was.”
“Your mother knew her place was by her husband’s side, and she understood what it meant to be Maledinni.”
I narrow my eyes at the other man. “It sounds as if you are suggesting I cast my Omega aside.”
“You don’t need to give her up, but you don’t have to make her your queen.”
I advance on Godric with a snarl, “Lady Isavelle is my mate, my future wife, and she will be your queen. You and I have been friends since the cradle, but don’t suppose for a moment I won’t demand you draw your sword and fight me if you insult my mate one more time.”
Godric drops his head into a solemn bow. “Forgive me,Ma’len. I will speak no more on the matter.”
I study the top of his head. He’s my oldest friend in the world, and I’ve never once ordered him to be quiet on any matter. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of times I witnessed my father demand people hold their tongues about important matters. I told myself that when the time came, I wouldn’t rule in the same tyrannical way.
I’ve been the ruler of this castle for less than a week, and already I’m breaking promises to myself.
But Isavelle is my mate. She’s going to be my queen. It goes against every instinct beating in my chest to hear one word spoken against her.
Gripping the hilt of my sword, I turn on my heel and stride away. Damn Godric to hell for making me feel like my father before there is even a crown on my head.
* * *
Isavelle staysin bed for a few hours, but that night she sleeps outside with the refugees again. As I lay awake beside her on the hay, watching her sleep, I console myself with the thought that at least I get to hold her during these dark hours. Isavelle isn’t used to the kind of affection I wish to lavish on her, and I doubt she’d permit me to sleep in her bed.
While the stars twinkle beyond the tent flap, I press a kiss to the nape of her neck. Isavelle stretches sleepily and wriggles back into my warmth.
“Zabriel,” she whispers, and my lips curve into a smile against her skin.
So she does know I’m here.
I’m always gone before the sun begins to edge over the horizon, but my scent remains on her all day, whether she knows it or not.
The refugees are just one of my concerns, but I find that my attention lingers on them because Isavelle spends all her time tending to their needs. The dragons flying over the castle seem to upset them, but I remind myself that they will get used to them in time. In Old Maledin, ordinary villagers would rarely see a dragon and would often be in awe of them.
Several days later, a dozen dragons and their riders are returning from a skirmish with Brethren Guard, and the battle must have been a successful one as several of them take victory laps of the sky over the castle, swooping close to the battlements and unleashing bursts of dragonfire.
I’m on the balcony in my room, holding a scroll but smiling up at the sky, watching the riders celebrating their triumph. They make Maledin feel like home again.
I hear a scream, shrill and panicked.
My mate’s.
I drop the scroll and run.
There are three corridors and four staircases between my chambers and the courtyard where Isavelle is working, and I don’t think my feet touch the ground as I fly along them. When I burst into the courtyard, Isavelle has her arms spread protectively while dozens of refugees cower behind her against the gates. My mate’s eye sparkle with angry tears as she stares up at the skies, but I see nothing more alarming than several dragons flying over on their way to the bluff.
“You have to let them out. They don’t want to stay here. Can’t you see they’re scared?” she calls to the soldiers, and I realize she wants them to open the gates. It seems unwise to allow terrified people to run through the streets where they may get hurt or panic others.
