Page 21 of Of Steel and Scale

She grinned. “No, you wouldn’t, because you wouldn’t risk their safety that way.”

That was certainly true, if only because the drakkons who once lived and hunted across the mighty Balkain Mountains were apparently few in numbers these days. I had no idea if that was because they’d been brought to the edge of extinction or if they’d simply left our continent to find safer hunting grounds.

I’d always hoped it was the latter. I’d always feared it was the former.

I hugged her one more time and then left before the self-pitying tears could escape. Damon caught up to me in a couple of strides. “My bride is eager to reach our chamber, I see.”

“The bride still wears her knife and is not afraid to use it.”

He laughed, but the slight edge in his tone had me glancing at him. His expression gave little away, and his gaze was cool. Reserved. It made me remember that he’d no more wanted this union than I did.

“Relax, Bryn,” he said softly. “I have no intention of going where I’m not wanted.”

“And I have no intention of bedding a stranger.”

“I wish I could say the same, but like most of my sex, I’m sadly unopposed to seeking the pleasures of the flesh with someone I’ve only just met.”

A smile tugged my lips. “I have heard that about you.”

He opened the door to my chamber and ushered me through. “You seem to have heard a whole lot more about me than I have you.”

“And I daresay what you did learn was derogatory, given it came from your father.” I quickly undid the braiding and then ran my fingers through my long hair in an effort to shake loose the grain. The stuff was everywhere, and by Vahree, ititched.

“He said you were a soldier. In my father’s eyes, there can be no greater sin for a woman, let alone one of royal lineage.”

I glanced at him, eyebrows raised. He’d loosened the ties on his tunic and pulled his undershirt from the waist of his pants. A circle of golden grain lay around his feet, and more fell as he shook the loosened material vigorously. The urge to let my fingers play amongst the smattering of dark hair being revealed on his chiseled chest—to follow its lead down his stomach and beyond—was so damn strong I had to clench my hand against it. “Zephrine has plenty of women in their military ranks.”

He dropped onto one of the well-padded sofas and kicked off his boots. “Indeed, but you’ll never see one lead. They are seen as expendable, as fodder for the Mareritt, nothing more.”

Bastard. No wonder my mother didn’t like him.

“At least that explains the contempt he was barely concealing a few minutes ago.” I picked up the insulated flask of shamoke—a bitter brown bean that was mixed with cane crystals to make a pleasant hot beverage—and glanced at him. “Would you like a drink?”

When he nodded, I poured two cups, then walked across the room, handing him one before sitting opposite. Tiredness unexpectedly washed through me, and I took a sip of shamoke, hoping to stave it off. “It does make me wonder why he didn’t call my father’s bluff in regard to this marriage, though.”

“Remember, while Zephrine is high in mineral wealth, much of our lands are not so suitable for farming. In the end, it comes down to him valuing the trade treaties far more than me.” Humor and old bitterness vied for prominence in his blue eyes. “I do, in fact, have suspicions that Tayte’s so-called ‘surprise’ nuptials actually weren’t.”

“But Tayte’s the second son and not the heir—why would he value him over you?”

“Tayte is far more like our father than I ever will be.”

“I did get the impression there was some tension between you?—”

“Tension is definitely understating it.”

“Has it something to do with your mother? I know she died when you were both young.”

Once again, his hesitation was brief but nevertheless there. “She died not long after Tayte’s birth.”

“And your father for some weird reason blames you for that?”

“No.” The smile that twisted his lips held little humor. “Her death was something he celebrated, not mourned. She’d given him two official heirs, after all, and that’s all that mattered.”

“He has plenty of unofficial ones, if what we’ve heard is anything to go by.”

“Fifteen that I’m aware of, but few are acknowledged unless he wishes to use them in his various schemes. Their mothers are mostly serfs and their offspring considered unworthy.”

The bitterness in that statement took me by surprise, if only because it wasn’t uncommon for lords to take lovers outside their marriage. My father was a rarity in that respect. “What schemes?”

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