Page 28 of To Claim a King

“I think he likes you. You couldn’t be more wrong, Xandrie Astria of the Northern Var. There’s one thing you could give the King that he greatly desires.”

She lifted a brow, and Vincent smirked. “Win The Claiming.”

Night

So, possibly, maybe, in theory, the King favored her. That didn’t make much sense, but men weren’t required to make sense so the point was moot. What mattered was, what could she do with that new, shocking piece of information?

And there was only one answer to that - Vincent had called it. Might as well admit it, at least to herself - she liked him too, so she had to win the Claiming, or try her damnedest, in any case.

Dragon’s scales, how on Eartia was she supposed to do that, exactly?

Needless to say, she didn’t sleep at all that night; after hours of staying in bed, attempting to doze off, she gave up and just walked out of the room and into the inner gardens, dragging a long shawl over her shoulders. Two minutes out, she regretted her choice, wishing she’d picked her damn comforter instead. The morning breeze was freezing.

“Just so you know, that night dress is practically transparent and I can see your nipples.”

Oh holiest of shits.

She hadn’t noticed him in the dark, but turning her head towards the direction of his voice, she saw his shifter eyes blazing. Rhey was sitting in an alcove, his feet propped up on the wall, a book in hand.

She’d always seen him in grand, official clothing, but now he wore nothing but a plain vest and some brown pants. Probably what he slept in. Was she blushing? Yeah, she was totally blushing.

“Weren’t you the one who said something about resting?”

He smirked, but didn’t call her out on ignoring his first observation.

“I have some… fascinating reading to catch up on.”

“Yeah?”

He beckoned her over, tilting his head, and she tiptoed over, feeling so strange when she got close enough to smell his scent, and hear the beat of his hearts. Two hearts - his and his dragon’s; Demelza had explained that it was the way with shifters. To her, it just sounded like a hectic heart beat that matched her own.

He’d been smarter than her, taking a duvet with him; only it was folded next to a small pile of books.

“Mind if I grab that?” she asked, shyly taking a place on the bench, next to him.

“Shame. I rather like the view,” he teased, taking the cover, and throwing it over her shoulders and down to her feet. As the cover was large enough for both of them, he pulled the other side over his legs.

“Do dragons even get cold?”

“That’s a bloody stupid question. Of course we do - it just doesn’t harm us.”

“You don’t sound very Kingly tonight.”

And she rather liked it; it felt like he was showing her Rhey Vasili, the guy, not the crown.

“Speak to the King from dawn to dusk. Dusk to dawn, you’ll have to deal with me.”

“That’s fair. And what shall I call you, then?”

“Whatever you wish. Now, look at this,” he said, pointing to his book.

It actually was more of a journal, written in a formal and elegant elvish hand. She could read it; her education had seen to that, but she ignored the words, her hand flying to the faded illustration that took over the right page. There was a woman, flying astride a dragon. The dragon wore a saddle, and the woman, gear that Xandrie could see would help make the journey comfortable: long boots, and padding on her inner pants.

“This is perhaps the only record of history we have about your kind.”

“My kind?”

“I’m not the best person to ask - until you came, the Elders kept all knowledge of Dragon Riders to themselves. They’ve only told me about you a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been reading. This,” he said, pointing to the woman, “was my mother.”

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