Page 16 of To Claim a King

Xandrie befriended the people who served her. She knew, deep in her bones, what it was like to be treated like a nobody, and she wouldn’t do it to anyone else.

The dragoness who helped her into her weird, unfamiliar clothes with too many little leather ties was called Sid, and every day, she told her off, scowling as she muttered, “Women these days! All bones. How do you hope to give birth to a dragonling if you don’t gain some weight, hey?”

She spoke like she was ancient, and Xandrie didn’t question it - adult dragons all seemed to be around the same age, so she had to conclude that they kept their looks throughout the ages, as the legends said.

Lucky buggers. In another twenty years, at most, she’d start to wrinkle.

“I don’t think I’ll birth any dragonlings, Sid,” she replied, and the woman snorted.

“Nonsense. You’ve a bonny face. There will be dozens of lords and whatnot after you once they see you’re alright.”

Doubtful. The only suitor she’d had was Mr. Creep the Rapist, and she was certain he’d seen her as a way into a mage family.

“If you say so.”

“I see so. Look at you.”

Xandrie did, mainly because the woman moved her head to make her face a claw footed full length mirror. She had to admit her appearance had improved - she had the right clothes on, now. Soft velvet hugging the form she hadn’t noticed.

She smiled, thinking about her change of fortune. She had sumptuous rooms, a cook who was damned-near a magician, servants, and as there wasn’t any use for her in the palace, they’d named her companion of her Highness, Demelza. That meant she got to spend her time walking about with her friend, or better yet, training with her.

If only her sister Talia, and Claws, had been there it would have been absolute perfection; there wasn’t a day when Xandrie didn’t think of them, and long for their presence.

Thankfully, she was kept too distracted to give in to melancholy. It wasn’t just the physical space and the astounding people that made Farden a dream-come-true for Xandrie, it was the kickass routine that made up her day. She and Demelza sparred every morning, Sir Vincent Vasili spurring them on.

“You need to hold the sword in the traditional way.” He scooted behind Xandrie and put his arms around her, showing her the correct stance.

Interesting how non-invasive he felt; like her brother, but blond, honed, and more muscular than Damion. Not her type at all, but Vincent was pleasant and pleasing, with a wicked sense of humor.

Xandrie smiled at her own thought:her type.She’d never had one before, to her knowledge. Some actors in movies had seemed attractive, and she’d certainly noticed the beauty of the two Elves she’d met what felt like a lifetime ago. Now, she had a defined type: a little taller than Vincent, a little larger in the shoulder, with piercing eyes, a beard, and ash blond hair.

Shaking her head, she forced all thought of Rhey Vasili out of her mind, like she did every time he crept in. For one, the man happened to be a freakingKing.There was probably a law against lusting after Kings.

Vincent placed her hands on the sword. “The hilt is long enough to accommodate both hands, which you’ll need if you want to slice someone with this bad boy.”

Xandrie rotated her wrists, sending the sword in a singing arc above their heads.

“No. You’re not beating meringue. You’re brandishing a heavy class-A weapon. The wrists remain still. Try to keep it steady, because your adversary certainly knows how to use hers.”

Vincent nodded towards Demelza, who came at her, full on. The Claiming was only days away; she’d said she needed all the practice she could get.

Vincent dodged to the edge of the arena, grinning like the proverbial cat. He loved training, so much so that Xandrie wondered why he didn’t make it his profession.

Demelza did not mess around. She danced this side, then that, then behind her with her kabutowari, the famed helmet-breaker – singeing the hairs on her arms as it flew by. Xandrie had neither Demelza’s speed, nor skill, but Vincent said she had good instincts and grit, which she took to mean she might catch up to Demelza someday. Possibly. Maybe. As much as a human could catch up to a dragon. She couldn’t imagine when, though; Demelza was faster than a damned dervish.

“Cheater.” Xandrie fell back, mopping her forehead with her sleeve. “You can only move that fast using magic.”

“So? Use yours,” said Vincent.

Both women stopped dead in their tracks.

“What do you mean?” said Xandrie.

Vincent looked at Demelza. “Surely, you feel it?”

Demelza shook her head. “You lost me, cuz.”

Vincent pointed to Xandrie’s abdomen, saying, “Here, in the pit of your belly, you feel power stir?”

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