Page 3 of To Claim a King

The Elves exchanged a glance.

“What’s your name, little girl?”

“Alexandria.” The grand name wasn’t quite her though, so she amended, “Xandrie, really. I go by Xandrie.”

“Alexandria, you’re generous and stronger than one may think at first. You’ll go with our thanks- but we cannot delay our journey further.”

Oh. She didn’t think they’d stay very long in a forest, next to a village situated right at the opposite of the most exciting point in the world, so she hid her disappointment.

“We’ll meet again.”

* * *

Argon watchedthe child go with a frown. Two days, they stayed in these parts, just in order to observe her.

She could have been an Elf - the way she moved in the wilderness, with grace and respect, wasn’t typical of her race.

“We’ve taken a huge risk with this child,” he told his companion.

Turin smirked, shaking his head.

“This is no child, and we did what had to be done. We may have need of her in the future.”

He sighed, conceding the point.

“She’ll be of little use to us in the Northern Var, so far from where she belongs.”

Another truth.

“Come on, Argon. You know what you need to do.”

He did. Closing his eyes, he calmed down and felt the world around him, letting the Aether infuse his body and soul.

There she was. Red and magnificent. Eight hundred miles south. The dragon he sought was a day away. He whispered words in a long forgotten tongue until she changed the course of her journey, heading to toward them instead.

“It is done.”

Little Alexandria, the first Dragon Rider he’d encountered in his life, would soon meet her fate.

Death

The criesthat ricocheted off the castle walls weren’t the normal blood-curdling, curse-laden sounds of a woman bringing a new dragonling into the world. No, those birthing howls were generally followed by a blissful hush, some manly back-slapping, and the Order of the Guard’s clarion cry from the rooftops, alerting the entire Kingdom of a new arrival.

The screams that had brought the King from his private chambers, were those of a grieving father. Rhey Vasili ruled a Kingdom of great wealth and beauty, which, at its heart, had a profound tragedy: mothers were dying in childbirth.

Rhey powered his way through the Hospital. He pushed past the nurses, batted away the doctors, and threw open the delivery room doors.

The scene could not have been more devastating. A man – the one raising the roof with his guttural groans – had thrown himself across the woman lying on the gurney. The way he clutched at her, begging her to return, said he was the husband and father. The woman lay curled and still, her arm hanging to one side, the sheets around her drenched in blood.

A great beauty with amber skin and emerald eyes stood at the foot of the bed, the newborn dragonling in her arms. Her eyes told Rhey she was beyond sad, beyond pissed, and beyond fed up with the entire situation. “Again, Rhey.” Her voice was devoid of any emotion. She’d shut herself off to be able to bear the pain. “It has happened again. She was a good woman, decent and kind; excited to bring a new life into the world and now…now she’s...nothing.”

Rhey gently took the dragonling from his friend’s arms. The tiny creature squirmed and blinked, oblivious to the fact that his mother lay dead not ten feet away. Rhey kissed his forehead, and handed him to a nurse. He put his arm around Princess Demelza, but she wasn’t in a state to accept any form of comfort. She wouldn’t be for days, or months.

If he had the heart, he would order her to stop attending to these births, but he couldn’t. As a noble blood female, blessing the newborns of those sworn to her house was her duty, and her privilege. Kings had no business in these matters. He also knew that while Demelza was barely holding her rage, her calm, regal presence was making everyone else - nurses, doctors, mages, and guards - keep it together.

Rhey did the one thing he could do to ease her burden.

“Go, fly. I’ll stay in your stead. The grief won’t leave you, but the air under your wings will at least cool your humors.”

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