Page 41 of A Matter of Destiny

Doshir meets my eyes, and something that looks almost like a smile flitters across his full lips. An unexpected and entirely inappropriate warmth blossoms between my legs. Kings help me, he’s beautiful.

And he thinks I chose King Donovan over him. And he’s just watched his entire life go up in flames, and we have four days to stop Rensivar the Wicked, a dragon straight out of legends, from doing something horrible to his mother’s entire . I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, trying to distract my traitorous body from the spreading warmth in my core.

Geredan leans forward and slaps his palms against the table, making me jump.

“Horses,” Geredan mutters, with a scowl.

Then he pushes his chair back from the table, comes to his feet, and pulls a feather, an inkwell, and a scrap of parchment from a drawer. He bends over the desk, frowning and biting the tip of his tongue, as he sketches something across the parchment. Doshir and I exchange a glance while the feather scratches across the parchment. Then Geredan stands back, huffs through his thick beard, and thrusts the parchment toward Doshir’s chest.

“There,” Geredan announces as he sweeps the feather and inkwell back into the drawer. “That make sense to you?”

Doshir frowns as he examines the parchment, then looks up and nods. It must be a map, I realize. It’s the secret passage into the Iron Mountains, the one that has to do with one of Doshir’s previous lovers. Wonderful. Once again, I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“Excellent,” Geredan booms.

He stomps across the creaking floorboards of the captain’s cabin, then pauses before the doorway, one eyebrow raised.

“Well, come on now,” he booms, with an expression that suggests there’s a smile hidden somewhere beneath that thick, wiry beard. “Isn’t this supposed to be an urgent mission?”

Doshir comes to his feet. He looks like he’s trying to smile but has forgotten how to make the muscles of his face work. Together, we follow Geredan as he throws open the door and lets in a wash of brilliant sunlight.

By the time we emerge from the captain’s cabin, Geredan is halfway across the ship’s deck. And— I blink to make sure I’m not imagining things.

No, I’m not. Doshir’s father is unbuttoning his shirt, revealing an explosion of curls across his chest. I stare. He winks at me, holding my gaze for just long enough for me to be certain it’s deliberate, and then unstraps his belt. He spins around. His pants hit the deck.

And there it is, the similarity with Doshir. They don’t act anything alike, but their muscular backsides are almost identical. I try to pick my jaw up from the deck while Geredan kicks off his shoes, spreads his arms over his head—

And jumps.

Before the cry can even leave my lips, the air swirls around us, rattling the ship’s rigging and making the deck sway. Then there’s a dragon rising over the ocean, his massive wingspan churning the waves in the harbor, sending up an explosion of rainbows in his wake. The sun glints off his scales, which are the color of burnished bronze, darker and less luminous than Doshir’s gold. The shadow of his massive wings falls over the harbor, engulfing fishing boats and quays, and a series of screams rise from the shore.

“Damn it,” Doshir mutters under his breath.

The massive bronze dragon banks higher and higher, rising above the docks to climb in a great, widening gyre above the city. Doshir runs his hand through his dark curls, then turns to me with an apologetic sort of wince.

“I’m—” he begins, then stops. “I’m so sorry. About—”

He waves his hand, as though he’s encompassing his father’s entire ship. Or perhaps all of Cairncliff. Or every single thing that’s happened since the day Eadberh and I showed up in his city.

“Nudity,” Doshir stammers, with a rather adorable shrug. “It’s not such a taboo among dragons, you know.”

I realize I’m smiling, and I reach forward to wrap my fingers around his hand.

“You know, I used to wonder what it was like,” I begin, “having parents. I used to stand at the window in the orphanage as it got dark, waiting for the wishing star so I could wish for a mother or a father.”

A crease appears between Doshir’s eyes. I clear my throat.

“Your father,” I say. “Is he always like that?”

Doshir frowns, then glances up at the gleaming bronze streak still rising against the brilliant morning sky.

“Well,” Doshir begins, with a gleam in his eyes. “He’s not always like that. Usually he’s even more offensive.”

The giggle slips through my lips before I can stop it.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “It’s just, this has made being an orphan look pretty good.”

For a moment I freeze, waiting to see if I’ve just offended him. But then Doshir’s frown evaporates, and he gives me a smile that has me thinking of frost wine and the Valorous Arms and his hands all over my body, and sweet kings above, I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone as desperately as I want to kiss him right now.

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