Chapter 24 Chapter Twenty-Four
The sound of swords clanging echoed across the field Sylvan had chosen to gather his forces for some training. His men were known throughout the continent as the best, most fearsome, and the only way to keep them that way was to not become complacent. Sylvan stared across the small space, the grass worn down to dirt from the sparring session he’d begun nearly an hour earlier with his second, Cole. Both men were out of breath, but Sylvan had no desire to end their battle. Cole was one of the few he could spar against, who could actually present a challenge, who forced him to focus on the fight at hand rather than… her.
Cole smirked and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. The leather armor he wore strained as he stretched his aching shoulders while Sylvan remained steadfast, refusing to show his own fatigue, sword raised and ready.
Cole lunged forward and the metal of their swords sparked. The sound of their strikes reverberated around the field, drawing the attention of the other men. Their swords met and Cole pushed forward, trying to break Sylvan’s hold with sheer force. Sylvan brought his head back and then struck it forward, landing his forehead directly in Cole’s nose. Cole stumbled backward and laughed before spitting blood on the ground.
“Something troubling you, Your Highness?” Cole mocked, readying himself for another bout.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Sylvan retorted as Cole came back more ferocious than before.
Sylvan’s arms ached with each powerful blow delivered by Cole’s determined attack. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow move along the window to his apartments. The apartments he’d deliberately stayed within eyeline of when choosing the field for which his men would practice. The second of distraction was enough to give Cole the upper hand. Sylvan hissed between his teeth as Cole managed to deliver a deep laceration to his arm, unprotected by the metal of his armor. Sylvan took a few steps back and Cole puffed his chest like a peacock.
“Careful, Sylvan, another cut from me and the men may question your authority and prowess,” Cole jabbed.
Sylvan growled, his mouth twisted into a snarl as he moved back into the center of the dirt circle they’d created. The swords clanged and their mingled grunts of exertion illustrated how neither was holding back. Sylvan managed to catch Cole off balance. Enough to cut through the chest plate of his armor and deliver a kick to his stomach that sent Cole flying back ten feet. Cole’s dragon, Bessimor, who had thus far been watching the fight with great interest from a safe distance, stood to his feet.
Sylvan pointed his sword at the dragon. “Stay back, you beast. This matter doesn’t concern you.”
Bessimor grumbled and looked to his master, who held up his hand to signal he was okay. The black dragon readjusted his wings in a shake of displeasure before settling back down with his maw on his taloned paws. Cole sat up on his elbows and shook his head.
“If it’s the girl who is distracting you, Prince, perhaps I could take her off your hands?”
Sylvan rolled his shoulders and turned away, allowing Cole the dignity of getting to his feet without having to keep from showing signs of pain.
“Clearly, you don’t have plans to claim her,” Cole continued, always bad at reading human body language. “Bessimor is smitten. He was searching the castle grounds for her scent all morning.”
Sylvan turned and glared from the dragon to its rider. “She’s mine,” Sylvan growled.
Cole shrugged and wiped the blood from his sword with a soiled rag he kept in his back pocket for that very purpose. His golden eyes flicked up, filled with mischief. “Dragon riders are known for sharing mates. It helps to carry on our lineage, which remains endangered. I’m not a jealous man.”
Sylvan stalked forward, spinning his sword in his palm. “Wolves don’t share. And I’m afraid I’m a very jealous man.”
Cole raised his sword just in time to deflect a powerful blow from above that brought him to his knee. Cole’s arms shook as he tried to keep the prince from bringing the sword the rest of the way down.
“Coming from anyone else, I may believe you,” Cole said, his breath ragged. “But, don’t forget, Highness… We’ve shared women before.”
“Stay away from her, Cole. I’ll only warn you once,” Sylvan snarled, adding more pressure to the weight of his sword, erasing the smile from Cole’s face as he tried to concentrate on keeping the prince’s sword from cutting off his arm.
“My dragon wants her, you know what that could mean,” Cole argued.
Sylvan laughed through his nose. “It could mean many things, Cole. That she is the mate of the man who leads his master. That he scents the fae magic clinging to her skin.” He cocked his head. “Your kind were always lovers of the fae, were you not?”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “Or it could mean she’s our…”
Sylvan’s wolf surged forward. Cole’s eyes widened as the wolf’s extra strength allowed Sylvan what he needed to bring the sword all the way down. The sword’s edge cut into Cole’s shoulder by inches. Bessimor stood up and took a fighting stance, ready, upon command, to unleash literal hellfire.
“Prince Sylvan!” the king’s courtier called from a few paces away.
Cole’s eyes flicked to the courtier before returning to the prince, who continued to stare down at him with a dangerous glint while trying to restrain his baser, animalistic side from wiping out a possible competitor.
“There’s one easy way to find out,” Cole suggested. He winced as he moved his arm and removed one of his leather gloves. He extended his hand toward Sylvan who glared at it as if it was the manifestation of a bad omen.
Instead of taking the offering, Sylvan stepped back and pulled the sword from his friend’s shoulder. Cole grunted and fell forward. He caught himself with his uninjured arm . Sylvan could hear the dragon approaching and feel the movement through the ground. Its venom would help his rider heal faster.
“Prince Sylvan!” the courtier yelled again.
Bessimor reached the side of his rider and nudged Cole’s arm with concern. “Oh, get off me, you fool, I’m fine,” Cole said, though he used the dragon’s offered head to help him stand.
“Your Majesty!”
Sylvan growled. “What?!”
“Your presence is requested for dinner!”
Sylvan’s head dropped back. “Fuck.”
“Poor baby, have a fancy dinner awaiting you,” Cole teased as he stroked Bessimor’s neck.
“I’d much rather stand here and have you return the favor or, better yet, you could attend the dinner in my stead,” Sylvan grumbled as he wiped the blood from his own blade.
Cole chuckled. “Perhaps while you’re distracted, Bessimor and I will go hunting.”
Sylvan strode away. “Don’t allow him to pick off any of the cattle,” Sylvan said over his shoulder. “Stick to the woods.”
“Our hunt will be inside the castle, Your Majesty,” Cole sang. Sylvan paused. “And it’ll be beautiful, fair-haired mistresses we’ll be hunting.”
Sylvan’s shoulders strained beneath his armor as he chose to ignore the clear provocation and walked past the courtier toward the castle. He knew Cole would never trespass on what he claimed was his. Then again, if the pull he’d felt in his chest to search her out throughout the day was something Cole shared, he wasn’t sure how long the charismatic dragon rider would be able to remain obedient.
He didn’t bother going to his rooms in order to change. He was certain the moment he inhaled her tantalizing scent, all thoughts of dinner and civility would evaporate. His muscles were too strained to snapping. His blood coursed with far too much adrenaline. Any warrior worth his salt knew locking himself away with a woman after a fight only led to bad decisions that would only end when he was completely spent… in every way. Instead, he thrust aside the doors of the dining hall, prepared to get through this dinner as quickly and efficiently as possible.
Sylvan didn’t need to look up to identify everyone who was in attendance. He could feel his mother’s warm presence flowing outward, trying to calm his rampant wolf as she had done from the moment it had surfaced. His father’s irritation at Sylvan’s lack of respect rippled out around the room. Rose’s scent plumed, as it always did when she wanted to snare his attention and Tristan’s gloating voice floated through his subconscious.
Oh, Silly, I must thank you for whatever you did to Rose last night. She’s been most accommodating to me ever since…
“So nice for you to join us, Son,” his father barked, interrupting Tristan’s long-winded mockery.
“You ordered me here. Here I am,” Sylvan growled back as he sat down in the chair he’d been assigned at birth with Tristan across from him and his gaggle of whores by his side.
Sylvan lanced the closest piece of meat to him, a turkey leg, and shoved it onto his plate. Before he could take a bite, however, a foreign smell he wasn’t used to wove its way beneath his nostrils. He froze, the muscles in his body tightened to a painful degree and his blood roared in his ear. His wolf raged as he realized the thing most precious to them was in the presence of the most vile men and women in this land. His eyes shot up. He already knew where she would be. Isla’s hands tightened on the pitcher she held, her chin rose almost imperceptibly, and her lips pursed, but as their eyes caught and held, she did not look away.