Page 46 of House of Ashes
I recognized her as soon as I laid eyes on her. She’d been in my year in the Training Grounds; my mother had considered her a serious rival, though my path had been assured at the time.
Princess Maristela, the draga who could have been Rhylan’s mate.
The draga who’d thrown away power for love.
So the pale dragon must be Gaelin of Mourning Fang, a young, politically weak House.
Maristela herself was a scion of her House: tall and willowy, delicate scales like bruised forget-me-nots glimmering on her cheeks. Her dark blonde hair was pinned back in a crown of braids, bright strands of metallic bronze woven in among the lighter honey tones.
She wore lightly-armored leathers, not of elaborate, ornamental materials but plain, functional steel and leather, like the sword at her side.
Ornamentation or not, she shone like a star.
She tipped her head towards him, revealing the obvious giveaway of mind-speech. His mouth didn’t move, but her lips curled into a smile, and she stifled a laugh, driving an elbow at him.
There was a gleam of amusement in the dragon’s eyes as he deflected her, his arm snaking around her waist. He pulled his eyes away from the Wyvern-Master just long enough to brush a kiss over her cheek, something he mind-spoke making her smile and turn pink.
To my dismay, hot jealousy rose in me, an envious, choking tide.
Not for her beauty, though Maristela was truly lovely, nor for her health, which I was keenly aware that I lacked.
It was pure envy for the fact that they’d mate bonded out of love.
That love was written in every line of their bodies, the way they bent towards each other, the small touches—the way he brushed her hair without thinking, just for the feel of it, the way she always angled herself towards him.
She was one of the few who had been able to speak the words of the mate bond ritual, and truly mean them: from ashes to embers to flames, a bond of love undying. From flames to embers to ashes, an oath eternal and binding.
Words that I had never expected to speak with any feeling.
Maristela and I had grown up in similar Houses: old blood, ancient bloodlines expected to do what was right by their House, not for themselves. Most of the mate bonded draga and dragons of my caste had been arranged for each other from the day they were born, much like my own arrangement for Tidas.
I knew, thanks to my mother’s planning, that the Lady of the Shadowed Stars had always intended for her daughter to become Rhylan’s mate.
He’d threatened as much, back on Mistward Isle in the abandoned eyrie. I’d thought he only said it to push me into accepting his offer, but…
What if he had spoken truly? Had Maristela rejected him for this dragon from a smaller House, choosing love over status?
What if he’d only rescued me for lack of a better option?
I gritted my teeth hard enough for my jaw to ache, and from the corner of my eye, Rhylan tilted his head to watch me.
It didn’t matter if I was a last resort. He’d taken me from Mistward, which mattered far more than his personal regard for me.
What bothered me was that Maristela had found love, and I would not. I was now bound to Rhylan, if not by a true mate bond, then by social expectation. The moment we presented ourselves at the First Claim as a pair, I would forever be considered his.
If we won, even if he ‘abdicated’ and we publicly severed our bond, no dragon would ever look at me without seeing the shadow of my supposed mate over my shoulder.
It hit me now with full force what Kirana had said, that for some of us, choice was not in the cards.
Neither of us had a choice. As I was bound to Rhylan, so he was to me; unless he fell in love with a draga willing to overlook the fact that he was once the mate of the Dragonesse, he too would be alone.
I had wanted love one day. I just hadn’t realized how badly until now, when I had to acknowledge that this choice was not in my cards.
How ironic that I rode the dragon I’d once dreamed of that love with, now out of necessity and vengeance.
My fingers dug into the trunk of the tree hard enough for my claws to leave deep gouges. The sharp scent of sap clung to them as I released it, leaving behind a splintered mess.
Rhylan shifted the foot braced nearest to me, nudging my ankle with a single claw. I glanced up at him, trying to read the question in his draconic features.