Page 13 of Fated Flames: Volume Two
I nod. “Yes, why?”
Boyd leans closer as the shouts become a frenzy. “Your presence is likely to cause quite a stir.”
I lift a brow at him. “Because I’m human?”
“Because you are to be queen.”
Stir or not, I didn’t come here to observe people’s backs. I gesture for them to take me, and the guards start forward without further argument.
Even if I weren’t to be queen, my bruises would be striking, and it doesn’t take long to attract notice. First a whisper, then a stunned silence ripples through the crowdas we climb higher and the people part, the guards flashing their teeth at anyone who doesn’t move quickly enough.
Half the crowd has quieted by the time we reach the rim of The Pit and I’m able to see the fight myself.
I’m just in time to watch my future husband throw his head back and loose a blazing roar into the sky.
5
I know him instantly.
He’s white, brilliantly so, and his scales ripple with a pearlescent sheen, like the inner chamber of a conch shell. He’s massive; he’s as big as a ship.
He’s beautiful.
The thought startles a sharp breath from me. Beautiful? He’s a beast with blood on his teeth and monstrous clawed feet, one of which is pinning his opponent—a dragon the color of clay—to the ground.
And yet, he’s dazzling. Like staring at a gem amongst stones.
He’s also clearly won this fight already. With a final snarl, he releases his opponent, and the dragon, wincing, rises on shaky legs to reveal his injuries. His entire side is mangled, one bloodied leg is cradled against his body, and his wing drags in the sand.
Not a single scratch mars the king.
“What happens now?” I ask, mostly because I can’t quite decide how I should feel as I gaze down at the king.
“Now the loser will transform,” Boyd says from beside me.
Even as he says it, the dragon pulls his wings over himself and begins shrinking down beneath the leatheryappendages. The wings themselves soon dwindle as well, and I watch with fascination right up until I realize this soon-to-be-man’s transformation will not include any clothing.
I sneak a glance at the crowd. Many on this side of the dried-up lake bed are staring my way, but plenty are still focused on the fighters. Is everyone simply going to watch? Is no one going to cover him? Two men are sliding down the rim toward him, but I doubt they’ll make it in time.
My eyes dart to the king. Will he transform the same way? Out in the open like this for all to see? Heat floods my face.
“Your Highness!”
With flaming cheeks and immense relief, I turn toward the familiar voice. Lord Lyken is striding my way with efficient steps long-trained by the sand. My guards shift closer as he nears, but he stops where he is and bows.
“May I approach?” he asks.
“Of course, please.”
Rising, he closes the distance between us, eyes sparkling with laughter. “I came to see what all the fuss was about, but I did not expect to find our lovely queen here in this—”
He stops short. The laughter in his eyes dies away as he takes in the bruises left by his wing. “My queen…” he whispers.
I offer him a reassuring smile. “Please don’t look regretful, Lord Lyken. You saved my life, and I am indebted to you.”
“It was my duty as your—your subject, Your Highness. You could never owe me.”
This is delivered with such genuine heart and feeling that I can instantly see how Tilly fell for him, the poor thing.
