To Tame a Rogue (Age of Gold Book 3) Read online

  "Damion, meet Gawlr Draulsrn, from the Sands. Gawlr has a job for you."

  "In the Sands?" Damion had repeated. That was two kingdoms south and, surely, they also had mages there.

  "No questions, boy," said Lars impatiently. "He needs healing salves made on the way there. Take your supplies and clothes for a week."

  It had all sounded very strange, for it would take more than a week to get down to the Sands in any vehicle. But Damion did as he was bid, heading south.

  That day, he was put in chains. That night, he was branded and hit so hard when he protested that his flesh would forever bear the mark of the flogger.

  He'd been sold, and by his own family, for some coin. Five thousand, his captor was so good as to tell him.

  Ash had wanted to ride back north and burn their home to the ground when he'd heard that, but Damion had stopped him. He didn't want his family dead, just out of his life.

  Sometimes, he did speak of the sisters with fondness. To Ash's understanding, they'd been children, even younger than he at the time. They'd had no clue of the deeds of their folks. But each word was coated with sadness and pain when he spoke of them.

  As the years went by, he'd stopped speaking of them entirely, letting go of the ghosts of his past.

  The two men were alike in many ways; strong, resilient, determined, but Damion was the very opposite of Ash in one respect. Ash would never stop searching for his sister, until he found an answer, while Damion was done with family.

  The rider was too jaded to understand the king.

  Ash sighed, wondering why he'd come here.

  "But you want to go, in any case," Damion said with a shrug, while picking the sword back up. "So, do it. If it's going to poison your mind for the rest of time, just go."

  Ash smirked. That was why he'd gone to his rider.

  "However, you know what it'll mean if you enter Farden with a detachment of guards and knights."

  War. There was no other way.

  "Do it diplomatically; contact their king and ask for an audience. Or sneak in by yourself, without telling anyone here. Just pretend to go for a stroll or something."

  Ash snorted, turning without a word, glancing to his right and left. There only were six men following him right now; a light guard. They remained at a distance, but there was no doubt that they'd heard every word. Two of them were wolves, two bears, and two dragons; all had advanced hearing abilities.

  "How do you suppose I manage that?"

  Damion shared a rare smile, before extending his hand. Ash grasped his forearm and let him channel him. The next instant, all six guards were on the ground, unconscious.

  "You're frightening, sometimes."

  Damion shrugged, taking his cloak from the back of his chair, and handing it to Ash. "I couldn't do that without you. They're out for an hour, max. Go grab supplies, then you can sneak out. I'll stay here so they don't think to look for you for a while."

  Ash pulled on his rider's arm to hold him against his chest for an instant, and left the camp from the back, taking the long way back to the castle.

  "Wait here! We do not tolerate vagabonds in this court."

  Ash lifted a brow. Shit, Gragnar sounded intimidating. He turned, lowering his hood, before the sorcerer shot him with some nasty spell.

  "Calm down, cousin. It's just me."

  The royal warlock gasped and immediately got on one knee.

  "Your grace."

  He was so very formal, as always. Had been since the moment Ash had been crowned, some seventy-five years ago.

  As the throne had been vacant from his birth, following his father's demise, Ash's mother was regent until he came of age. For twenty-five years, Ash had trained in the quiet countryside with his cousins.

  Ash's first act had been naming Gragnar royal warlock. The boy had been with him from the very start, was his closest relative and second to none in his kingdom—except Damion.

  So, the "your grace" was overkill.

  "Chill. I'm just passing through. Keep it to yourself, will you?"

  Gragnar frowned. He was no Damion; propriety meant a great deal to him.

  "What do you mean? Where are your guards?"

  And so, Ash had no choice but to explain it all. It might have delayed him further otherwise. When he was done, to his surprise, Gragnar didn't even try to object.

  "Very well. I know better than to put myself between you and your life-long ambition to give the throne away."

  Definite disapproval. At least, he wasn't attempting to stop him.

  "Go, with my good wishes, cousin. And may you find every happiness you deserve along the way."

  A Stranger

  After their play on the beach, they'd headed to the large, handsome brownstone keep of the Earl of Durandan. It was an old fortress, built at the base of a mountain, and overseeing the seashore. The town inside its high city walls had a busy harbor where many merchants from the rest of the continent landed every day. No doubt they were missing one arrival, as the ship that had watched them had fled with the tide.

  Dragonesses weren't known for their inhibition, but arriving naked wasn't the done thing, so they'd shifted and landed in their dragon forms. Demelza owned a garment or two spelled to remain intact, acting as a second skin as she changed from beast to woman, but they hadn't exactly planned their excursion south, so she'd been wearing leather armor, now to be added to the long list of frocks she'd destroyed over the course of the last two centuries.

  Then they'd gotten changed before heading to the great hall where Saskia, in her capacity as lady of the Durandan, was to receive the subjects that had come with queries, requests, and complaints.

  Elza had attended many such meetings herself from childhood. Her parents had seen that she'd been well versed in politics. Since she'd come of age, a hundred and seventy-five years ago, she'd headed such ceremonies many a time in their stead. The lords of the Falls enjoyed traveling the lands from time to time, and when they did so, they left her in charge.

  Saskia was well educated, very wise for her age—a mere hundred years—and incredibly strong, but her education had visibly failed her when it came to such matters.

  The first couple who'd appeared had come from the mountain and asked for Saskia's intervention; they had a dispute with their neighbors about the land to the south of their property. It had no fence, and the neighbor had often used their piece of land. Now, he claimed it was his.

  There were many ways this should have been solved. The one thing no lord should have said in that situation was, "Why don't you just eat them next time?"

  The couple looked at her in horror. "My lady?"

  "You're dragons. They're taking what's yours. Eat them."

  Elza hid her face behind her hand to smother her smile.

  "They're also dragons, Lady Saskia."

  "Ah. So, you're afraid of losing. Better give them the land, then. You didn't have the sense to fence it, they took it, it's theirs. Next!"

  At the tenth plea, Elza had a hard time keeping herself from laughing out loud.

  Someone was going to have to say it, and no one looked like they might have the balls to do the job, so it fell to Elza.

  "You really suck at this."

  The woman shrugged.

  "I know it, they know it. What happens here is of no matter in any case. They'll need to put their request in writing and have it reviewed by Nathos' men. I'm only here because Nathos likes me to show my face from time to time. He makes an excuse about once a year to send me home. Apparently, if I don't turn up, he gets trouble from Darayn."

  Elza lifted a brow.

  "Darayn? Is that your uncle's partner?"

  She hadn't known that Nathos had a lover. And if the furtive looks and flirting she'd seen between the earl and Xandrie's elder sister earlier was any indication, there would be trouble if the relationship was serious and exclusive.

  But Saskia snorted. "Partner? I think not. Ew. Darayn is too hot. Besides, uncles shouldn't be
allowed to have sex lives. That's disturbing. Darayn raised me after my father died. I mean, Nathos adopted me, but with his duty to the crown and all that, he wasn't a hands-on parent. She runs the household when there's no one else here. She was patrolling, according to my maid, but no doubt she'll soon hear of my presence and come to let me know about my many failings. Mostly, not returning home often enough, and being uninterested in getting pregnant."

  Elza winced. She certainly could relate to all of that; her own mother sang that tune often enough.

  The eleventh claimant crossed the hall and Elza got to her feet.

  "I don't think I can watch you anymore without laughing in their faces, and that'll certainly not help. Do you mind if I explore the lands?"

  Saskia sighed. "I wish I could skip, too. Have fun."

  If he’d ever spared a thought on how death would come at him, Ash would have imagined dragonfire, blood, surrounded by a thousand enemies. Not this. Not this slow, agonizing decline, tainted by the taste of betrayal. He wasn’t dying here, alone, because of his sworn enemy; no one even knew he’d left his castle yet.

  No one, save for his kin, the man he’d trusted above all others.

  It was no coincidence when the raids had started, following him wherever he went, but he’d brushed it aside. The lands were perilous, he knew that. It meant nothing.

  He couldn’t lie to himself anymore, after the Royal Warlock had blasted the town where he’d stayed into oblivion. He recognized his own magician’s spells.

  The magician was attacking him on enemy territory; if, no, when, the dragons of Farden saw what had happened to their people, they would declare war on Absolia.

  Ash had no clue why anyone would wish that. It was insanity. There were as many dragons in Farden as there were in Absolia, according to their spies; fighting against them meant the potential extinction of their kind.

  Ash could have flown out. He was quick enough to change and get out of the way. But there were children about, bears and little dragonlings, frightened and crying for their mothers, so he’d done what he could. He’d shifted and flown, not away from the danger, but right to it, meeting it head on, and taking the worst of the blast.

  Gragnar’s blow had been fire and Shadow. A lesser dragon - one less versed in protection spells, or with a weaker bloodline - wouldn’t have survived it. Ash was still breathing now, but only just. If aid came to him now, he might see another morrow; but he’d fallen in deserted lands, unknown to anyone who might wish him well, so, instead, he was dying, thirsty, broken, and despairing for his people.

  Here ended the line of his ancestors.

  The gods were kind enough as to show him the shape of an angel before he closed his eyes. A beautiful creature with golden brown skin and brilliant eyes.

  “Stay with me, Rogue,” said she.

  He wished he could, but he had to go now.

  “Dammit. Sorry, Xandrie, I’m going to have to borrow your strength.”

  Hundreds of miles away, the Queen of Farden cried out in surprise as an acute pain gripped her. Demelza closed her eyes, and recited every healing spell she could recall, to breathe life back into the limbs of the King of the Fiery Shadows.

  Unexpected

  When Ash opened his eyes, absolutely everything hurt; a good indication that he was alive. An unexpected outcome, given his last memories.

  He sat up on the ground, wincing at the effort.

  "Shush, now. You shouldn't move that much."

  Ash's head snapped to his left, and his eyes widened. Then, he blinked.

  He remembered seeing the woman, but he'd imagined it was nothing but a dream; the last visions conjured by a fading mind in an effort to reach peace before death. For one, he'd never seen such an enchanting creature in all of his hundred years; the likelihood that he would come across the likes of her at the moment he was about to die, and that she so happened to be a healer, defied logic. And yet, here she was, exactly as he remembered, gold skin, vibrant eyes so green they almost glowed in the night.

  She had fire inside her, he could feel it. A lot of fucking fire. This was no irrelevant maiden. He was standing before Farden nobility, no doubt.

  All his life, he'd been told that the other dragon kingdom was full of weaklings and he'd believed it. If they weren't weak, why would they have snuck into their lands in the middle of the night and taken his sister? That was the move of cowards. The only reason why Absolia hadn't attacked was the survival of the species. There weren't enough dragons left in the world to afford the demise of hundreds of their peers, even if they were the cowards from these godforsaken lands.

  Now, in front of the woman who'd saved his life, Ash found himself doubting what he'd heard of Farden. This was no weakling.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  She laughed. "That isn't how it works, Rogue. I found you on our land and you're not from here."

  Rogue. He almost laughed.

  Ash replied, "Do you presume to know all dragons in your kingdom?"

  "I know all firelords," she replied, confirming his suspicions.

  So, he'd been right: she was nobility.

  Firelords were the strongest of their kind, those whose fire could be felt with one glance, would they be in their human or beast form. Generally, it came down to having the right lineage, so their powers passed from the lords to their sons and daughters. However, sometimes new, nameless firelords were born from the simplest of parentage—farmers, fishermen, simple merchants. When that occurred in Absolia, the moment their strength was identified, they were brought to be knighted, congratulated, and trained. It was the safest course of action.

  Ash didn't imagine that things were very different in these accursed lands. The firelords who passed through the net and remained outside of the court were called rogues.

  Ash understood why she mistook him for one, but as king, he was the very opposite.

  "All right. Got me. I'm not a firelord registered to Farden."

  "Which makes you a rogue. I have to bring you in."

  Their kingdoms weren't different at all, it appeared.

  Rogues were a menace to all. Firelords needed to be loyal to the crown, or there would be chaos.

  Among the wolves, when there were two born alphas in the same territory, they fought to the death until a leader was chosen. Firelords were dominant and naturally inclined to lead, to fight, and claim what they desired, just like alphas. Dragons attempted to be somewhat more civilized than wolves in the matter. As long as the firelords bowed to the king, all would be well.

  Ash snorted. The beautiful woman wanted him to bow to Rhey Vasili. He'd sooner rip his throat open. Which was why the charming lady wasn't taking him anywhere, even if she batted her dark, long lashes and beckoned him forward with a crooked finger.

  That plan might have worked out better than what she was trying to do: intimidating him, glaring with her hands on her hips.

  "Thanks for the offer. I'll pass. Don't worry, I'll be out of your lands in no time."

  He had to get to the coast the sea wolves had talked of and enquire about his sister. He just had to. He was too close to give up now.

  All his life, he'd felt wrong about his position. Felt like he was usurping a throne that didn't belong to him. His instincts said that his sister was alive, somewhere.

  Absolians weren't like the dragons of Farden. When they'd parted ways from the rest of their kin, they'd had one leader. To this day, that leader's blood ran in every king's veins, and always, always, the firstborn heir had become king or queen. Their laws of succession were written in blood and magic on their thousand-year-old charter, binding them. It meant something. On his honor, he'd at least attempt to find the true queen.

  And then, whatever the result of his quest, he'd head back home, to Absolia, where he'd take care of the traitor.

  He still didn't understand how he could have been betrayed by his own cousin. It could be no one else. Damion wouldn't ever attempt to hurt him, not if his life depended o
n it. Of that, Ash would never doubt.

  Being linked to a rider meant more than any other bond. A dragon could, with some strength of will and determination, survive the death of a mate. It often led to insanity, but many had lived through it, nonetheless.

  No one could survive the demise of their rider; and likewise, the rider died the instant their dragon was slain.

  Damion would have felt his pain earlier. And if Ash was sure of one thing, it was that the rider was on his way to join him as they spoke.

  With an army, no doubt.

  Damion would have known that Ash was hurt; he wouldn't have realized that the blow came from Gragnar.

  If he didn't get word to him, and fast, there would be war by morrow.

  He needed to make haste, which meant that he needed some guidance through these lands.

  Perhaps the beautiful dragoness could be of assistance, come to think of it.

  "Listen, I just need to go to the village closest to the beach in the east. Then you can escort me to the closest border and I'll be out of your air."

  "Sure."

  Ash tilted his head, and frowned, surprised that it had been that easy. She'd seemed like the kind of woman who needed convincing.

  "Really?"

  "Yeah, come on up, let's go."

  She extended her hand, and he took it, somewhat tentatively.

  The instant her skin came in contact with his, a wave of green energy burst out of her—same color as her eyes, but so very bright it blinded him.

  He lifted his hand to shield his eyes and froze in horror.

  "Did you just bind me to you?" he practically yelled.

  There was a translucent bond around his wrist, immaterial and yet so very real he could feel it there.

  The woman shrugged. "Let's face it, it's not like you would have come quietly. Let's go. I want to get home."

  Snarling, Ash took a step toward her and growled. "You will release me."