My father has sent Rivenyl’s army to march toward Eryadon. It will take them two days to arrive, where I will join them in the attack.
The trip to the Dwarves’ mountain has been much shorter than I expected. Although Lyana is my mate, I dread seeing her friend, Bran, again. His feelings about both her and me were made very clear when last we saw him.
I anticipate a fight, or at the very least, an argument. He is more likely to believe I’ve cast a spell of enchantment upon her rather than that she is actually in love with me.
Regardless, I know he cares for her, and that is the most important thing. They all do. If this goes bad, I have no doubt the Dwarves will protect her, defending her to their last breath.
As Veron circles the mountain, I’m surprised the Dwarves appear unafraid. The sight of a dragon should be more than enough to send them scrambling. Perhaps they are as dull-witted as my people believe them to be.
Even as I think this, a pang of guilt stabs through me. They are good people who took us in when we needed help most. They could have cast me out immediately, while Lyana was unconscious, but they did not.
Veron dips his wing, and the moment they see Lyana, every Dwarf stops to wave. They stare gaping as we land. King Edwyrd rushes toward us, his face bright red as he waves his staff.
“How dare you show up like this unannounced? On the back of a dragon, no less?”
Veron shifts into his two-legged form, crossing his arms and pursing his lips, appearing slightly irritated.
“I—” Lyana starts to explain, but I step between her and the king. I level an angry glare at him, growling low.
He huffs out an annoyed breath. “Calm down, Elf. I merely jest.” He pushes past me and gathers Lyana in his arms, hugging her warmly. “We’ve been so worried for you since you left.”
She hugs him in return. “I’m sorry. There was no way to send word.”
As he spins her around, I do not miss the way he eyes me with distrust.
Not the fire-breathing dragon standing beside us. Me.
He narrows his eyes. “I see you’re still keeping company with the High Elves.”
“Really?” I ask emphatically. I gesture to Veron. “There is a dragon in your midst, and I’m the bigger concern here?”
The king’s eyes shift to Veron and then back to me. “Aye. Everyone knows that there is a changed dragon. Changed by love, in fact. He has come to us many times to mold gold or silver into gifts for his human mate.”
Ah. Now I understand why they were unafraid. They know him.
“Caelen is my husband,” Lyana states firmly. “He’s good to me, and I love him.”
Something freezes at the edge of my vision. Bran’s mouth falls open. “You love him?” he demands.
“Yes.”
“I knew it!” Bran exclaims. “He’s spelled you, hasn’t he?”
“No, Bran, he has not,” she states firmly. “Besides, you know the treaty his people have with Eryadon prevents them from using magic within Eryadon’s borders.”
He looks down, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. After a moment, he heaves a sigh and joins us. He places a hand on each of our shoulders and gives me a threatening glare. “Be good to her, or it’s the axe for your head, Elf.”
Lyana and Bran laugh, but the glint in his eye tells me his threat has substance. I’ve no doubt he would not hesitate to end me if he thought I was mistreating her.
I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close. “I would sooner take my own life than ever hurt her.”
“Good,” he says. “Now, tell me why you’re here with the dragon.”
King Edwyrd steps forward, studying me with a look I cannot quite discern. “Will your people help retake Eryadon, or have you come alone?”
“Rivenyl’s forces arrive in two days.”
“Good,” he says. “We’ll need them. Fredrik’s father sent more men from Winterhold, doubling their numbers. They mean to hang onto this kingdom, fang and claw.”
Panic twists deep inside me as the images from the mirror return.
