Union (7 page)

Fimor’s deep rumble of laughter echoed through Nykin’s head.
“By ‘she,’ I assume you mean her Highness, the Princess Cerylea?”
Nykin’s cheeks colored slightly at Fimor’s gentle chastisement.
“It’s been a long time since the princess has had something like this to plan and celebrate. She will have little to do with the planning for her own wedding, so let her have her fun with this, Nykin. It’ll be a good thing for the whole of Torsere, especially after the last few weeks.”

“I know that. It’s just… I feel like….” Nykin sighed and closed his eyes. “I want this whole thing to be over so we can go back to how it was before. Without half the palace staring at me wherever I go.”

Fimor snorted, and Nykin felt his chest vibrate.
“You are a young, handsome dragon rider, soon to be joined to the equally young and handsome king of Torsere. People are always going to stare at you, Nykin. You need to get used to it.”

Although Fimor’s tone was teasing, Nykin knew he was right. This was his life now, and he had to accept the stares and curious looks. To his utter relief, Nykin’s fellow riders treated him just as they always had. As soon as he entered the familiar cool stone of the Eyrie, Nykin felt like his old self, and not the topic of conversation of the palace workers.

“Yes, okay, Fimor. But I still refuse to wear anything with lace.”

Fimor’s belly shook with laughter, and Nykin’s scowl was back in full force, much to Fimor’s endless amusement. Nykin shuddered as he thought of the dark red pants and coat Cerylea had shown him that morning. The material itself was soft and smooth to the touch, the color was rich and vibrant, and Nykin would have been more than happy to wear it—if it wasn’t for the white lace embroidered around the collar and the cuffs.

Ryneq had roared with laughter when he’d seen it, and Nykin had left them both to it, stalking off to find refuge up the mountain.

Soft footsteps outside the cave alerted them to a visitor, and both Nykin and Fimor looked up to see who it was.

“Hello, Nykin. I thought I might find you in here.” Cerylea paused at the entrance. “May I?” She gestured over to them, and Nykin was a little surprised she asked before joining them.

He hastily got to his feet. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Nykin,” Cerylea tsked. “Please call me Cerylea when it’s just us. I get enough of that from everyone else. It’s nice to hear my own name once in a while.”

Nykin still felt a little uncomfortable calling her that, but he swallowed it down and smiled. “What can we do for you… Cerylea?”

Cerylea beamed at him, and Nykin felt his cheeks heat in response. “Well,” she said, coming farther into the cave. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize? For what, exactly?”

Cerylea sank down to the floor to lean up against Fimor, and Nykin was left standing with his mouth hanging open. The stone floor of the cave wasn’t exactly the cleanest of places, and the princess had just sat down and propped herself against his dragon without a care in the world.

“Close your mouth, Nykin, and sit down. She’s trying to put you at ease.”

Nykin snapped his mouth shut and smiled as he took his place beside Cerylea. She immediately relaxed next to him, and Nykin felt the warm glow of Fimor’s approval through their bond.

“I’m sorry, Nykin.”

She let out a deep breath, and rested her head against Fimor’s side, just like Nykin had done earlier. Her long blonde hair hung loose over her shoulders today, and it shone brightly against the dark red of Fimor’s scales. “I may have got a little carried away with the whole”—she waved one hand around in front of them—“ceremony. I keep forgetting that you aren’t used to all of this. Ryneq always tells me when I’ve gone too far, and I didn’t realize that you wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that.” She played with the edge of her robe, and it was the first time Nykin had ever her seen her so vulnerable.

He took a chance and wrapped his hand around hers. “Okay, Cerylea. From now on I promise to tell you when you’ve gone too far.”

“Tell her about the lace,”
Fimor prompted, and Nykin could hear the laughter in his voice. Still, he had a point. Cerylea had asked him to be honest, so….

“The lace is too much.” He held his breath, hoping like mad that she’d meant it and he hadn’t just offended her.

Cerylea looked at him, her gaze taking him in from head to toe, and she grinned. “Yes, it really is.”

Nykin sighed in relief, and Cerylea let out a loud laugh, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry it’s just… your face, Nykin.” She bit her lip in an effort to stifle her laughter. “No more lace, you have my word.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while longer, each enjoying the warmth of Fimor’s huge body, and the soothing rhythm of his breathing.

“You made the right decision
—
agreeing to the ceremony.”

Nykin didn’t normally answer Fimor in his mind if other people were present, but he wasn’t ready to break the silence just yet.
“I should’ve said yes the first time Ryneq asked me.”

Fimor flicked his tail, catching the edge of Nykin’s boot.
“That’s of little matter now. The ceremony will be good for all of Torsere. But it will also put you at greater risk
—
being named as the king’s consort.”

“I know,”
Nykin replied, thinking back to his conversation with Ryneq a few days ago.
“Ryneq already mentioned it.”

“He’s right. You need to be on your guard whenever you leave the palace, Nykin.”

“Nykin?” Cerylea smoothed down the folds of her dress and started to get up.

Nykin jumped to his feet and offered her a hand, which she accepted with a smile of thanks.

“If you come back down to the palace with me, I have something to show you.”

Nykin couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that—the lace monstrosity still haunted him.

Cerylea laughed. “No lace, I promise.”

“Okay, then.” He gestured for her to go first. “Lead the way.”

Before heading for the tunnels, Cerylea walked around until she stood looking up at Fimor’s face. She reached up and placed a delicate hand along the side of his jaw. Nykin’s breath caught at the action. He knew the royal family had a special relationship with the dragons, but he’d never seen Cerylea like this.

Fimor lowered his head for her, and she closed her eyes, their heads almost touching. Nykin wasn’t sure exactly what just passed between them, but when Cerylea drew back and looked over at Nykin, her eyes shone with happiness.

“Fimor?”

“I’ve known the princess all her life, Nykin. She’s a very special person, but sometimes she needs reminding of that.”

Nykin hesitated, not sure what to say to that.

“Go back to the palace, and try on your new clothes.”

Nykin narrowed his eyes at Fimor, trying to decide whether he was making fun of him or not, but Fimor was pointedly looking the other way.

“Shall we?” Nykin said instead, holding out his arm to Cerylea. She grinned at him and slipped her arm through his, letting Nykin guide her to the cave entrance.

“You’re very lucky to be bonded with Fimor, Nykin,” she said as they entered the tunnels. “He’s a wonderful dragon.”

Nykin ducked his head, smiling. “Yes, he is.”

C
ERYLEA
WANTED
to show him the new clothes already laid out in his and Ryneq’s room. As he hesitated at the door to their quarters, Nykin said a little prayer to whichever God was listening, that they wouldn’t be too horrible.

“Oh, for the love of….” Cerylea rolled her eyes, pushed past him to open the door, and then dragged Nykin inside. She waited until Nykin was all the way in before taking him by the shoulders and turning him to face the bed. “There. What do you think?”

She had laid out two outfits across the huge bed.

“This one is yours”—she pointed to the one on the left—“and the other is for Ryneq.”

Nykin was speechless. This was so vastly different than what he’d been trying on all week it was almost funny. He took a step closer to inspect the one meant for him. The material was obviously the same soft leather as his rider’s uniform, but instead of being black, it was the darkest midnight blue. The jacket looked slightly longer than he usually wore, but Nykin could tell by the cut that it would be just as snug around his body. It was perfect.

“Do you want to try it on?” Cerylea asked, smirking at him as though she knew just what he was thinking. Nykin nodded, and she walked over to retrieve a crisp white shirt to go under the jacket. “Here. I’ll just wait outside while you change.”

When the door shut softly behind her, Nykin walked over to the bed and ran his fingers over the leather pants. They felt wonderful under his hands, smooth to the touch, and Nykin was eager to see how they fit. He stripped off his uniform, folded it carefully, and placed it on the edge of the bed before reaching for the pants.

They fit him like a glove, even better than his uniform, and Nykin couldn’t help but run his hands over his thighs. He pulled on the shirt and was surprised how tightly it clung to him. He’d never worn clothes of this quality before, and as he tugged the jacket on over the top, he actually felt like the king’s consort—instead of just the dragon rider sharing the king’s rooms.

The bottom of the jacket came a little below Nykin’s ass, and he was just smoothing down the edges as Cerylea poked her head around the door.

“Oh, Nykin!” she gasped, hands flying up to cover her mouth. “You look so handsome. I’ll be surprised if Ryneq actually makes it through the ceremony before dragging you back here.”

The image of Ryneq shoving him roughly up against the door of their bedroom flashed through Nykin’s mind, and he flushed a little at thinking of that while Cerylea stood right in front of him.

She eyed him, a smug smile tugging at her lips. “I knew you’d like it.”

She came closer and fussed with the ties of his jacket, straightening out the laces until she was satisfied. “What do you think of Ryneq’s?”

She moved to the side so Nykin could see it better.

It was the same material as his but clearly cut bigger across the chest and shoulders, and Nykin had no doubt it would fit just as well as his. Instead of blue, Ryneq’s outfit was a very dark red, and the jacket was longer—probably falling about midthigh on Ryneq.

“It’s perfect,” Nykin replied eventually. The thought of Ryneq in all that soft, tight-fitting leather left Nykin’s mouth suddenly dry, and he had to clear his throat a couple of times before carrying on. “They’re both perfect, Cerylea. Thank you.”

Her answering smile was huge. “Well, you should really thank the tailors and seamstresses, not me. I just chose the colors. But you’re welcome.” She collected Ryneq’s clothes and carefully put them away. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Care to join me for dinner?”

T
HE
MORNING
of the announcement ceremony dawned bright and clear. Nykin and Ryneq dressed together, as they had no required traditions, unlike Cerylea’s upcoming wedding. Nykin wasn’t exactly nervous but definitely apprehensive about the whole thing. The large balcony off the great hall would hold the ceremony. It overlooked the palace courtyard, and all of Torsere was welcome to attend and watch from below.

The dragon riders and members of Ryneq’s personal guard would be in attendance in the hall, along with Cerylea. Afterward they would hold a feast, both inside the palace and out in the courtyard, and Nykin expected the celebrations would go on well into the night. It may be a relatively short and quiet ceremony, but the people of Torsere knew how to celebrate, and both Ryneq and Cerylea were keen to encourage it after Seran’s attack.

“Are you ready?” Ryneq asked as he finished lacing his boots. He stood and met Nykin’s gaze. “I know things between us are moving faster than you were anticipating, but with the threat of war….”

“It’s okay.” Nykin closed the distance between them. He understood the need to do this now, and although it felt rushed, he wanted to be with Ryneq. “It may be fast, but I would still choose you in a month or two’s time. So what does it matter?”

“Thank you.” Ryneq smiled softly. “We’d better head over to the great hall.” He slid his hand down over the curve of Nykin’s ass. “Although I’m not sure I want to let you leave this room looking like that.”

Nykin looked pointedly at the way Ryneq’s pants clung to the hard muscle of his thighs. “I could say the same.” He snagged the front of Ryneq’s jacket, reeling him in until they were chest to chest. “We could just stay here.” His hands were in Ryneq’s hair, pulling him into the kiss as soon as the words were out.

Nykin stumbled back a little, still kissing, as Ryneq pushed him up against the nearest wall.

“Cerylea would kill us both,” Ryneq whispered after breaking the kiss and resting their foreheads together.

When Ryneq slid his thigh between Nykin’s legs, the sudden pressure against his dick made Nykin seriously consider risking Cerylea’s wrath.

A loud knock on the door interrupted his train of thought before it could get them into trouble, and he groaned softly as Ryneq reluctantly stepped away from him.

“Later.” Ryneq flashed him a dark look full of promise before marching over to the door and yanking it open.

Nykin let his head fall back against the wall, taking a moment to calm himself before paying attention to who had come to see them.

They weren’t expecting to see anyone this close to the ceremony, so the sight of Nysad had Nykin instantly alert. “What’s wrong?” he asked, walking over to them as Ryneq ushered Nysad inside and shut the door.

“We’ve had word that King Seran has returned to Rodeth and is planning a meeting with an Athisi delegation,” Nysad said, looking at Ryneq and waiting for his response.

Nykin felt his chest tighten a little
.
They weren’t due to go to Alel for another two weeks. If Seran was trying to marshal both armies, then Torsere might be in serious trouble. They’d probably be able to hold them off in the end, but hundreds of lives would be lost. And this was the worst possible time for Ryneq to receive the news. Nykin knew if this were any other day, Ryneq would have called a council meeting with at least Eldin, Nysad, and Cerylea straightaway.