She closed her eyes and listened for his voice, for the groan and ripple of its vibration. And then she heard him.
—idiot like Parkyr before him, the beast was saying.
Aydra snorted and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth upon hearing it. She couldn’t comprehend what Draven was doing, or what he was instructing his people to do around the Bullhorn, but she heard the Bullhorn continue to insult Draven.
Why do you follow if you think him such? she called out to it.
The Bullhorn’s head rose slowly, and she was met with his penetrating gaze. His eyes blinked slowly at her. Daughter of Arbina, he acknowledged.
You have met us before? she asked.
Only such could converse with me.
What is your name?
Cees.
I am Aydra Ravenspeak. Why do you follow these men if you think they are idiots?
On my life will theirs be taken.
Draven was staring at the Bullhorn, apparently bewildered at the low grunts emitting from his throat. Aydra pulled herself between the slats beneath the deck rail and allowed her legs to dangle off the side.
“He says you are an idiot,” she called down.
Draven whirled around and did a double-take up at her. “Excuse me?” he spat.
“Cees. The Bullhorn. He says you are an idiot,” she repeated.
The ivory horn Draven was holding clenched in his fist. “And you would know this how?”
“Because I can hear them,” she said with a tired shrug. “I would have thought someone who thinks he is as smart as he is would have figured that out by now. Especially after last night.”
Draven’s jaw tightened. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I can manage just fine,” she argued. “Do you have an extra horse? I expect one ready to ride within the hour. My sister and Second will be looking for me. I need to meet them on the Preymoor.”
A deep chuckled radiated from Draven’s lips, and he turned to face her, arms crossing over his chest. “Who exactly do you think you’re speaking to? Your steward?” he mocked with a shake of his head. “I take no orders from you, little princess.”
Aydra’s nostrils flared. “I am your Queen. And if not—”
“I have no queen,” Draven interjected, his dark gaze pouring through her. “So before you get all mighty and start giving out orders, remember who’s realm you’re injured in.”
A rustling came from the wood, and emerged three more Hunters, all with their weapons in hand, daring her to mock another word.
Aydra looked to Cees.
Are you sure you would give your life for his? she asked it.
Cees gave her a nod. Idiots. But my life remains his should he need it.
“Stop putting words in their heads,” Draven snarled. “They are not yours to lead.”
Aydra rolled her eyes. “Believe me when I say this, Hunter: I would not call on them were it the day of my death.”
She stayed outside and watched them a bit longer before retiring once more to the bedroom. She had to crawl back. Such was something she dared not reveal to the Venari King below, for she did not want to hear the mocking words from his lips when he saw her crawling on her hands and knees.
The crutch helped her rise to the bed once more. With a huff, she surrendered onto the middle of it, cursing that she had let herself get hurt.
Draven’s room was cool. The breeze of the tree canopy continuously swept through it. She wondered how the Venari ever heard anything on the wind if it was constantly blowing as she felt.
Or perhaps it was that Duarb knew she was there, and he didn’t approve.
Her boredom quickly set in. The only thing interesting in the whole of the room was his great desk that he had by the door, stacks of papers and maps piled atop it. There was shelving behind the chair, rolled parchment in the boxes stacked as tall as the ceiling. She wanted to snoop, allow her curiosity to get the best of her.
But when her feet gave out from under her upon her making herself rise, she cursed the day and simply surrendered to the bed once more.
The howls of the Ulfram echoed off the trees. And then she heard something she’d not heard before in all her years. The great song of the Wyverdraki dragon family.
A smile rose on her lips as she allowed it to fill her ears.
She’d just sank back onto the bedspread to listen when she heard footsteps coming up the staircase.
Draven appeared on the deck, and he paused in the great opening, a tray of what she assumed was food, in his hand. “Good. You’re awake,” he mused, stepping inside. “Are you hungry?” he asked as he sat the tray of food on the small eating table to the right of the door.
Her stomach growled, and he raised his brows at her in response. “I suppose,” she managed.
He nodded and then crossed the room to a dresser where he immediately took his shirt off.
She wished she could say that she looked away as he changed clothes. But she didn’t.
The muscles of his back rippled as he moved his arms to take the shirt off and then search for a new one. She hated her body’s response to seeing the dimples at his hips, the chisel of his shoulders. It was her favorite thing on a man, and Draven’s exceeded expectations. She squinted at the crude black marks on his shoulder blade, like lightning streaks on his skin that stretched from the back of his forearms from the phoenix mark on his hands and up to the top of his collarbone.
“Would you like me to turn around or is this how you usually seduce your women?” she asked in a low voice.
“I should think we’re both old enough to have more tricks up our sleeves for wooing prey into bed than just the lure of body parts,” he replied as he turned towards her. His sage eyes danced
