“What?” she asked wearily.
“You’re… you’re not what I expected,” he admitted.
She huffed amusedly. “Let me guess: you thought I was a female version of my brother.”
“You never proved any different growing up,” he replied.
Her memory flashed to the times when Draven had visited with the Venari King before him, Parkyr. How she’d been so high on her own horse, so arrogant even as a child.
The noise of Draven’s chuckle brought her back to the present, and he laid back on the log behind them.
“Do you remember when you kicked my ass during our battle round at eight?” he asked.
“You swore to me that day you’d be the one to end me,” she remembered. “That one day it would be your sword to slice my throat and rid me of my royal life.” She paused and gave him a full once over as he smirked at her. “Makes me wonder if you’re just keeping me alive here so you can challenge me at the end of it when I’m well. The final battle.”
He scoffed. “I am glad you know I’d not kill you while you were wounded.”
“There would be not enough fun or glory in that for the Venari King,” she mocked.
He grinned up at her, his hand coming up under his head to support it against the log. She smiled and fumbled slightly with her hands, the memory of the day they’d fought as children coming to mind.
Her raven landed on her knee.
“You know, I earned my mark after our bought,” she informed him, stroking the bird’s head.
“Really?”
She nodded. “Arbina marked me first. My brother was furious. Zoria and Vasilis were so proud. I remember Zoria taking me to the cliffs, introducing me to the Orel. My abilities were just coming in. It was the second voice I heard in the creature world, the first being my raven. And then when the moons died, she took me out across the Preymoor to the forest.”
“I remember that,” Draven said. “Parkyr was livid at her taking you in without protection.”
“We could handle ourselves,” Aydra said.
“I know that now, but at the time… he’d no idea. He simply thought the two daughters of Promise thought themselves invincible, and he was angry at your being so careless.”
“Sounds like us,” she mused.
He gave her a crooked smirk. “Looks like nothing has changed.”
“Shut up,” she muttered.
Within moments, Aydra found herself completely immersed in conversation that she’d not allowed herself to have in years. No talk of their kingdoms. No mention of the ships at their doors. They spoke of foods, their travels… Draven told her stories of the Honest traders that would come through every few weeks, of the times members of the Blackhand race from the mountains had ventured into their realm… how he’d had to save one such Blackhand from the grasp of the Ulfram pack after the man had attempted to challenge the pack during their graduating trials.
“Idiot,” Draven laughed. “Blackhands have this power trip they send their children on when they come of age. Call it graduating trials. They’re to venture into the northern Forest during the Deads and come back with a kill,” he started to explain. “Most come back with Noirdiem or Aberd. This one, he challenged the entire Ulfram pack. Got a bit too south and lost his way. Dunthorne and I found him swinging his sword in the air at nothing. The Ulframs were taunting him, waiting for him to tire so they could feast.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t let them have the idiot,” she bantered.
“Tempting,” he agreed. “But he was no older than your youngers. We did have a bit of fun at his expense.”
“I’m sure you did,” she said, eyeing him sideways.
Draven chuckled under his breath, and for a moment he simply stared at her, the smile on his face fading deliberately into his features. Aydra’s gaze darted from his as she felt an unfamiliar warmth in her chest, and she stared at the fire as the soft silence encompassed them.
As the flames danced before them, she felt her eyelids getting heavy. Instinctually, she sank herself back on to the log beside him, not realizing she was practically cuddling with him until he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
It was the first time she’d ever felt small in a man’s arms, as though her body fit into his instead of simply against it. His fingertips on her shoulder. The dance of the stars above them. The breath of the fire against her toes. Her stomach knotted, and a warmth radiated from her bones into her every muscle, settling in her abdomen. It was a feeling she’d never felt before, and she suddenly found herself feeling stronger than she’d felt in years.
And she wasn’t sure how to process it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SINGING THE SONG of the Wyverdraki in front of the Venari people was one of the more nerve-wracking things Aydra had ever done. She sang it, at the head of the table after supper the following day, and she was sure she would hear mockery come from the men when she was done. But the response she received was the same as had happened with Draven.
Silent tears.
They all stood after she was done to retire to the fire as they did every night, and each one stopped to either give her a hug, kiss her hand, or clap her shoulder. The hug she didn’t expect came from Balandria.
She found herself immersed in their chats later by the fire, feeling welcome and part of their group more than she ever had with her own people. She was laughing at a constructed jig a few of them made around the flames, arms linked together as they danced, when suddenly someone dropped down in a crouch beside her.
She jumped at the appearance of Draven coming from the
