The Omega Slave

Victoria Sue

Victoria Sue LLC

Copyright © 2025 by Victoria Sue

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

Dedication

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23

24. Chapter 24

25. Chapter 25

26. Chapter 26

27. Chapter 27

28. Chapter 28

29. Chapter 29

30. Chapter 30

Victoria Sue

For the members of my pack!

Deborah

Sasha

Ilona

Sarah

Laurie

Lynne

Patricia

Debbie

Karen M.

Tiffany

Nicole

Torhild

Kitie

Dana

Mabel

Judith

Dee

Alyssa

Ioanna

Takisha

Susan

Gail

Rebecca

Agnes

Michelle

Margaret

Sheila

Caitlyn

Susan

Lisa

Melissa

Eve

Nicole

Chapter one

** This book takes place four months after The Omega Thief and eight months BEFORE the bonus epilogue. (Those who have read the Omega Thief bonus epilogue will understand why the timing makes sense)

***In Rajpur the word summers is synonymous with the word years Eg Nine years = Nine summers

Kamir stood on the balcony outside his dressing room and stared out at the city. His life sentinel, Mansala would not be pleased to see him standing out here alone, sipping his coffee, but thanks to the ridiculous edicts of past emirs, no building more than two stories high was permitted to be within a half mile of the palace in Rajpur. The people farther out in the main part of the city were allowed, of course, to build their structures as high as they wanted. Shopkeepers, tavern owners and the like all lived above their shops, and hostels and pleasure houses often had three or four levels, but none of those were close enough to fire an arrow from.

But he had bigger problems today than an imaginary assassin. He’d run out of time. Today, he would lose the throne and his people—his starving, downtrodden people—would lose what little freedom and sustenance they had managed to claw back since the end of the war and his father’s rule. Because while he assumed the title of Emir on his father’s death, he had six full moons to prove he was worthy of the gods to be crowned, and today he would fail.

Not that Kamir particularly cared what any of their gods thought, or craved their approval, but summers of tradition that he could not avoid if he wanted to be crowned meant that today he had to prove to the ruling assembly that he could do the most important thing required of him.

Shift.

To prove he was blessed by the gods to be the emir, he had to shift into his wolf. Except, he had never been able to. His age of provenance, as it was called – sixteen summers – had happened during the war, and no one had even noticed that shy, quiet, studious Kamir hadn’t shifted into his wolf. His father intended to rule for summers and finding another possible heir was the last thing on his mind.

The only one who knew was his greatest friend and protector, Mansala, and he would take that secret to the grave if he had to. And to be honest, Kamir had never wanted to be the emir. If he had a choice, he would be a scribe and historian. He’d nearly finished documenting the last seven hundred summers of Rajpur and was eager to continue. His sister Veda was much more suited to rule a kingdom, but her gender prohibited her, and that was another edict he couldn’t alter. It would take him demonstrating his provenance, being confirmed the emir, and the further impossibility of the deaths of all sixteen members of the ruling assembly to replace with his own to change such a law. Since today was the day he had to prove he was worthy of the gods and he couldn’t, the whole thing was moot.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if he had a suitable replacement, but the first in line was his uncle—his father’s younger brother—then either of his uncle’s twin sons. They were all as cruel and greedy as his own father, sometimes worse, if that was possible. His father had been selfish and greedy himself, but lazy, and without Kamir’s Uncle Gabar whispering in his father’s ear, the emir would never have challenged Cadmeera.

“My lord?”

Kamir turned and glanced at Mansala with an affection born when they children growing up in each other’s shadow. Life sentinels were chosen as children. Boys born the same day as he were lined up at the palace for approval on their fourth birthday. Families desperate for the coin and the escape from poverty such a position afforded often deliberately brought forward births or even tried to plan conception around the ritual once the emir took a wife.

After the third boy presented had grasped a kitten from a box he had brought and in front of the assembly wrung its neck to prove he was capable of killing, Kamir had risked his father’s displeasure and fled to throw up in one of the pots in his bathing room.

Mansala had followed him, unseen. To this day Kamir had never known how he seemed to disappear into the background until he was needed, but in that wretched space where Kamir had felt disgusted, sickened to his stomach, and had hated being alive, Mansala had prevented any servant from seeing him and adding to his humiliation, and a lifelong friendship had been born.

It was the only decision that Kamir was allowed to make for himself, and one he never regretted.

“All is arranged,” he said.

Kamir felt the burn of frustrated tears. Veda had suggested his uncle meet a timely death, but he had two sons, Iskar and Damatrious, who were both as bad as their father, so nothing in Rajpur would improve, and Kamir would still be prevented from assuming the crown.

The only thing he knew for certain was that today would end in his own death. There was no way his uncle or his cousins would allow him to live. If that was all he had to fear, Kamir wouldn’t have honestly cared about dying, but he knew it would mean the death of Mansala, his sister, and his closest servants, and he couldn’t risk that.

To say nothing of plunging the kingdom into greater poverty and possibly more war, but at the moment he was at a loss as to how to prevent that. So, they had planned their escape for today. With the help of Attiker and Raz’mar from Cadmeera, a diversion during the ceremony would allow them to escape.

He’d even met Attiker’s dragon Eldara in the hope she could bring forward his wolf, but she had confirmed to his regret that he had no wolf inside him. It had been his last hope.

“I was standing here pretending all we’ve worked for in the last few months wasn’t a futile exercise.”

Mansala met his gaze. “Good is never futile, my lord.”

“At least I won’t be your emir after today and you are finally free to call me by my given name.” Mansala arched a disbelieving eyebrow and somehow in the middle of such wretchedness, it made Kamir laugh. Even as children, Mansala had refused to call Kamir by his given name.

They quickly went over the secret plans as Mansala helped Kamir dress after he had bathed, and they shared a light breakfast. Veda had explained there would be a fake rebellion, staged by her secret mate Draul Eryken—the leader of the human alliance—and during the attempted assassination, Kamir would be secretly squirreled away. In the confusion, Kamir, Mansala and three trusted guards would escape through the underground passages, mount horses waiting with Draul’s crew and flee to Cadmeera.

They would have Raz’s protection while they decided what to do.

And Kamir hated every part of the plan. He was grateful his friends were about to save his life, obviously, but felt agonized over failing to save his people.

“Ah,” Attiker had whispered after seeing Eldara last month. “Do not forget that alive, you can fight another day. Dead and the hopes of your people die with you.”

Kamir had eyed Attiker suspiciously after the very grandiose words had left his mouth. Attiker huffed. “Yeah, you caught me. I’m quoting my lord and master. I would just tell you to screw ‘em, but his way sounded fancier.”

Kamir laughed for the first time in quite a while. Because everyone knew Raz hadn’t any hope in hell of mastering Attiker, and he freely admitted it to his friends.

The ceremony was at three bells after midday, but the celebrations that Kamir equally dreaded started two bells before that and the hours to that point would both drag yet simultaneously speed along.

There would be feasting and pleasure slaves available, both of which Kamir hated. His uncle knew he preferred the male sex, as he had gone through the endless futile presentations for a future mate, so at least his preferences were clear.

The presentation of a mate didn’t work in the same way as it had for Attiker and Raz. There was no requirement for him to change his mate into an animal—which was just as well, Kamir thought with bitter humor, since he couldn’t even change himself. The one thing his people did expect was fidelity. But first his grandfather, then his father, had swiftly gotten around that by insisting their mate was veiled in public. Everyone knew his father went through women like candied fruit, but as they were veiled and usually drugged up on fever white, the public was none the wiser.

But he had to pretend. He had to keep the pretense until it got to the expected shift into his animal and the crowning that wouldn’t happen in order to give Raz and Draul’s men time to sneak into the palace grounds along with all the dignitaries assembled for the party.

Or perhaps orgy was a better word than celebration. Whatever word you used, the next two hours were supposed to be about pleasure – which meant eating, drinking, and sex. With his throat closed and his heart beating like a drum, he wasn’t sure which of the three would be worse.

Tsaria kept his head down as he had been taught, and obeyed the instructions not to prostrate himself in the emir’s presence which was expected. Born the youngest son of a poor farmer, his days were filled with exhaustive drudgery until at ten his father had decided that three mouths to feed were one too many and he’d been sold to a pleasure trader. It had hurt so much at first, but the pleasure slaves were at least fed and kept in comfort, so he embraced the life, away from the cruel dictates of his father. His two older brothers had never much seemed to care about him either, so it seemed little to bargain for food and a bed to sleep in to allow customers to use his body as they willed. But at nineteen he was starting to grow too old. His body seemed to develop muscles despite his attempt to stay soft.

And his customers began to shy away. Then he woke one morning to be told by his owner, Ishmael, his last chance was to be taken as a permanent pleasure slave by the emir, of all people, because he preferred males and it was rumored the emir would only look at males he didn’t consider children. He knew if he wasn’t accepted into the royal household, the next stop would be the streets or the Market of All Souls, and fuck only knew who would buy him there.

He would probably be forced to take the fever white. How he’d avoided it this long he didn’t know, but if he was destined for the market, they would get him nice and addicted first. So he didn’t care where he went. That he would do anything for his next fix. He’d seen it so many times.

Ishmael had been blunt. Be accepted into the emir’s harem or face the consequences.

Tsaria was one of seven pleasure slaves, male and female, to be taken to the palace. Two of them, Izella and Karice, were equally as desperate and frightened, but for different reasons. Izella was nearing thirty summers. She knew her days were numbered with Ishmael and if she failed here, it would be the streets. Karice was a bare twelve summers. Her father had similarly dragged her to Ishmael in return for coin but not to feed his sons like Tsaria’s own father had, but to pay for the ale he drank every night. Tsaria was helpless to aid either of them. There were two new boys barely aged thirteen summers and untouched, in case the rumors were false and the emir preferred young ones. If they were true, then the boys would be given to the emir’s guests if they paid enough, or Ishmael would take them back.

They were shown into a cleansing room to prepare. Tsaria refused the poppy, but Izella took hers and urged Karice to do the same, saying it would relax her. He opened his mouth to object but hesitated. Karice was terrified, and whatever was going to happen today would do so whether she was a hundred percent aware of it or not.

He balled his fists in an unusual flare of desperate temper. Had he a blade right then, he would have ended his miserable daily fight, and hoped the goddess would take pity on him and accept him to the heavens. If she didn’t, well, if he was sent to the market he would soon be in hell, so how much worse could it be?

Bathed, perfumed and slicked with oil, he finished his own preparations methodically. He had refused food this morning and almost envied the females their extra orifice that meant they didn’t need to be clean in the same manner, but then he knew the absence of the pleasure slave Ayella’s moon-bleed was not simply due to the herbs some of them took. Her belly would soon display the true reason, and at least he didn’t have to deal with that.

For a moment, he ached with the visions of another life. Of holding a baby in his arms. His child. But then, even if he was ever lucky enough to get a life partner, since he preferred males the chances of that were zero.

They were led into a large room. If it wasn’t for what was about to happen, Tsaria would have appreciated the huge windows that flooded the room with light, and the heavy velvet drapes that shielded the windows, giving the space a more intimate feel even this early in the day. He noted the tables set around the room filled with every conceivable delicacy, and the wine to accompany them. The beds for reclining and the soft cushions for fucking.

He had been in such a room a hundred times.

Ishmael clapped his hands, and they hurried to spread out so when the honored guests came in, they could see them easily to make their selection. He walked to the back but was stopped by Ishmael. “No, you place yourself there.” He pointed to the center, and though Tsaria was surprised, he obeyed.

“None of you sit until they arrive,” he reminded them unnecessarily.

Then, with a fanfare of trumpets, the doors opened, and his breath caught as the most beautiful man Tsaria had ever seen walked ahead of all the others into the room. This must be the emir, followed by his guests, but he barely noticed the others, as he was too enraptured by the deep brown eyes that surveyed the room, a shade darker than his golden-brown skin, the full lips Tsaria ached to taste, and the slim body he knew would feel fantastic wrapped around his own.

Tsaria stepped back in astonishment. He hadn’t had a reaction like this in…well, ever. The men that paid for him were often cruel. There were times when a beating had meant Ishmael couldn’t use him for a good seven days afterwards until his marks healed. The only thing Ishmael wouldn’t permit were permanent scars, so Tsaria guessed he should be lucky.

He watched as everyone hesitated while the emir made the first choice, and Tsaria caught the sudden flash of what seemed like grief in those expressive brown eyes before it was quickly masked.

And then the emir’s gaze fell on him and the world simply disappeared. Or at least altered beyond all recognition. The deep brown eyes that focused on him seemed to lighten as he watched, his astonishment making it difficult to even take a breath. Not that air seemed necessary at that moment, as everything except the man he stared at became inconsequential.

He guessed the emir must have walked over, because in the next moment he stood in front of Tsaria with his hand extended, and Tsaria was helpless not to reach out. To touch what was his. Peace suffused him. In that moment nothing else existed except pure love for this magnificent creature. Nothing in his life had ever felt so wonderful, so freeing.

The second they touched, a flame seemed to ignite inside him. He had a moment to gasp before the burn seemed to spread up his arm and through every part of his body, but then the cry in front of him from the emir grabbed his attention. The emir let go of Tsaria, his body arched. Bending his head back, he opened his mouth to scream. Flames shot from between his lips as if some demon had possessed him.

Tsaria fell to his knees, but screams broke out around him and a stampede started as people ran to the door. Smoke blinded him, terror rendered him immobile, until finally silence settled around the room and, stunned, he realized he was still alive.

Tsaria took a breath and when it didn’t hurt, he opened his eyes, amazed. They widened in awe and sheer disbelief as he stared in front of him. Where once a man had stood, there was now a dragon.

A real dragon.

A fire-breathing twenty-foot-tall dragon that had to duck to avoid the ceiling. For a moment he wondered if the water he’d sipped that morning had been drugged, but as his eyes roved over the gleaming purple and blue scales, he shivered at the size of the beast’s talons, then gaped at the ridges that fell along its back and extended to the length of a very large, very powerful tail, until his eyes finally rested on the dragon’s head and snout.

And he stared into its eyes.

The now amber ones he absolutely knew had been looking at him a moment ago, but in the body of the emir.

Chapter two

Tsaria stared at the dragon for another endless moment, took in the gorgeous eyes once more, then barely dared to breathe as the dragon lowered its head. He knew he should be cowering, begging for his life, but nothing in the beautiful gaze that met his own made him think of danger, even as he knew that with a lungful of fire or a snap of those huge jaws the huge beast could end his life. The dragon lowered his snout so far that Tsaria could almost reach out and touch it, and his fingers ached to do just that, even when he’d been terrified a moment ago. But this was the emir. So far above him in life and station, he might as well reach for the moon. The dragon huffed and a little smoke curled out of each nostril. Tsaria almost smiled. He would have had his body not been screaming to get closer, to touch. What was wrong with him? He should have run out with everyone else.

Some were still running. He could hear distant sounds, but it was as if none of them belonged here in this moment. The dragon extended his neck a little more, but Tsaria didn’t step back, and unable to resist, he lifted his arm, uncurling his fingers to touch. So close. Barely another hand span separated them. The dragon blinked his stunning amber eyes but kept them fixed on Tsaria, and it was that focus that gave him the courage. Without another thought, his fingers gently touched the dragon’s snout, and something changed in that moment. But rather than overwhelm him, a deep peace stole through his limbs, and he reached a little farther to press his palm against the hot leathery skin.

Just as Tsaria felt the dragon relax and push into his hand, the double doors slammed open, and the dragon instantly vanished. With what seemed like a whole army of guards streaming into the room, it took Tsaria far too long to notice the naked and shivering human form of the emir curled up on the floor.

The noise and screamed orders were suddenly too much. Cruel hands bit into his arm, and he was yanked away, unable to see the emir as guards surrounded him. He caught sight of a man in rich embroidered clothes striding through the double doors as he was dragged out of it, and foolishly looked him in the eye, but the blow to the back of his head took care of that.

Tsaria didn’t know where he was when his senses returned, but eventually bitter understanding settled in him. The pain in his shoulders and his inability to move told him he was not only chained but strung up. His head throbbed sickly where he’d been knocked out, and he struggled not to shiver as the damp, chilled air raked unseen nails over his skin.

He recognized the sounds of misery and knew he wasn’t alone. He struggled not to inhale the stench of human waste and knew it was only his empty belly that allowed him to suppress the gags. The whimpers, the clink of chains, and the scurrying of rodents sounding far too close made him risk opening his eyes.

It took him a moment because the few wall sconces didn’t light the space up, but when he confirmed he was in some sort of dungeon and that he was in just one of many occupied cells, he was glad he couldn’t make out all the details.

He knew he’d been sent here because he had dared look that noble in the eyes, and then everything hit him at once. Where he’d been, what he’d seen, and finally the human body of the emir curled up on the floor, before his guards surrounded him.

Tsaria hitched in a sharp breath. Was he dead? Is that what he had seen? The emir’s final living moment? Is that why he was in here? Were they blaming him?

But none of that made sense. Dragons weren’t real. They were legends no one believed. There had been some tall tales from a slaver that one had been seen in Cadmeera, but no one believed it to be true.

Except he’d seen it and hadn’t tasted any of the food or drink beforehand, so he hadn’t been drugged with poppy, or ishler, or goddess-forbid fever white. The vision of those amber eyes gazing at him, the emir’s eyes, would probably haunt him for what was likely to be a short and very miserable life. Tsaria had known he wouldn’t live past forty summers. No one who had scrabbled in the dirt for spoiled cabbage leaves left over from the traders ever did, and while the food was better in the pleasure house, he knew one day something would go wrong. A beating would go too far, or he would be sent to the market where he might stay alive for a time but wish every day he was dead.

Maybe if that day ever came, that was the day to take the fever white.

He closed his eyes for a time, but the pain in his shoulders made it impossible to even drift off. He could barely reach the floor, so his arms had to take all his weight.

After a time, when he was convinced that if he managed to get hold of any sort of blade he would use it against his own throat, shouts roused him and he opened his eyes as his barred cell opened and two huge soldiers walked in, followed by another carrying a torch. They ignored the pleas and begging of the other wretched prisoners and when his manacles were loosened, one held him up when the stabbing agony in his shoulders blackened his vision. Tsaria didn’t even open his eyes as he was dragged away and up some stairs, until he felt himself lowered onto a chair and the noxious smell of the cells was replaced by a pleasant lemon one. Maybe he had died?

Then a sharp smack against his cheek nearly sent him to the floor again, yanking him forcefully into the present, only to face the same nobleman he had seen before. He didn’t bother lowering his eyes this time. Maybe if he angered him, he would get a quicker death?

“Tsaria,” the man finally spoke. “I assume that is the name given to you by the whore house?”

It wasn’t, but he had no idea if the man expected an answer or not. In his experience, customers wanted you to use your mouth for one thing, and it wasn’t speaking.

He saw one of the guards raise his hand a second time, so he blurted out an answer. “No, sir. I was named for my mother.” Tsaria did his best not to cringe, expecting more pain, but it never came. Not that another answer, or the wrong one, couldn’t change that.

“And where do you come from?” He sounded almost bored, and Tsaria was confused. Why did he care? Tsaria knew he wasn’t asking about the pleasure house, as they had to be granted approval to be in the palace.

“Rajpur, sir. My mother died at my birth, and my father couldn’t feed three of us. I was sold to Ishmael at ten summers.”

Tsaria had always known about his mother. His father had told him so many times that Tsaria had killed her.

“I wish every moment you had died instead of her.” No wonder his father couldn’t wait to get rid of him. If it hadn’t been for his brother Alain sneaking him bits of left-over food, Tsaria would have been dead long before age ten. Looking at his life now, maybe his brother hadn’t done him a favor.

The man didn’t reply immediately, and he was torn between staying silent and wondering what else the nobleman needed to know.

“And what did you see earlier today?”

The question was smooth but slid from poisoned lips. Tsaria’s skin pebbled in fear. This was a trap. He wanted to know if he’d seen the dragon.

“I am ashamed to admit I took too much poppy this morning,” he stammered, knowing he didn’t have to say why. They knew why whores needed it. “I’m sorry,” he burst out. “It wasn’t my intention to displease, but if you give me another chance, I am skilled—”

“Silence,” the nobleman snapped. “You lie. Ishmael said you refuse to touch it.”

“No, my lord.” He shook his head and ignored the pain. “I don’t take fever white. The poppy relaxes my muscles and makes—”

Tsaria snapped his lips shut when the imperious hand rose again, realizing from the distaste on the man’s face that he understood why Tsaria needed to relax his muscles and he didn’t need it spelled out. He barely dared breathe and lowered his gaze obediently as the nobleman stared at him. “So, you had hallucinations? Fever dreams?”

Tsaria trembled with genuine fear but tried to sound penitent. “Please, I took too much. I don’t remember anything past entering the palace.” His heart pounded in his ears. If they believed he didn’t see the emir turn into a dragon, they might let him go. Although that made no sense either. The room had been full. Why single him out?

“Do you want me to see if I can jog his memory, my lord?”

Tsaria’s stomach dropped to the floor. This was the soldier who had smacked him earlier, and Tsaria doubted he needed an excuse to do so again.

“Not yet, but it may come to that.”

“The fever white would loosen his tongue, my lord,” and Tsaria turned to see yet another man. This man wasn’t in uniform, but he could guess at his role, seeing the small, coiled whip at his belt. He had an ornate blue embroidered jacket, split at each side to show black breeches, but he wore a powdered wig signaling he was some sort of clerk. Wigs were a step up, a sign of revered employment, but still just that. It meant they weren’t of the noble class, but usually held a trusted position in some noble’s house.

Hair was usually an indication of position. Chamber-slaves, those that were supposed to remain invisible, generally had shorn hair, and wore skull caps marking the house they belonged to. Other positions like gardeners, cooks, and the housemaids wore short, neat locks that could be pinned back. Positions of power within the slave circles, those that had some sort of supervisory position, wore wigs. The aristocracy—males and females— had long hair to show that they could afford the body slaves needed to dress their hair every morning.

The only exception was the pleasure slaves and while they had to dress their hair themselves, they were allowed elaborate styles to further entice customers. Tsaria had begun to grow his out the day he entered the pleasure house, and it was now a vanity for which he was probably going to get punished as well.

The shopkeepers and those employed outside the circle of the rich had fewer restrictions, but short hair was more manageable.

Tsaria had no idea why his mind was rambling with such inane thoughts. No, no, he knew. It was the threat of the drug his mind had shied away from. The one thing that terrorized him above all else.

“Not yet,” the nobleman mused. “I require his mind clear.”

“My lord,” the servant bowed.

“Wait,” the nobleman had turned to leave but paused and looked at Tsaria’s jailors. “He is to be chained by the ankle only and given the basics.” He glanced at Tsaria. “We will talk a second time tonight to give you a chance to regain your wits. If you fail to do so, I will make you wish you could forget every single day of what I will ensure is a very long and very miserable life.”

Tsaria was taken back into the same cell and a manacle was fastened around his ankle. They gave him a dry, hard crust of bread and a larger bowl of some watered-down beer, then through the bars, he saw them pass out smaller bowls of what looked like slop the pigs would turn their noses up at to the other prisoners. It was disgusting, but it was food, and there had been many times as a child he’d had worse, or none at all.

All the prisoners turned away from him as if they were worried the guards’ attention would fall on them, and Tsaria didn’t look either. Then the sconces were snuffed out, and the room plunged into darkness. To his left he caught a quick inhale and a whimper, and then a shushing noise, but one attempting comfort, not a reprimand.

“M-Ma,” a whisper came, and his heart clenched. It was a child?

“Drink this,” he heard the barely there reply, and then another sniffle.

“But I had yours yesterday,” the little voice mumbled, and he knew that the mother was giving her share to the child. The first bite of bread turned to ash in his mouth, and he shuffled over to the side he could hear the voices coming from.

“I can’t see you,” Tsaria whispered, “but I have hard bread and some ale. Take it for your little one so you can eat the other.”

The astonished silence was telling, and he caught movement now that his eyes were adjusting. He felt rather than saw fingers snatch the bread as he pushed it through the bars. He tried and failed to push the bowl of ale through the small gap. If he tipped it, it would spill. “It’s too wide,” Tsaria hissed in annoyance.

More shuffling and he could tell there were two shadows near the bars. “Son, put your face to the bars and open wide.” He caught on straight away and little by little tipped the liquid into the child’s open mouth, giving him a chance to swallow and eat the bread in between.

The child fell asleep almost immediately afterwards and after being offered the female’s gruel and turning it down, she thanked him profusely and shuffled back to the corner, holding her child.

It didn’t seem too long after that the door suddenly banged open. The same two guards headed straight for Tsaria and because of the torches they carried he could see the cruel gleam in the eyes of the one that had asked to make him talk before. Tsaria wasn’t given a chance to speak, merely dragged to his feet, and the guard leaned forward so close, he smelled the stale beer and old food that probably festered in between his black teeth. “His lordship has decided to give you another chance,” he said, “but I really hope you turn down his offer because he says if you don’t behave we can have you for as long as we manage to keep you alive.”

Tsaria turned his face away, not just because his breath was rancid, but so the disgusting excuse for a human didn’t see the fear he was sure would be stark in his eyes.

Not for the first time since he had woken up, he wondered what was going to happen to him now.

Chapter three

Kamir couldn’t remember ever being so cold and for far too many long minutes, he didn’t remember where he was, even with the silken sheets wrapped around his shivering body.

“Have the guards been taken care of?”

The voice of his uncle hit him like a cudgel, but by some miracle he kept his eyes closed and while he couldn’t control the tremors, his breathing never changed to give him away.

“And the few attendants. It has been arranged as you requested, my lord.” He also recognized the second voice, much to his disgust. Ibrahim was one of his uncle’s right-hand men. Not that Ibrahim’s hand would ever hold a sword, but it had no need, he did enough damage with a pen.

“My lady—”

The other voice registered in Kamir’s brain as one of his chamber guards, but then he could have cried in relief at the next one.

“Who do you think you are to deny me passage to my brother’s bedchamber? I assume you are fond of your head remaining attached to your miserable neck?”

Kamir’s heart leapt at the sound of his sister’s voice. If ever there had been a more suitable emir than Veda, he didn’t know them. She would have the kingdom at its knees, but not in fear, in adoration. Kamir could never inspire such devotion.

“Veda?” he pretended her voice had roused him, and ignored the fluttering hands of Ibrahim, and the deceit that coated every concerned word that dripped from his uncle’s tongue.

“Brother,” Veda acknowledged, sweeping into the room, and completely ignoring their uncle.

“Your Highness, the healers are—”

She waved Ibrahim’s comment off as if it was inconsequential. “You may leave us.” And Kamir, because his eyes were fully open, caught the look that the weasel sent his uncle, as if Veda didn’t have the power to command any slave’s instant obedience.

“I require privacy,” Kamir managed to croak out, and Ibrahim bowed and left.

“Of course you do,” Veda said softly and sat on the edge of his bed, then blinked and peered into his eyes. She opened her mouth, closed it as if she thought better of her words and turned to Gabar. “Uncle? Perhaps you can brief us?”

“It was Cadmeera,” Gabar spat. “The dragon answers to their king’s consort, and they clearly wish to annex our great nation.”

“And where is the dragon?” Veda interrupted.

“Escaped through the throne room windows where it also entered. There is damage to the wall, even though the windows are huge. A great many were killed.”

The breath caught in his throat. Damage? Killed? No, no, that wasn’t true. He’d felt peace for the first time in—

“And we were barely able to save his highness. Many loyal guards gave their lives, of course, and their families will be compensated.”

No. No. Kamir’s mind was flayed in all directions. People died? Why?

“I wish to speak to my brother alone,” Veda said crisply, as if she was daring Gabar to object. He hesitated, but then bowed and left, and Kamir wanted to laugh. If Gabar had been in Veda’s sole presence, as a female she wouldn’t have warranted the same respect. The bow was for him. Veda stood and stalked the chamber, then opened the door, surprising the guards when she shut it immediately, then came back to Kamir.

“We’re alone,” she whispered and bent and brushed a kiss to his forehead. “What in seven hells did you do?” It was funny in an overwhelming, ridiculous way and Kamir described in detail what he could. Veda listened intently. “So, you’re a hundred percent sure you were the dragon? It wasn’t Eldara as they think?”

Kamir hesitated. But he knew. Deep down, he knew. “Yes.” He had no idea how, but it had been him.

“Tell me exactly what happened when you changed,” she asked.

“It was the pleasure slave,” he whispered.

She frowned. “What was?”

“He changed me.” He could still feel that touch. That connection. “I’d never felt anything like it.”

“Wait, are you saying the touch of some stranger caused this?”

She sounded incredulous, and he didn’t blame her. “Believe me,” he begged and clutched her hand.

“Brother,” she whispered, not a name but a promise. “Have you looked at yourself since you woke up?”

Kamir shook his head. “In what way?”

She smiled. “Well unless a slave has had time to add a purple streak to your hair, and a sorcerer has lightened the color of your eyes then I believe you. Not,” she added, “that I wouldn’t anyway.”

“Then what happened?” Veda stood and walked to the cabinet lifting the looking glass and bringing it back. Kamir gaped. His eyes were almost amber, and he had a purple streak in his hair. “What did the dragon look like?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “We were alone. People screamed. They ran. The pleasure slave was the only one that stayed.”

“So you were looking at the slave not the dragon?” Veda arched an eyebrow as if proving her point. “There were witnesses? You are sure?”

“Mansala. Where is he?”

She shook her head. “No one knows. His body hasn’t been found, but—”

“He didn’t enter the room with me. He was making arrangements for our escape.” Kamir croaked.

“I was told there were many deaths,” Veda said. But if it was you it makes no sense.” Kamir felt nauseous. He had felt such peace, such love. There had been no hatred in his heart. Veda hesitated and Kamir noticed.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“There were many killed. All the pleasure slaves save the one you mean. The guards. The only people unaccounted for are Mansala and your pleasure slave. There was a sergeant who apparently told Gabar with his dying breath that a dragon flew in from the large windows taking out half the wall, and all who could have confirmed or denied his story were hacked to pieces.”

“So, no one saw me as the dragon?”

“No one alive,” Veda said, caution lacing every word.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Kamir whispered, and Veda made a strangled noise and gathered her brother in her arms.

“You aren’t capable,” she promised. “Whatever happened, someone or something else is responsible.”

“You should have fled,” Kamir said, clinging on unashamedly. “What happened to the plan, and why aren’t I in chains?” Because today was the day he had to prove himself a wolf, which he knew would never happen.

Veda huffed. “The palace was locked down and all celebrations cancelled. Draul cannot get in.”

“Which still doesn’t explain why I’m in my bedchamber and you have free access,” Kamir said, letting Veda go and sitting up properly.

“No,” Veda agreed. “He’s up to something.” She paused. “It makes no sense, but it’s a fact that all who witnessed the change are dead.” She arched a brow. “Except the pleasure slave, of course. And Mansala, hopefully if he returned in time. I don’t believe our dear uncle hasn’t noticed your eyes, although he’s self-absorbed enough not to.”

“I was drawn to the slave. Maybe…maybe it is he who is the dragon?” Kamir didn’t feel any different.

“I suppose it depends on if you can shift again?” she asked hopefully. Kamir closed his eyes and searched for the feeling he had when he saw the slave. Such love. As if, for once, everything was right in his body. He felt different, but not so different that there was a dragon inside of him. He even smiled but he shook his head. “It sounds ridiculous. I didn’t know dragon shifters even existed.”

“Except we’ve seen Eldara.”

“But she’s not a dragon shifter,” Kamir argued. “And she said she could sense no animal in me.”

Veda sighed. “She said no wolf, but I agree, I would have thought the presence of a dragon would be easier for her to sense. The only story I heard of their existence was the one Attiker told me.”

Kamir remembered. “According to what her highness the queen mother told Attiker, supposedly thousands of summers before the Fenrirs, the five kingdoms were the home of dragons.”

“But in that story,” Veda said, “the dragon shifter was the omega.”

They both stared at each other. “I have always known I am not made to rule a kingdom.”

Veda leaned forward and placed a finger over Kamir’s lips. “Don’t measure yourself against our father. You have compassion and that takes more strength than cruelty. You would do the best thing for our people even if it might not be the best thing for you. And Attiker is hardly weak, if that’s what you’re trying to imply. It also takes more courage than either our father or Gabar have in their little fingers.” She wrinkled her nose. “No, I don’t believe they have any in any digit.”

“Which brings us back to Gabar and his behavior.”

“You think he knows something?” Veda asked.

“We only have his word that the guard said he saw a dragon fly in through the arch windows before he died.”

“People were screaming, but they ran out of the room. I didn’t chase them. All my attention was on the slave.” He was beautiful. Light golden-brown skin, hair that flowed down his back like silk. Darker brown but with lighter streaks when the sun caught it, almost turning it to burnished copper. And his eyes were extraordinary. Most of their people had eyes in varying shades of brown, some occasional blue, but the slave’s were gray, a silver -gray that was stunning. “I don’t even know his name.”

Veda stood. “Let me—” But her words were cut off as the door opened and Mansala rushed in. Kamir’s lungs took a full breath for what seemed the first time since he’d woken.

“My lord, I was detained.”

“As was everyone,” Gabar said as he strolled through the door after him. “For your safety, and to calm the people, I have said you are injured after an unfortunate incident with rebels and the coronation has been postponed a week.”

Kamir gazed at Gabar. He didn’t dare look at Veda or Mansala. It made no sense. His uncle was clearly up to something. But why would he not take this moment to wrest the kingdom from what he saw as Kamir’s weak grasp? He had the perfect opportunity.

“My thanks, uncle,” Kamir said carefully. “I appreciate the time to recover and to discover what happened.” Gabar bowed and clapped his hands. Slaves rushed in with food and wine.

“I have already initiated an investigation, my Caliph.”

Kamir blinked in shock. Caliph? He wouldn’t have the right to be called so until after he was crowned the emir, and Caliph was a title reserved for very close family members, mates even. Gabar might be his uncle, but they were never close. What in seven hells was Gabar up to?

“And I have recalled the Rajpuran imperial forces to secure our borders.”

Ah, so that was what he was up to. He still intended to make all the decisions and thought Kamir would just capitulate. He thought stroking Kamir’s ego was all it took, except Kamir had no choice at the moment. He still didn’t understand why his uncle had granted him a seven-day respite, which meant his uncle wasn’t sure of the ground beneath his feet. Which meant logically, he wasn’t sure Kamir was going to shift into a dragon again.

But then, neither was Kamir. He hesitated for a moment, then stood and accepted the robe Mansala passed him. He was used to many different slaves seeing his body and had long since ceased feeling discomfort. “I wish to dress, and then I will view the bodies of the deceased and say prayers for their acceptance with the goddess.”

Gabar hissed in a breath, which showed how rattled he was. “Highness, I am sure the people wouldn’t expect you to further distress yourself.”

“I thank you for your care, Uncle, but we both know this would be the least they expect.” And Kamir knew he had him. Gabar couldn’t naysay an age-old tradition. Putting off a party was entirely appropriate to respect the dead, but Kamir’s presence would be marked if he didn’t say the prayers, and as long as Gabar was determined to treat Kamir as the emir, he intended to act like one.

He caught Veda’s calm gaze and knew she had realized he was searching for a particular body. “I will accompany you,” she said respectfully and fastened her veil, as no female could be seen in public without one.

It took barely a few minutes for Mansala to dress him in dark mourning robes, including the deep purple sash that only the ruler of Rajpur wore, the one that had been taken from his father’s dead body and placed on his own. In those few private moments, he shared with Mansala what had happened as far as he knew, and what Veda had told him about his eyes and hair which it was clear Mansala saw as well. Mansala never hesitated. “Let me know what you need,” he said. “I assume this is why we are viewing the dead?”

Kamir sighed. “Not just.”

“You didn’t kill them, my lord.”

Kamir gazed at his best friend. “But I might as well have.”

“Said every general in every war ever,” Mansala pointed out. “I don’t know what happened, but I agree with the princess. Your uncle’s behavior makes no sense, but we need to take advantage of the reprieve.”

Kamir took a deep breath. “Let us go.”

He really didn’t want to. His heart hurt at the thought that the slave would be among the dead. If he saw his body, Kamir would turn and hand the sash to Gabar himself. He didn’t know what had happened in that room, but Kamir had met his soul mate. For one perfect moment, he had been happy.

He just didn’t know what he would do if he was dead, and he wasn’t sure his kingdom wanted to find out.

Chapter four

Kamir did his best to comfort the grieving, feeling utterly useless and a fraud, as he often did. The first crying woman that had run toward him begging blessings to ensure her husband would be accepted into the afterlife was blocked by the guards and Mansala himself, but Kamir quickly dismissed the order and held her as she sobbed. He went to each pallet and repeated blessings. Some had grieving families, some were alone. He had to see the soldiers first and managed to keep his stomach in check as he saw the horrific injuries many had died from.

Many bodies had been burned beyond all recognition, and there were at least five they were struggling to identify. Veda followed silently behind him, but he knew she missed nothing.

He gave each dead soul the blessing of the goddess, then got to the last pallet and held his breath. He was ashamed of the tiny amount of relief he felt when he saw from the uniform it was a soldier.

“Where are the other bodies?” Kamir asked the attendant as carefully as he could, heart in his mouth. Would he know if the slave was dead? But that made no sense. If he was the dragon, he had apparently killed all these people. Kamir struggled not to vomit and to remain impassive in front of the body attendant.

“Eminence,” the attendant bowed low, and Kamir didn’t react to yet another title. Yet another name. Highness, Eminence, Caliph. He didn’t deserve any of them. “There are five we have been unable to identify, but we think from the jewelry that didn’t burn that none were soldiers.”

Kamir turned and strode from the room, struggling not to heave up what little water and fruit he’d consumed several hours ago. Everything in him screamed that this was wrong, and yet he’d felt the change, seen the slave look up at him, touch his face.

“Brother,” Veda whispered and caught up to him, knowing he was distressed.

Kamir paused, but they weren’t alone. At least three guards and four servants were listening. “I will retire to my private prayer room and seclude myself. You may join me, sister.”

Veda bowed her head and followed him and Mansala. When they got to his chambers, they both disappeared into the small sanctuary. Mansala closed the door and turned to stand guard outside. There were not many that would dare to cross him.

Kamir sank to the floor, his hand flying to his mouth. Veda quickly got some wine from the back and tried to hand it to him, but the smell of the potent red turned his stomach further.

“I can’t bear this,” he said.

“Kamir,” Veda sank down next to him. “I agree that none of this makes sense, but you aren’t capable of killing—”

“But the bodies,” Kamir spat out. Half of them looked burned alive.

“Kamir,” Veda yanked at his hands and held them. “Listen to me.” When she was confident she had his attention, she let go. “You were busy saying the proper prayers and comforting the grieving, but I wasn’t. At least half the soldiers had burns that covered a different wound. There were some where you couldn’t tell, but on others I distinctly made out what looked to be an injury made by a blade.”

“A blade,” Kamir repeated in confusion, but then he shook his head. “But talons—”

“Would rip and tear, not slice cleanly. You would have noticed yourself had you not had so many demands made of you in there.”

Kamir gazed at his sister. “You think they were murdered with a sword then the burns were to cover it up? Blame the dragon?” He thought furiously. “But he can’t be so deluded that he believes we are in any position to wage another war on Cadmeera.” Kamir didn’t have to name his uncle. They both knew who he meant.

“I think it was a poor attempt, yes, but what I want to know is where he has the slave?”

Kamir stilled. “You think he lives?” His heart pounded so hard he expected his ribs to give way. Kamir thought furiously. “That’s why they had to be killed beyond identification,” he said slowly. “So no one would be able to miss a particular one. Were there five slaves brought here?”

“I don’t know. The only way of establishing that would be to visit the pleasure house, and I would expect they were accompanied by at least one master, possibly two.”

“I could send Mansala?”

Veda shook her head. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you unprotected at the moment, and I doubt if even I could slip out, the palace is so locked down.”

Kamir leaned his head back against the wall he had sunk down next to. “Which means he has to be here.”

“The palace is huge,” Veda protested. “There are a dozen places they could have him.”

But Kamir shook his head. “No, they couldn’t,” and he gazed at her. “Think, Veda. Where could they hide him in plain sight, and not have anyone identify him?”

She looked blankly at him for a second, then her lips curved in a grim smile. “You think he’s in the dungeons.”

“But I have absolutely no idea how to find out.” If he even attempted to go down there, the guards would panic and the slave would be killed before he’d even gotten into the anteroom.

They were both silent for a moment, trying to puzzle it out, when they heard a tap on iron bars lining the window, and Veda jumped up with a startled cry. Before Kamir could stop her, she’d unhooked the metal and swung it wide. Kamir gaped at the man who scrambled through before he clasped Veda to him and caught her lips in a scorching kiss. Kamir got to his feet as Veda pulled back. Draul Eryken, leader of the human alliance and wanted in all five kingdoms with a price on his head, sketched a bow.

Kamir rolled his eyes at the feigned deference because he knew that Draul had wanted nothing more than a revolution in Cadmeera until he had met and befriended Attiker. He wasn't wanted in Cadmeera any longer, but he knew His Highness, King Raz'mar, was keeping up appearances for the moment. He wasn’t sure how Eryken felt about Rajpur, but knew he was doing his best to help the revolutionary forces in Abergenny. Abergenny was an even bigger mess than Rajpur. He noticed Veda never questioned how he’d scaled a palace wall without being seen, nor how he knew where they were.

But then Kamir himself had announced it in front of many people half a bell ago.

Veda quickly told him what had happened, and he frowned. “Attiker is waiting for a signal, and I can absolutely guarantee the dragon isn’t Eldara.” He smirked. “Apparently baby number two is on its way and her mate isn’t letting her out of his sight. She visits Attiker but that’s it.”

Kamir ignored the ridiculous statement because he was actually unsure if it was indeed true, but he shook his head. “Eldara isn’t a dragon shifter.”

Draul huffed out a breath. “So just let me check I’ve got this straight.” Veda rolled her eyes but waited. “You were expecting, with our help, to have to escape your kingdom today because you can’t shift into a wolf, which is a requirement, and Daddy was too busy fighting with his neighbors to notice it had never happened before?”

“Well, it doesn’t stipulate a wolf, but yes.”

“Then this pleasure slave appears and bam, you turn into a dragon?”

Kamir winced. “I think so.”

“Uh-huh,” Draul said skeptically, then winced himself when he got a certain princess’s elbow in the ribs. “So then apparently the dragon goes on a killing spree, except it’s likely that your uncle was responsible because of the injuries that Veda spotted, and anyone who actually saw what happened, except you and this pleasure slave, has conveniently turned up dead?”

Kamir didn’t bother wincing that time. It was hopeless.

“But the real problem is you think your uncle is acting shady because he’s got the slave locked in the dungeon, and he doesn’t know which of you is responsible for the dragon?”

“Stop calling him a slave,” Kamir snapped.

“Isn’t he?” Draul challenged and Kamir knew that he wasn’t looking at his sister’s bond mate, he was looking at the human responsible for sweeping a revolution through the entire continent.

“Draul,” Veda almost growled the name, and he held up his hand.

“I know. I know. You can’t take so much as a piss until you get those fancy jewels on your head, let alone free slaves.”

“Why would you want any sort of jewels on my head?” Kamir challenged, and Draul grinned.

“Because a certain pickpocket called Attiker taught me that sometimes I’m wrong, and that I have to choose my battles.” He stepped forward. “I can help, but make sure you don’t let me down.”

“I don’t care about your expectations,” Kamir said bluntly. “I’m too busy worrying about the people of Rajpur.”

Draul grinned. “Good answer.” He turned to Veda. “Remember Tam?”

Veda pursed her lips. “One of Ash’s lads? Flame-red hair? More freckles than anyone has the right to?”

“That’s the one. I’ll make sure he’s arrested within the hour. Petty shit, because we both like his head exactly where it is.”

“But how will he get a message out?” Veda asked.

“Mice.”

“But mice—” Kamir shut his mouth just in time because he was going to say something ridiculous like mice can’t talk. Veda would never let him forget it, and he hoped one day they would all be in a place where she could tease him again like she had when he was young.

Draul’s expression softened. “He has a trick with animals. Don’t ask me how he does it, but if either of you find a mouse in your pocket tomorrow, you’ll know that’s a yes. As in yes, your sl—boy’s in the cells.”

“Then we’ll just have to work out how to free him,” Veda said.

Draul didn’t say easy in a sarcastic tone, but Kamir heard it just the same.

“Actually, I might have an idea about that, but we need to know he’s there first.” Draul bent his head, and they made a plan. It was ridiculous and too many things could go very wrong, but it was a start.

Tsaria was floating in that state between consciousness and wishing he was anything but. The nobleman had summoned him again some time ago and when he hadn’t been able to change his story, he’d been tossed back behind bars. But not before they’d tried to change his mind first. Painfully.

And by the goddess, he’d been so close to breaking. One more hit and he’d have spilled. He knew it. To be honest, he didn’t know why he hadn’t. He knew the second he said the emir had shifted into the dragon, he’d be dead. But at this point, he’d gone from being afraid of death to wishing for it. It would be so easy to make the pain stop.

He roused briefly when there was a lot of shouting and swearing as a new prisoner was flung into the cell next to his, on the opposite side from the child and his mother. He knew he should be trying to do something for those two. The child had cried inconsolably after a few guards had been in there with his mam, but she hadn’t said a word after she’d stopped screaming. He wished he had the strength to comfort him, but if he was right about what might have happened, then nothing he or anyone else could say would make it better.

After a while the guards left them in the dark and Tsaria might have been able to drift if the annoying little shite in the other cell would have shut up. Tsaria’s straw pile was close to his bars, and had he thought for a second that he could actually get on his feet, he would have moved.

“For pity’s sake,” Tsaria moaned. “Do you want me to curse a pox on your whole family?” It was a common curse.

“Haven’t got one left,” the whisper came back. “What about you, dragon-boy?”

And of course, that roused him faster than the threat to drown him in the lake water had done earlier when the guards had to carry him back to his cell.

“Thought that might get your attention,” the whisper came again when Tsaria didn’t reply. He’d come to kill him. The emir—that beautiful man was dead.

“I don’t want fever white before I die.” If he was going to die, he wanted it on his terms.

And the whispers that he hadn’t been listening to stopped abruptly.

“How in seven hell’s did you turn we’re going to get you out of here into we are going to kill you?”

“Because I killed him. I touched him, and then—” But he pressed his lips together because he didn’t want to shame himself further.

“You daft sod,” came back a little too loudly. “Now listen, will you?” And the whispers continued. Apparently Tam, as he was called, had been sent to make sure he was in here and not dead as the emir’s uncle and everyone else was insisting. The emir was very much alive and, according to Tam’s boss, was very keen on getting to know Tsaria a lot better. In fact, his boss might have even used the word smitten.

“I have no idea what that even means,” Tsaria said. He assumed Tam was from Cadmeera, somewhere down by the port, he would guess. Not even the beggars in the Market of Lost Souls had that type of accent.

“They’ll be coming to release me in the morning, probably before you wake.” Release him? No one got let out of here. Maybe Tsaria had taken one too many blows to his head, and he was hallucinating? “Tomorrow the guards will get an order to say you’ve been summoned by that bastard upstairs, except he won’t have sent it. Once the guards get you out of the cells and into the passage to upstairs, there’ll be a little bit of a set-to, which will basically end with two dead guards. The ones that bop the guards will take you the back way and out to the horses.”

He was hallucinating. He was a slave. People didn’t kill guards and arrange mounted rescues for him. “And here.” He felt something like a small stick land on his chest. “Chew it. Tastes like shite but it will make you sleep. Nothing’s gonna happen until tomorrow, and it’ll help if you can at least stand on your own when the time comes.”

Tsaria started chewing the disgusting mouthful and nearly spat it out, but then he heard Tam talking to someone else. “Now little fella,” he whispered, and Tsaria heard the squeak of what sounded like a mouse.

He shut his eyes because he wasn’t fond of rodents, and if Tam was insane enough to talk to one, he might as well try to sleep so he couldn’t hear it.

Chapter five

Tsaria’s eyes shot open in panic, and it took him a long, disorientating moment to figure out he was still in his cramped cell, and another moment to work out that the noise from the guard shouting at the kid in the next door cell was what had woken him.

He turned his head and his heart clenched. The boy was on his own. He didn’t know where his mam was, but it didn’t look good. And the guard that was shouting was one of the regular bullies. Not that they weren’t all bad, but this one seemed to take great enjoyment in it.

“I said,” the guard shouted, banging on the bars with his stick. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

“Put him in here with me,” Tsaria croaked out before he thought better of it, and the guard turned to look.

“Means if he continues to make that annoying fucking noise, it’ll be you that suffers,” the guard said, and his smile showed a row of rotting yellow teeth.

Like I wasn’t already.

Tsaria nodded, expecting even the tiny movement to hurt, and was surprised when it didn’t. Then memory flooded him. Tam. The emir. Wait, something about a mouse? What the hell had been in that stuff he gave him? By the time he’d decided that he didn’t care what it was, he grunted as a smelly bundle of nothing but bones and tears hit him. The guard had tossed the kid right on top of him.

Tsaria’s arms came around the boy automatically and he ignored the guard as he sauntered over to his rickety table and took a swig out of the jug that was on it. By the goddess he was thirsty. Juggling the boy, he sat up cautiously, noticing Tam was absent. But in the shadows of Tam’s empty cell he saw a clay pot, the type they used to hand out the swill they called beer in here. Cheaper than water anyway. Only the posh people in the city could afford it to be brought clean from the country.

“What’s your name?” Tsaria whispered.

“Jael,” the boy mumbled.

“Tsaria.” And he hesitated. “Where’s your mam?”

Jael shook his head and buried it in Tsaria’s shoulder. “She didn’t talk,” he whispered. “After the men came. Then they took her this morning when she wouldn’t wake up. "

Tsaria closed his eyes in despair. “I need to go use my pot. Can you wait there for me?”

Another nod, and Tsaria put him down on the pallet, managed to stand and walk to relieve himself, then thanks to the dim shadows keeping him mostly hidden, he crossed to the opposite corner next to Tam’s empty cell and reached for the clay beaker, thin enough to get through the bars. By the goddess, it was still full, but almost as if hidden. Had Tam left it for him?

Then he remembered what else he had said. It couldn’t possibly be true. He took a quick couple of sips, then returned to the pallet and whispered for Jael to drink quietly but finish it.

He sat back down and pulled Jael close, not attempting to fool himself that it was just Jael that needed the comfort and they both dozed for a while until the opening of his cell door jarred him awake.

“Get up, you’re wanted.” He got a flash of yellow teeth. Tsaria hesitated a second too long, but instead of the guard’s cane striking his legs, he hit Jael and the little boy cried out and tried to draw his bare feet away from the monster who had just lashed out at him. Tsaria jumped up and stood in front of the boy and the guard grinned, tying Tsaria’s hands before leading him out.

Tsaria sent Jael what he hoped was a reassuring look, even though he was trying not to visibly shake. He wasn’t sure he would survive another beating. Then a second guard stepped in behind him and picked Jael up, a hand over the boy’s mouth to silence him.

“What—” But Tsaria’s thoughtless words were cut off by another blow and the guard sneered.

“Told the sarge you might not squeal if they hit you, but I doubt you’d keep quiet for the rat.”

A sudden chill swept through his body, and he could feel the blood draining from his face. What had he done? He couldn’t let Jael be hurt, which meant he was stuck. What if the emir didn’t want anyone to know? What if that was why the nobleman was doing this to him? Would it put the emir in danger? He wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t know even the rich and powerful had enemies, maybe more than the poor. And it hadn’t occurred to him that his silence might be protecting the emir, not just himself. What had Tam said? His thoughts from last night were fuzzy, but he was sure—as ridiculous as it seemed—that the emir was trying to find him. But how did the ruler of the whole country not know who was in his own dungeon?

Of course he doesn’t. Of all the addle-brained thoughts he’d had since he woke, that must make the top of the list. Since when did rulers care who they trampled on?

He was dragged up a short flight of stairs and into the room he remembered from all the other times he’d been made to see the nobleman. He tried to swallow down his dry throat, convinced the small amount of beer he’d drunk was about to make a reappearance. Instead of being dragged past the desk, another guard halted them.

“What’s he doing out of his cell?”

The third guard sitting behind the desk grunted in annoyance. “I’ve gotten an order saying his lordship wanted him, and Simms here thought the lad would provide added incentive.” Tsaria could feel the guard holding him puff up a little, as if he was being praised for threatening a child. The other guard frowned in annoyance.

“That doesn’t make sense. He’s in a meeting.”

And then Tam’s words hit Tsaria harder than the guards’ fists. He was getting out. Somehow the miracle was happening, but Jael? He couldn’t leave the child.

And just as what seemed like two shadows in the corner of the room sprang to life, Tsaria twisted out of Simms’s clutches and lunged for the boy. He didn’t have to hear the gurgling sound of a throat being slit to know what was going on, and he held Jael tightly to him as he was hustled out of another door.

He heard Jael whimper slightly, but he didn’t have any words of reassurance to offer before they were suddenly out a door and Tsaria inhaled fresh air for the first time in what seemed forever. Then he was simply lifted and thrust on a horse, still clutching the child. He had a moment to register that he’d never sat on a horse in his life when slim arms surrounded him, grabbing the reins, and then they were off.

It was barely dawn but instead of fearing the horse couldn’t see either, he simply closed his own eyes and held onto Jael. They seemed to gallop forever. Jael fell asleep, but at last they reached cobbled roads and Tsaria tried to widen his gritty eyes. They must be on the outskirts of Rajpur. Somewhere large enough the road was paved, but far enough away he didn’t recognize his surroundings. Not that he’d ever spent much time away from his home, even before he’d been sold to Ishmael. The carriages that had been sent for him were always covered so the neighbors couldn’t see the upstanding mayor or priest calling for a pleasure slave.

The horse slowed and a man in a cloak suddenly appeared at his side and reached for Jael. Tsaria automatically cringed back, forgetting he was on a horse and nearly falling off the other side. Only the slim arms that were stronger than they seemed stopped him. “It’s me, Tam,” the man on the ground hissed and tried for Jael again.

Tsaria blinked in shock, although, why he was surprised at Tam appearing, he didn’t know. He let the child go, then looked down at the ground. It seemed an awfully long way down, and he wasn’t sure what to do. Then a large man appeared and reached up, lifting Tsaria as if he were the child, not Jael. It was a good thing the man held onto him though, because Tsaria’s legs didn’t seem to want to hold him up, and before he knew it they were bundled inside what seemed to be a small cottage. Before he could ask what in seven hells was going on, the large man glanced at Tam. “Help them both bathe and get food. Be ready when we get back.”

A chuckle which seemed more as if it came from a female than a man sounded. “We’ll be back as soon as we secure Kamir.” Then, with a swish of a cloak, she was gone.

Tam grinned. “The bath’s ready. Think you can both fit?” He was still holding Jael, who was beginning to stir. “Think he’ll be happier with you.”

Tsaria nodded fervently. He didn’t know what the hell had just happened, but the words bath and food mentioned in the same sentence were the stuff dreams were made of. He looked over to where the tin bath sat in the middle of the room with sheets draped to lend comfort, and he could smell the fragrant water. He didn’t need to be told twice, and as Tsaria had long since given up any shame associated with being naked, he simply let the rags that barely covered his bottom-half fall and eagerly climbed in, holding his arms out for a still sleepy Jael. Tam made short work of Jael’s rags.

Jael’s eyes barely opened as he touched the water and Tsaria quickly washed him, glad the boy’s hair was shorn like a slave, so he didn’t have to wash it or inspect it for anything nesting in there. Tam lifted him from Tsaria’s arms and wrapped him in a rough but clean cloth. Jael never stirred. “He needs food. I’m going to wake him, then hopefully he will sleep on the journey.”

Tsaria looked over at Tam. “What journey? And why are you here?” No, Tsaria thought. Why am I here?

Tam chuckled. “Get clean and dry while I get some food for you both. Then I will tell you what I can.”

What I can? Not the same as telling him all he knew. But Tsaria didn’t press Tam for more, just got himself dried and accepted the plain but clean clothes Tam brought in for him.

“I don’t have anything small enough for the kid, but we can rip up some cloth and a shirt and make do.” Then Tam came back with two huge bowls of meat broth and some plain bread just as Tsaria was finishing dressing Jael. The smell roused Jael enough to dive on the food as if he was starving, but for the second time Tsaria called himself a fool, because the little boy was more bones than meat. He shook his head when Tam looked like he was going to offer more. “Not if we’re travelling. I doubt if he’s eaten like that in a long time. And sure enough, Jael was back asleep pretty much instantly.

“What can you tell me?” Tsaria asked, making no attempt to hide that he knew Tam was keeping things from him, but no matter. Who was he to insist on another’s secrets?

Tam smiled ruefully, clearly catching the carefully worded question. “Some I either don’t know or aren’t my secrets to share.”

Tsaria accepted the explanation, then tried a question. “The person on the horse with me. Was that a female?”

Tam’s eyes danced with humor. “Yes, but I cannot name her.” Tsaria sighed and waved a hand, silently wishing Tam would just give him something.

“And the man?”

“Not a fan of bullies. What I can tell you is I was deliberately arrested last night to give you the warning message.” He glanced at Jael, who was curled up next to Tsaria, his small hand on Tsaria’s leg as if Jael wasn’t letting him go. “Who’s the boy?”

“He was in the cell next to me, along with his mother. I think they’d been in there a long time. The guards raped her yesterday, and she was gone this morning.” Tsaria knew from the anger in Tam’s eyes that he didn’t need any more explanation. “Jael was about to be beaten himself this morning because he was crying for her, so I told the guard to put him in with me.” Tsaria sighed. “It was foolish. I put a target on him. They were going to use him to get me to answer their questions.”

“Maybe not so foolish,” Tam said. “He’s here now.”

“And where is here?”

“We’re in the trade district.”

Which made sense. The trade district was made up of businesses that accepted deliveries of large stocks of things like grain, which was then sold to the shops that bakers kept. The tax collectors worked from here, and other businesses importing things like fish. Rajpur didn’t have its own coastline, so fish was a delicacy for the rich. Not that he was about to complain about what he’d just eaten, which reminded him. “I don’t know what was in that awful stuff you gave me last night, but not only did I sleep, I was able to stand when I woke.” He tried to sound thankful.

“My mam used to keep her own garden,” Tam said by way of an explanation, which Tsaria understood. Some people had a talent for growing certain herbs that they would sell to apothecaries and such. It was a tricky business. Many plants simply didn’t flourish and keeping them from being stolen was a constant challenge.

“I am grateful,” Tsaria said in case that wasn’t plain.

But before Tam got a chance to answer, Tsaria heard a noise outside and the same large man from before stepped into the cottage. He glanced around and nodded at Tam as if he was pleased, then looked at Tsaria. “We need to go.”

“Go where?” He was getting a little sick of not knowing what was going on, even if they had rescued him from hell.

“Cadmeera for now,” the man said softly, and Tsaria gasped in shock, a million questions crowding his mind.

“But—”

“Safety,” the man clarified. “But we have to be quick. The guards have left the palace and are starting to search.”

Tsaria didn’t need a second bidding. He stood and bent to pick up Jael, but Tam stopped him. “Let me, you get in the cart.”

“The cart?” Tsaria repeated as if half-witted, but then snapped his mouth closed. Why was he complaining? He doubted he could have stayed on a horse for much longer, and certainly not all the way to Cadmeera. So, he simply followed the man out and accepted his hand to climb up. The cart was typical. Nothing fancy. Something a farmer would use, but it had an oiled cloth over a rig. Typical for transporting things like flour and grain that needed to be kept dry. There were no formal seats, simply padded cushions, and Tsaria sank down gratefully, holding his arms out for Jael, then settling him carefully beside him, cocooning him in a blanket and wedging him between two more so he didn’t roll. Then Tam turned and sketched a bow at the figure in the cloak sitting opposite him who Tsaria hadn’t even noticed, then jumped out. The flap fell closed on the wagon and he heard Tam say something to another man and felt the movement as Tam climbed up with the driver. Then they were off, and Tsaria didn’t know what to say or where to look. Who was this person?

Then the figure moved before Tsaria could react, clutching the hood of their cloak and pushing it back to fall around their neck.

Words failed Tsaria, and he just stared at the beautiful man he thought he would never see again. The emir smiled and Tsaria felt the warmth radiating from him and the temptation to smile back. “We’d better not touch. I am told it won’t happen again unless I will it, but as you can see, we are in a confined space.”

Tsaria gaped. “I didn’t dream it?”

The emir’s smile widened. “No, but I can understand your disbelief. I share it. Let me explain what I found out on the way here.”

Chapter six

Earlier that day

Kamir opened his eyes so early the slaves hadn’t even come into his rooms to tend the fires. He walked to the windows that overlooked the courtyard and the fields beyond. The palace had been fitted with glass over a hundred summers ago, even if it was still ridiculously expensive. The poor used animal hide or shutters if they could afford them.

He’d spent hours looking through the glass walls of his prison. Not that he thought even with recent events that he had any power to change his life. He was as trapped as the slaves that lived here. Better food, safety, and clothes, to be sure. But he had as little choice in anything as the hearth boy that laid his fires. But pity-parties weren’t attractive. He’d never been hungry. Never cold. He had a thousand different reasons he was better off, and he bowed his head in shame that he’d thought to make that comparison.

Chilled, he pulled a heavy robe around him, began to tie the cord, then froze. He heard the tiny squeak, and last night’s promises from Draul came flooding back. He slipped a hand into his pocket and brought out a tiny mouse. Startled, he nearly dropped it and quickly lowered it to the floor, watching in amazement as it disappeared through a small space between the hearth bricks.

His door flew open so suddenly Kamir jumped, but in a flurry of excitement Veda rushed into the room. “Brother?”

He grinned, knowing she’d found the same. She took a breath then steadied herself, turned to close the door on the startled guard, then crossed the room.

“Now what?”

“Now we have somewhere to go,” Veda said, her determination both scary and awe-inspiring.

Kamir’s breath caught. “To—”

But Veda’s hand flew and covered his mouth, and he understood. Spies were everywhere, and the last thing they needed was for word to reach his uncle before they’d even left the palace. The only place spies couldn’t penetrate was his private prayer room, and they both should have been more careful yesterday.

He knew what they’d agreed last night, and their escape would come down to his ability to play a role he’d despised and often shied from. They couldn’t simply dress and leave without a reason. His uncle would claim he was detaining Kamir for his own safety. That the palace was locked up.

They were to follow the same plan that should have happened yesterday.

The only way he could get out of the fortress was to open the front gates. Traditionally in Rajpur, the dead were always returned to their houses. Usually after battle, the returning commander would visit the common prayer house and say blessings for the dead. The common prayer house was in the center of the town square. It was entirely fitting for Kamir to visit, especially as he had added blessings to ask the goddess to help identify the unnamed.

And he needed to announce his intention in a public way, so his uncle dared not refuse. Unfortunately, this custom meant the relatives of the dead would return the blessing with food. Which meant to pull off this ruse off Kamir would be forced to take from people that already had barely enough to feed themselves, and often not even that. But to make it believable, he invited every elder, the head of his army, the head of his diplomatic core, the head of his house, and finally his uncle and his nephews to accompany him to attend a prayer gathering outside the common prayer house one hour before midday bell.

It would catch everyone out, but especially his uncle. More importantly, it meant the security detail would have to be so large, it left the palace half-empty so the boy could be freed. He didn’t know how Veda and Draul were going to make it happen, but Draul had promised if he played the part of an entitled arse—sorry, a prince—Draul could handle the rest.

Kamir didn’t even know the boy’s name, because his slave name and his name given at birth might not be the same. Some masters stripped their slaves of their birth name simply for laziness. His father had six bathing slaves in succession throughout his sixty-one summers because he liked them young, and every one of them was called Gisla. His father was too arrogant to even learn a slave’s name.

Kamil was dressed in his penitent—the equivalent of his mourning robes when his uncle practically stormed into his dressing room. Mansala made a final adjustment on his purple sash of office, bowed, and left the room.

“Nephew, I cannot allow this blatant disregard for your safety. We have no idea when Cadmeera will strike next, and you are too valuable to our people to risk—”

“My lord uncle,” Kamir interrupted. “The household heads and the military commanders of all three branches, plus yourself and my cousins will be present. I am aware my cousins have great skills in both personal combat and warfare, as do you. I fail to see how I could be any safer.”

Because flattery. Not that he liked Iskar or Damatrious, but they were necessary for this ruse to be effective. “There has been much unrest since yesterday, and I have heard rumors that certain factions are raising questions over the leadership of our family.”

His uncle pounced on that sentence like he would have expected one of the kitchen cats to dispatch his little visitor that morning. “What questions, Highness?”

“I have been told that rumors abound over the attack. That the gods are displeased with our blood line, and this was their demonstration. If we do not want to inspire a revolution in our own backyard, then we must be visible.”

His uncle pressed his lips together so hard his skin whitened. “Caliph, I urge you to reconsider.”

Kamir struggled to keep his face passive. He knew the revered title had been another attempt to stroke his ego. He deliberately threw himself dramatically into a chair and tried to appear like his world wasn’t ending. “It’s not that I want to go. I…” He let the word drag out. “Uncle,” he said, pitifully. “I’m aware the people don’t see me as a strong leader—”

“Nephew,” his uncle soothed. And Kamir nearly laughed. “You know my dear brother would have wanted nothing more than for me to guide you to become the emir he always knew you capable of.”

“Yes,” Kamir said, almost jumping on the words. “Exactly. I believe the people will only accept me if they see a strong, experienced leader at my side.” Kamir’s initial humor at his uncle’s reaction had now fled, and he felt disgust at the pure avarice in Gabar’s gaze. “But it’s more than that,” he admitted in a pitiful voice. “This whole day, days, shows me how out of my depth I am.”

He fell silent. Any more and not even his uncle’s ego would have allowed him to be convinced of Kamir’s sincerity.

Gabar bowed. “You can trust me, nephew, in my brother’s stead.”

Kamir forced a smile, reminding himself that this was exactly what he wanted. He needed his uncle away from the palace or all this would be for naught. “I am grateful.”

His uncle begged a few minutes to ready himself and even suggested a full company to go with them. It was always better, he said, to give the people what they expected.

How Kamir managed to restrain an inappropriate answer he never knew.

Barely a bell later, they left the palace gates in an obnoxiously loud procession. As Kamir had expected, there was also a large crowd. The only way Draul and his men would be able to access the palace and dungeons were because the temporary lack of guards at the palace meant an unguarded back gate. His uncle believed the pleasure slave to be behind lock and key, and no threat.

Kamir played the part of a useless, vain, vapid ruler with no real talent for making decisions. The trouble was, though, he had never been vain, simply to be trotted out for appearances, despite all attempts to make him so.

So, he sat in the common prayer house, picking at a hurried yet humble feast that the poor had put together from their own meager stores because it was expected, and despised every second of this farce. Despised himself for taking part in it simply to save his own neck.

Except it wasn’t.

It was to save someone else. The beautiful man that had given him the power to turn into something magical. It had to be all the slave’s doing. Kamir wasn’t worthy of such a beast. He didn’t know how it happened, except that every cell in his body craved contact with the man.

And he desperately wished he knew his name.

“Highness,” Mansala murmured, and Kamir listened. It was entirely appropriate for his life sentinel to speak with him privately. In fact, Mansala took a couple of steps away from the table to make sure they couldn’t be overheard.

“The slave has been collected unharmed and is on his way.”

Kamir almost sagged in relief.

“There is a disturbance arranged. The large one that was originally intended for the palace. We will get you out because of it.”

“And no villagers will die.” He made it a demand rather than a question. His safety should never be put above others. Mansala bowed, but then a small voice interrupted.

“Why do you eat so much?”

Kamir looked down at the little girl, and raised his hand as four guards drew their swords. She was maybe eight summers, and it was clear by her skinny body and rags that she was poor.

And he had no answer. Nothing he could spout to justify such gluttony when others starved.

“My lord has little appetite,” Mansala answered for him, but Kamir knew that wouldn’t help.

“Has your family contributed to the feast?” He felt rather than saw his uncle approach. “How many brothers or sisters have you?” She held up one finger but didn’t differentiate.

And Kamir smiled as an idea entered his head. He could do this and no matter what his uncle said now or after, he couldn’t gainsay it. “Are you hungry?”

She eyed him solemnly. He walked nearer the tables then stood still until each noble eating noticed he stayed on his feet and they paused. When Kamir didn’t sit, they all rose to their feet in confusion.

“Lords,” he said incredibly loudly, ensuring everyone could hear him. “In honor of the great wrong that has been done today to our country and for the lives lost, I am bequeathing this feast to the families that suffered today and to the nation that lost so many loved ones.”

He knew that few understood his words, but it was part of the ruse. “Nobles, step away, return to your carriages.” They all took a hesitant step back and Kamir knew he had a split second to ensure that no recrimination in the form delivered by weapons would happen to the poor because the rich were among them, and heaven help the soldiers if they struck out at the people that paid their coin.

“People of Rajpur. Eat your fill.”

It was chaos for a few seconds as the poor surged forward and the nobles retreated in fear and confusion, and he reveled in the fact that the poor thought to make sure the needy were pushed ahead. The elderly. The children.

And shame licked at his skin. He sent a promise to Rajpur that he would return with food for everyone, before a hand Kamir knew almost better than his own jerked him back, and despite the shouts of the guards, the crowd surged forward, and he was bundled into a carriage.

He gazed at Mansala. “What did we just do?”

“You just took your crown, Highness” he said. But Kamir remembered the starving girl and doubted if the day had ended in a victory for her.

“And the slave?” he croaked. Kamir knew Mansala knew who he meant.

“We are on our way. Her highness has him. Above all, you two must be together. I ”

Kamir scoffed. “And look what happened last time we were.”

Mansala chuckled. Actually chuckled. “Maybe don’t touch? At least while you are in a carriage?”

He was glad at least someone found humor.

Chapter seven

“I owe you my life.”

Tsaria gaped as the emir smiled at him, and he seemed to fall into those deep amber eyes again, so different from the brown he would swear they were originally. Then he absorbed the words and shook his head. He was nothing. A body hired for pleasure. How could he possibly be here with the emir? Maybe he had really died in that awful cell, or maybe the dragon had roasted him alive.

“You not only saved my life, but if the gods are willing, you may be able to help me save the people of Rajpur. My uncle wouldn’t have just let me walk away from the palace. I would have been dead by the time he was crowned.”

Tsaria glanced to his side just to make doubly sure there wasn’t someone else there that the emir was talking to. People of wealth didn’t feel they owed the poor anything.

“You know who I am.” He didn’t make it a question.

“Yes, your Highness,” Tsaria managed to get out.

“Then please call me Kamir at least when it’s just the two of us, or all the time, if you feel comfortable enough to do so. May I have your name?”

“Tsaria,” he whispered. “Just Tsaria.” Because the emir might think him rude for not answering fully, but he only had one name. His father had officially stripped him of the right to carry his family name when he had sold him to the pleasure house.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what in seven hells is going on, and we have some time, so I will share what I know.”

“I don’t understand, Highness,” Tsaria said, and he didn’t. Why did he deserve any explanation, and why was he here in this wagon?

“Firstly, I would give anything for you not to have endured the last few days. My uncle convinced me you were dead, along with everyone else.”

“Dead? Who died?” But then he snapped his mouth shut. It wasn’t his place—

“Everyone who was in the room when I entered. I’m afraid all your friends who came with you.”

Tsaria pressed shaky fingers to his lips. Karice was barely more than a child, and Ayella was with child. One that would never live now. And the new boys. His eyes smarted, and he tried to swallow down his tight throat.

“I’m sorry, so sorry. My uncle is blaming the dragon. Insisting it was the dragon from Cadmeera, but we both know that isn’t true.”

Tsaria shivered, sure his life was forfeit. He just didn’t understand why he hadn’t been left to die in the dungeon. “I promise I won’t tell.”

The emir smiled. “I know. You kept my secret when you had no reason to.”

Tsaria looked his fill. If he wasn’t going to die, or even if he was, the emir didn’t seem to be angry with him at the moment, and his highness was stunning. He wanted to trace his high cheek bones and lush lips with his finger, and his tongue, which shocked him silly. He rarely felt interest that wasn't feigned to make his customers think they were desirable. His own body had long given up feeling genuine desire.

“Let me start at the beginning. I wish I could touch you, but as we are in the confines of a wagon, it may not be a good idea.”

Why? Because…oh. Well, yes, but Tsaria doubted he had anything to do with it.

“Do you know I am expected to shift into an animal to prove my right to the crown?” Tsaria shook his head. “I should have at my age of provenance, sixteen summers, but my father was too busy warring to notice I never did, plus he was convinced he would live forever. But three days ago, I would have been expected to shift, or the crown would be passed to my uncle and then one of his sons. I have never shifted into any animal until I saw you in the palace and we touched, triggering my first shift.”

Tsaria gasped. “It happened? Really happened? I thought it a dream, Highness.”

“Kamir.”

Tsaria flushed. “Kamir,” he repeated, still wondering when he was going to wake up. “But surely that’s a good thing? A miracle?”

“Not as far as my uncle is concerned.”

Tsaria frowned. “That’s why I was held? He kept asking, but I pretended I’d taken poppy and didn’t remember.”

Kamir sighed. “Again, I would give much to have found you sooner. Tam told me of your injuries and assuming I can retake the throne, I will make sure prisoners are never held in such conditions again.”

Tsaria met his gaze. But he was a prince. Why did it have to wait? Why was it like that in the first place?

“I know it doesn’t help, and you have no reason to believe me, but I promise it will happen.” Tsaria dropped his gaze and thought about Jael’s ma. All the promises in the world couldn’t bring her back.

“You were held by my uncle because he is frightened. Basically, he doesn’t know if the power is from me or if you control my ability.” Kamir glanced at the sleeping child. “Is he your brother?”

“No, high—Kamir.” Tsaria stumbled over his name, as it still felt wrong. “He was held in the next cell with his mother, before she was killed. He was distraught, so the guards put him in with me. The intention was to loosen my tongue.”

Kamir swallowed. “Killed?”

“I assume after the guards raped her,” Tsaria said baldly. He couldn’t believe this man didn’t know what went on in his name. Kamir flinched but Tsaria hardened his heart.

“If I can, I will find out if she lives.” Tsaria shrugged. He knew she was dead.

“Your silence saved both our lives. If my uncle knew for certain what had happened, we both would have been murdered.” Kamir heaved a sigh. “I’m surprised he didn’t do that anyway.”

“But surely your guards would have protected you.” That made no sense.

“I don’t know who I should not trust and who is loyal, save a few. I’m not in a position to challenge my uncle, as he has the army and possibly the imperial guard behind him until I shift for the assembly.” Kamir shook his head in apparent frustration. “There are no living witnesses to what happened, save us. Which is why he didn’t enforce the rule about shifting. He’s panicking.”

Tsaria tilted his head, trying to understand. “Then why are you here?”

“Because the king of Cadmeera and his consort are great friends of mine. I hate the fact that I have abandoned my people, and in all honesty, if there was a better king I wouldn’t complain.” He swallowed. “I only ever wanted to be a scholar. I am halfway through documenting the history of Rajpur. I’m not a sovereign. I don’t have the charisma needed for people to flock to my banner. The only reason I intend to regroup and take my throne is because the alternative is too awful.” He met Tsaria’s eyes. “I believe you met my uncle. His sons are worse.”

He watched as Tsaria licked his lips and debated what to say. What could he say? He didn’t understand why he wanted to spare Kamir the details. Surely it was, in the end, his responsibility.

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” Kamir whispered. “I’m simply asking for a chance.”

“And if I said no?” Tsaria shot out.

Kamir gazed at him. “We aren‘t far from Cadmeera. You would be welcomed there as a citizen.” He nodded at Jael. “Both of you.”

“Would we?” Tsaria asked. He had no reason to believe Kamir. It could all be an act. Tsaria took a sudden breath. Kamir thought he was responsible for the dragon. Was that why Tsaria was alive? Because the emir suspected he controlled his shift? But then, what would happen to him when it was disproved? When he wasn’t useful anymore.

“I can give you promises now, but I know they wouldn’t be trusted because you have no reason to believe anything I say.”

For a moment, terror pulled at Tsaria with sharp claws. Had he said that out loud? He had to be careful. He had no reason to trust the emir. None at all.

“I’m sure you have many questions but let me explain what I know first. It will take us some time to travel and—” Kamir paused as the wagon lurched, then in the distance he could hear the sound of galloping hooves, and his breath caught.

“Highness,” Mansala shouted from outside. “Horses following us, hold on.”

Kamir shook his head. “There is no way this wagon can outrun the soldiers.” The wagon lurched again and Tsaria slipped on the cushions. Kamir was just managing to hang on, thankful Jael seemed to be protected cocooned in the blankets. Then another lurch and a crack and the wagon dipped, and Tsaria was in Kamir’s arms.

Kamir had a second to appreciate he was still human and that neither of them was seriously hurt, even if he did feel like his shoulder was on fire from where he landed, before the wagon lurched again and Tsaria fell. Kamir clutched at him uselessly but not in time to stop his head cracking against one of the posts.

“Highness,” Mansala wrenched the door open just as Kamir struggled to sit up. “Quickly.” Kamir reached for Tsaria, but Mansala pulled at his arm. “Highness—"

“No, take him first.”

“Highness—"

“Do it.” Kamir pulled Tsaria to him as gently as he could. “He’s hit his head. As if he hasn’t had enough injuries.”

“Highness!” Tam yelled as the hooves became all but deafening. Mansala caught Tsaria and pulled him free. Kamir bent down to Jael who was very much awake and lifted the blankets. “Quick, hide.” Jael looked terrified but instantly obeyed him and Kamir climbed out, just in time for the twenty or so troops from his uncle’s private guard to catch them up.

“Highness.” The sergeant dismounted quickly and bowed. “Thank goodness.” Mansala kept a hold of Tsaria but was surrounded and had the tip of three swords all pointed at him. Tam likewise.

“Sergeant, what is the meaning of this?” Kamir tried to sound angry and objectionable rather than terrified they would be dragged back to the palace. “Your horses scared ours and they shied injuring my servant as you can see. If you had approached in a sensible manner—”

“Highness, we understand you have been taken against your will,” the sergeant interrupted, and even Kamir was shocked. If the man had done that to his uncle, he would have lost his head.

“Well, you are mistaken. As you can see, my life sentinel is with me, and I am on urgent diplomatic business.”

The sergeant narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, but my orders are to escort you back to the palace.”

Mansala moved an inch and one of the swords to his neck scored a red line that oozed with blood. “Stand down,” Kamir thundered, but the soldiers took no notice. And Kamir knew at that moment that they listened only to his uncle. “Very well, I will return with you, but my sentinel and driver will leave.” Jael had to remain hidden as there was no way he could explain his presence.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, your Highness,” the sergeant continued, almost smugly. “I am under orders to bring everyone so it can be ascertained you aren’t under duress.”

Kamir wanted to rage. He knew if Tsaria returned to the palace he would be dead, but he also knew they couldn’t fight twenty armed men. Or could he? Kamir took a step toward Tsaria, only for the sergeant to smoothly insert himself and stop Kamir from touching him. “Highness, if you won’t come freely, I have orders to detain you.”

Kamir thought he’d seen everything his uncle was capable of in the last few days, but clearly he was wrong. “You know laying your hands on me is a capital offense.”

The sergeant didn’t move, and one of the others even slid closer. “I have orders to make sure you aren’t being threatened or even drugged. Once we get back to the palace, it can be straightened out.”

Kamir glanced in frustration at Mansala surrounded by three guards, and then Tsaria, who was still limp in his arms. What could he do? He drew in a breath and tried to imagine the feeling of his dragon, the love, but there was nothing.

And then they heard it.

A strange cry above that Kamir recognized instantly. So did the troops, and they all looked up as a large shadow loomed over them. Wing beats ruffled his hair and a few of the troops struggled to contain their horses.

Kamir didn’t look up, just blessed Attiker’s foresight, if he was responsible. “I suggest, sergeant, that you release my sentinel right away or I will be forced to let my dragon feast. She sounds a little hungry to me.”

Two of the troops couldn’t hold their horses as powerful wing beats battered at them from overhead. Kamir thought it fitting that the troops didn’t hang around either.

“You have one chance, sergeant. I suggest you don’t waste it, or it will definitely be your last one.”

And as if there was some unseen signal, all the remaining troops turned and ran as one. The sergeant blinked, suddenly realizing he had no one at his back, and turned, stumbling as Eldara dropped even lower, then covered his head with his arms and ran.

The wing beats lessened as hooves were heard approaching from the other direction, and Kamir looked up as Eldara rose, hovering, while the approaching horses and carriage came closer, then lifted herself higher with a powerful beat of her wings and flew away.

“Kamir!”

He glanced at the lead rider just in time to see her fling herself from the horse and throw herself into his arms. “We were nearly too late. I am sorry.”

Kamir disentangled himself. “I think you came at exactly the right time.” He looked over at Mansala and his breath caught as he saw Tsaria’s eyes were open and staring at him with a mixture of awe and fear.

“Come brother, get in the carriage and…” but Kamir wasn’t listening. He closed the distance to Mansala and simply opened his arms for Tsaria.

“Give him to me.”

Mansala obeyed, and Kamir took him carefully. He should feel his weight far more than he did, and for an instant, Kamir marveled at his sudden strength. He should never have been able to carry another man this easily, but he not only held him with ease, he also walked back to the carriage, climbing in with no difficulty. Tsaria didn’t try to move or to get away, which Kamir was grateful for. He needed to keep him close.

Jael scrambled out and stared at everyone in astonishment, until Veda told him to sit as they were leaving again.

“Your poor head,” Kamir murmured to Tsaria. “Try to rest until I can get a healer to see you.”

“You can lay him on the cushions, brother,” Veda offered quietly.

Kamir smiled and bent and brushed a kiss on Tsaria’s forehead as his eyes closed. “No,” he said simply. He had no intention of letting him go. Not now. Not ever.

Chapter eight

Kamir was still struggling to let go of Tsaria, even when he was shown to the Cadmeeran palace’s medical area run by a very competent master healer called Laronne. Jael was being checked over in the next room with Tam keeping him company.

“Your Highness,” Laronne bowed. “I cannot examine your bond mate without—”

But Kamir’s gasp silenced him and his arms trembled, not with the weight of Tsaria, but the weight of his words. Bond mate.

“Highness, are you hurt?” Laronne rushed out.

“Brother?” Veda said, gently. Soothingly, as she would to a child. “He is safe here.”

“And the pallet is big enough for two. I should know,” came a voice from the doorway. Two guards flanked the speaker, His Royal Highness King Raz’mar Kinsharae, ruler of Cadmeera.

His mate Attiker was tucked carefully into his side, almost as if there was a real danger that Raz—as he was known to his friends—was somehow going to misplace him on the short walk from the royal apartments to the healing area. Feeling foolish, Kamir bent and very gently laid Tsaria on the bed. He had slept fitfully the whole journey and had said nothing.

“That wasn’t a joke,” Attiker said, freeing himself from Raz. “Scoot up on the bed. He will feel better if he wakes up by your side, especially as you are bond mates.”

Kamir sighed, even relieved as he was to see his friends, and much as he ached to do just that, he knew he couldn’t. “I doubt it. He thinks I am a monster.”

Raz frowned. “Because of your animal?”

“I wish it were that simple,” Kamir whispered, carefully tucking a stray strand of hair behind Tsaria’s still-bruised face. “His introduction to me was after he endured torture in the palace dungeons when originally brought to the coronation as a pleasure slave.” How he must hate me.

“And he’ll get over it,” Attiker pronounced confidently. “Raz had me arrested, after all.”

Raz sent his mate a loving smile. “It didn’t seem to stop you doing anything, though. I’ve been tempted to lock you up many times since.”

Attiker scoffed. “Try to and I’ll set Grandmother on you.” Kamir watched in fascination as the ruler of at least five hundred thousand people, and the commander of all Cadmeera’s army, paled at that threat. Veda chuckled and kissed Attiker’s cheek, then sketched a cheeky bow to Raz.

“I need a bath, brother, and food,” she said, turning back to glance at Kamir. “You are both in good hands.”

“And I believe you may find a surprise in your regular bedchamber, princess,” Attiker murmured. His sister shot out of there so fast even Kamir wanted to laugh, knowing what, or in fact who, would be waiting for her. He didn’t, though. Not until Tsaria opened his eyes and didn’t look at him with hate or fear, or the other hundreds of things he was imagining.

“Your Highness,” Laronne murmured, and Kamir obeyed the hand wave and scooted up on the pallet, close enough to be touching Tsaria, but giving the healer room to work. Raz and the guards took themselves away to give them a little privacy. Attiker offered to remove himself as well, but truthfully Kamir needed his friend there. Laronne’s examination was careful and efficient. “He’s underweight, as I’m sure you are aware, and has signs of recent forced captivity and subsequent injury.” Laronne carefully examined the abrasions on his wrists and ankle and Kamir wanted to weep. That he was subjected to torture while Kamir slept safely in his own bed was enough to make him want to vomit. “The head wound isn’t serious, and I believe it’s simply shock that’s keeping him asleep.” Laronne looked up. “Rest and good food will be all that is required.”

Attiker beamed. “I will have food brought in, assuming you want to stay in here tonight, Highness?”

Kamir sighed and sent Attiker a level look and Attiker smirked. “You might have changed your mind about how you wish to be addressed.”

“Attiker,” Kamir said with more patience than he thought he had. “You saved my life. Eldara saved it a second time. I thought we were past all the titles.”

He shrugged. “She enjoyed herself. I think she wished she had gotten more of a fight. Her mate is keeping her a little too close for her liking at the moment. Then, how about you stay here tonight so Laronne is close, then we can move you to a suite tomorrow? I can have servants sent to assist you to bathe—”

A commotion at the door had Attiker moving quickly and producing a knife that Kamir had no idea where from, and then an older soldier stepped into the room. “Sire, his highness’s manservant—”

“Mansala?” Kamir blurted out. “Please, let him in.” Somehow, they had gotten separated.

Mansala appeared, looking like he was ready to fight everyone for access, and crossed, bowing to Kamir, who was still sitting up.

“I am safe.” Kamir assured him. He watched as Mansala glanced at Tsaria.

“There is an anteroom which can easily hold another pallet,” Attiker said. “I will have food brought, as I said, but there is a large bathing chamber through there and if you will give me a few moments, I will arrange clean clothes for you all.” Attiker turned and patted the older soldier on the arm. “Come on Ash, let’s leave them be.” He turned back. “We would love to see you two tomorrow. I can’t wait to introduce you to Grandmother’s elderberry scones, assuming Candy and Flynn don’t eat them all.”

Kamir watched them go. Candy and Flynn were their adopted children, but he’d only met them briefly. Mansala stationed himself at the door, checking every servant that wanted access to either prepare baths or bring food. Tam had taken Jael to his own rooms to eat.

Kamir quickly took a trip to the bathing room. He longed for a bath even though he was relatively clean, but he had no intention of being apart from Tsaria for that long.

He rushed back into the sleeping area to see two servants setting up food and waited until they left. “You should eat,” Kamir said to Mansala.

“I have my own in my room,” Mansala assured him. “I thought you might need help to settle his highness.”

For a moment Kamir had no idea what Mansala meant and then the words bond mate hit him again, and he realized Mansala had made the same assumption, and Goddess, he hoped it was true. Kamir desperately wanted to keep the beautiful man; unfortunately, the beautiful man might simply not want to be kept.

Kamir shook his head. “Go rest and eat. If I need help, I will summon you.”

“You are sure, Highness?” Mansala looked doubtful.

“He will not injure me,” Kamir said. Hurt his heart, possibly, as Kamir undoubtedly deserved, but not injure him.

What neither his highness nor the servant knew was that Tsaria had awoken a few moments ago and was maintaining the ruse while he worked out a way to get to Jael so they could both escape. He assumed they were in Cadmeera as his highness had told him that’s where they were going, but he had no idea why he was with the emir. He was glad to warrant a bed and assumed by the faint scent of salve that a healer had tended to him, but he was at a loss to understand why he was here. Unless it was because they thought he was somehow responsible for the dragon. Was that what a bond mate was? He wasn’t completely sure what that meant.

“You are safe.”

He opened his eyes, knowing the words were spoken to him and that the emir knew he was awake. He stared into the golden amber eyes and mapped the rest of him. They were similar in height. His highness had a few more defined muscles than he had before but he still didn’t look like he was being cared for. He had the same silky, straight black hair like most of their people, but his now seemed to have purple highlights. When would he have had the time to get a servant to add those? Unless Tsaria had been unconscious longer than he thought, but with the conversation he’d heard, he didn’t think so.

“Safe because I’m your prisoner?” Tsaria challenged, and his throat tightened as he saw genuine sorrow in the emir’s eyes.

“No, of course not,” the emir said. “I told you that Cadmeera would welcome you as a citizen.”

“And you?” Tsaria whispered. How did the emir feel about him? Was he welcomed? “Has your dragon appeared since?” They had held each other in the carriage so perhaps Tsaria didn’t have any effect on the emir at all. Would he be tossed aside when the emir realized that? He nearly scoffed at that. Of course he would. He wasn’t foolish enough to assume the emir wanted him for any other reason. They were so far apart in station he might as well be a sand worm, crushed beneath a beggar’s sole.

The emir’s gaze dropped. “No,” he whispered, “but that is hardly your worry.” Tsaria wasn’t sure what the emir meant. As soon as the emir realized Tsaria had no value, he would be lucky to be tossed outside the palace gates.

“Are you hungry?”

Tsaria followed his gaze and looked at the food left out, and while he was a little, he was surprised at the simple food. Small loaves and what smelled like heavenly date jam. There were cut-up vegetables to dip in some sort of paste, and purple cabbage leaves you could use to wrap a selection in and use as bread. It looked amazing and smelled even better, but Tsaria was surprised it wasn’t, well, fancier.

His highness smiled. “Raz and Attiker have made many changes to palace life. One of them being that they don’t eat in luxury while any of their people starve.”

Tsaria’s lips parted soundlessly in astonishment.

“Look,” his highness said. “I know this is scary and I know you have no reason to believe me—”

“I want to leave,” Tsaria nearly yelled as he shot up, but he wavered was as dizziness hit him. A man he recognized—Mansala—burst from the adjoining room, but the emir put up a hand to slow him.

“This is what you want?”

Tsaria nodded, even though it hurt his head.

“But Highness,” Mansala ground out.

The emir shook his head. “He has the right to his freedom,” and the emir went to the table and rang a bell. A moment later, a guard appeared, bowing. The emir smiled. “Tsaria wishes to leave the palace and his highness, the king’s consort, has granted him safe passage. I believe—”

“Sire,” and Tsaria turned to see Tam walk into the room. Tam glanced at Tsaria. “You can stay with me tonight if you want, then make a decision tomorrow.”

Tsaria inhaled quickly. Tam had saved his life.

“Jael is with me as well. I was just coming to report he has eaten and seems well,” Tam added, and that was enough incentive. Tsaria swung his legs over the side and stood but would have fallen if the emir hadn’t reached for him to steady his arm. Tsaria felt sick, but he wanted to get out of here. He yanked his arm free, and the emir retreated to the corner of the room. Tam took his arm and solemnly, they walked out. At the last second, Tsaria glanced back at the emir. His face was stoic, but his eyes were full of sorrow.

But Tsaria wasn’t foolish enough to suppose that the look was for anything other than the possibility of losing the chance that Tsaria could help him find his dragon once more.

Chapter nine

Tsaria managed to walk unaided through the long corridors to follow Tam and was surprised when he stopped at a door, as he’d been expecting him to carry on outside the palace gates. “Here?” he rasped as Tam opened the door to see a comfortable sitting area just before a small body hit him so hard, if it hadn’t been for Tam he’d have gone down.

“Jael,” Tam admonished, but his words were drowned out as Jael blurted out that he’d been fed and made to have yet another bath and he had his own bed and had he seen the emir and how long were they going to stay and would he get sent back? Tam thanked the maid for watching Jael and she left.

Tsaria hugged the boy tighter, ignoring the sharp jab of his bruises. Tam chuckled softly. “Let him sit, Jael. You’re gonna smother him.”

Tsaria sat but overwhelmed as he was, it was clear that Jael’s anxiety was on a much higher level. Not that he blamed him. He’d been thrown in jail, watched unspeakable things happen to his mother, and had suffered way more than any child ever should. Tsaria might have been in the same position once, but he was an adult now.

Tsaria opened his arms, and without hesitation, Jael simply climbed on his lap. “He was really worried when you weren’t here when he woke,” Tam confided. “I was coming to find out how you were so he might sleep better.”

Jael looked up at Tsaria. “But I’m staying with you now,” Jael said, half as a question, and Tsaria could feel him trembling.

“Yes,” Tsaria said. “I am assured we would be allowed to remain here, but I need to find a job and we need somewhere to live.”

Tam opened his mouth, but Jael didn’t give him a chance. “I can work. Ma didn’t like it, but Nana Bex said I had to work to get to share Ma’s mattress.”

Tam pressed his lips together, clearly recognizing the name. “Nana Bex?” Tsaria asked, glancing at them both. “Who’s that?”

“She wasn’t my real nan,” Jael explained. “That’s what we all had to call her.” Tsaria glanced at Tam, but he just shook his head slightly. So not now, then, while Jael could hear.

“How old are you?” Tsaria asked. “Did your ma ever have anyone else to help look after you?”

“I haven’t got a da,” Jael said matter-of-factly. “Nana said I was a mistake, and that I should be lucky Ma could work or I’d be in the sewers with the rest of the rats.” He wrinkled his nose, which could either be at the thought of the sewers or from trying to remember. “I think I’m seven summers.”

“Sewers?” Tsaria couldn’t help asking, even though he knew what they were, but an actual working system was only for the palace and other houses of the rich.

“The city has old underground passages, many used for dumping waste,” Tam said quietly. “There are some employed to clear them out, but many are lived in, often by gangs of children.”

Tsaria’s mouth fell open, and for the first time he realized how much of a bubble he’d lived in behind the walls of the pleasure house, and his arms tightened around Jael involuntarily. Jael yawned and Tsaria guessed between his too-skinny body and the shock he had been through that he was exhausted still.

Tam must have noticed because as well as getting Tsaria some wine and some food, he brought a soft blanket so Tsaria could tuck Jael in. It didn’t take long before he was curled up asleep and Tsaria laid him down on the daybed he was sitting on.

Tam got his own drink and sat opposite him, nodding to Jael. “He hasn’t spoken once about his ma, and I think he’s a little older than seven but it’s hard to tell.” Tsaria was at a loss and sipped his wine then coughed because it was much stronger than he was used to.

He put the goblet down. “You seemed like you knew this Nana Bex.”

“She’s one of the main suppliers and runs one of the biggest sewer gangs that I know of,” Tam explained.

“Suppliers?” Tsaria’s stomach sank.

“Mainly children to different whorehouses or special clients, and those with particular tastes. She’s clever. She doesn’t like orphans, prefers the ones that have ties she can exploit. Jael’s ma went out whoring to put a roof over her kid’s head. Jael would eventually have done the same. ‘Go with this man or I’ll throw your ma out.’ It’s emotional blackmail. She starts small. Jael was being taught to lift, I imagine.”

“Purses?” But he knew. He took another sip.

“So, it’s been quite a few days, huh?” Tam said.

A smile curved Tsaria’s lips. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe… “Do you know his highness?”

“Which one?” Tam smirked then laughed. “I sometimes work for Draul, sometimes Attiker, who is the best thing to ever happen to Cadmeera. Raz is excellent as kings go, but Attiker knows the people because he came from them. He’d been arrested when Raz met him, but they’re bonded mates, and they’re doing good things. Attiker has a soldier called Ash that oversees people like me. The ones who can get in and out of places like your palace dungeon. There’s a few of us, all with different talents.”

Tsaria remembered the mouse. “His highness sent you to find me?” He had foolishly hoped Kamir might have.

“Actually, it was her highness, Princess Veda.”

Tsaria gaped for a second time.

“But I don’t think you mean that highness, do you?” Tam prodded knowingly.

“Would Attiker have stood by while children lived in sewers?” Even he heard the resentment in his voice.

Tam was silent for a moment. “I don’t know your highness very well. All I know are my two, but I trust them with my life, and if yours wasn’t worth saving they wouldn’t have bothered.” But the emir wasn’t his. And what if he was just the lesser of two evils? Tsaria had so many doubts. “They worked out an elaborate ruse to empty the palace so we could get you out.”

But for what reason? “How do I know I’m not just here because of the dragon thing?”

Tam shrugged. “I guess you don’t.”

“I don’t even know if it will work a second time.” And he didn’t. They’d touched in the cart, and he didn’t remember the emir growing scales.

Please call me Kamir. But he shouldn’t.

“You don’t have to work everything out now. The emir said you could leave. He had no idea if that meant you’d stay in the palace, or you were going to disappear into the city. Maybe give him a little credit for that?”

But Tam’s loyalties didn’t lie with him, and it could all have been arranged to keep him here. Not that he could go anywhere because he was committed to Jael. He wouldn’t be another person the child lost.

He still didn’t know what to say when there was a knock at the door. Tam frowned and rose. Jael remained dead to the world. Tsaria heard the indrawn breath from Tam as he opened the door, and he gazed at the two men standing at the door. One was the large man he’d seen with the emir, Mansala, and the other the guard he’d seen with the Cadmeeran consort. They both inclined their heads to Tam, who scoffed. “Really, Ash? Takes two of you?” But Tam’s voice was a little breathless, and Tsaria saw the look he sent the bigger man when he glanced at Jael.

Ash scoffed but waved a hand at Mansala. “He needed a guide.” And to be honest Tsaria had to give him that. He had no clue where they were either or if he could find his way back if he left.

Tam stepped back and waved an arm to welcome them in. Tsaria’s first instinct was to run, but he had Jael to think about. The bigger man took a few steps toward him then bowed. “I am Mansala, his highness’s life sentinel.” Tsaria knew what that was. Mansala had vowed to protect the prince with his life when they were both children. Must be nice.

“And?” He knew it was rude, but he didn’t care. Ash grinned and wandered over to the wine.

“You got any beer?”

Tam rolled his eyes. “In the ice chest.” Ash made a sound of approval and headed for the next room. Mansala shook his head when Ash sent an inquiring eyebrow in his direction.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Mansala said in a low voice and Tsaria huffed.

“Well, you know where the door is.”

And then Mansala smiled. It caught him off guard because all Tsaria had seen was grave and protective, and relaxed and humorous didn’t seem to fit. “No wonder he is so enamored.”

It was his turn to scoff. “Look, we all know his highness is only interested because he hopes for a repeat of what happened in the throne room. Which, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t know how to replicate it.”

Mansala inclined his head. “You make a valid point, and I have no idea of how to convince you of anything else, and that isn’t my role. I have known his highness since we were four summers old and—”

“And that’s why he sent you.”

“Actually,” Ash said, coming out of the kitchen with a tankard. “He didn’t. Not that I expect you to believe me, but he was very clear that no one should influence you.”

“And yet you’re both here,” he added, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“Being the emir is the last thing he wanted,” Mansala said. “His highness is a historian not a warrior, but his freedom to control any decision was dependent on him shifting. His father was weak and easily swayed by his brother. His highness was constantly forgotten and overlooked. So much so that his age of provenance passed with no one realizing he hadn’t shifted. It only became necessary when it was time to take the throne.” Mansala leaned forward. “But please understand that the only reason his highness is willing to ascend the throne is the horrors that would be wrought by his uncle and his progeny on the people of Rajpur.”

He stared at the sentinel. He knew this man would give his life for the emir, and as such he had no reason to believe a word he said either.

And yet.

“Why are you here?” Expecting a repeat of previous assurances, he was shocked when Mansala dipped his head.

“Yes, I am honor bound to surrender my life, but he’s a good man. Despite the cruelties his uncle has wrought, he retains a belief in his people, and while thinking he is the least qualified, he is in my opinion the most morally necessary.” Mansala sighed. “It took much to make him escape, even knowing he faced certain death.”

“Death?” I whispered.

“I’m afraid so,” Mansala said. “Since Kamir would forfeit the throne, once his uncle becomes emir, there is no way he would be allowed to live.”

“And that would happen if he hadn’t shifted?”

“The trouble his uncle had was knowing whether you were the catalyst for the dragon or not.” He held his palm up, “And yes, you would think that that would ensure both your deaths, and I believe if his highness had shifted into a wolf that would have happened. A dragon, however, is a mythical beast and he was scared. He didn’t dare call for his assassination until he knew more. In all the summers I have lived at the palace I have never seen his uncle afraid, but he was that day.”

“Kamir didn’t kill anyone.” Tsaria said, feeling he should point that out.

“I would imagine not,” Mansala said. “He was incapable of even killing an insect as a child. His uncle, however, would want no witnesses.”

Tsaria glanced at Jael, who was still fast asleep, then stood and walked to the end of the room. There were no windows, merely vents that provided air. How was he supposed to believe any of them? He could challenge them to let him go, but what about Jael? Maybe if he was clever they could come to some sort of arrangement?

He could demand many favors if he was responsible for Kamir’s shift. So why did that thought taste bitter, like betrayal? He owed these people nothing, but it made no sense to run away. It actually made sense to talk to the emir, but he didn’t want an audience. Maybe he should push and see where it got him but also be prepared to run if it turned out the emir didn’t need him anymore. He wasn’t so foolish that he didn’t realize that having a pleasure slave as a constant presence would hardly be fitting in palace circles.

And he couldn’t ever forget that. “If I stay, I need somewhere Jael can stay with me.”

Ash glanced at Tam. “Attiker’s getting some rooms ready in the royal wing. Plenty of room for a young ‘un, and I’m thinking he would fit right in with Flynn and Candy.”

“Who are they?” Tsaria asked.

“The king and consort’s adopted son and daughter. Officially it’s Prince Flynn and Princess Candace, but Attiker doesn’t hold much with titles unless he’s forced to.”

Tsaria glanced at Jael. How would he fit in with a prince and princess? “I don’t think—”

Ash chuckled. “They were exactly like Jael before they were adopted. You don’t need to worry about them turning their nose up at Jael.”

He took a breath. “Very well, and perhaps in the morning you could arrange for me to speak to his highness?”

“Or you could come now?” Mansala said.

Which might be better because he didn’t know what to expect and he didn’t want to spend a night worrying. Plus Jael was asleep. The emir could have been faking his demeanor, might still fake it, or if they were all to be believed, he could be sincere in everything he’d said to Tsaria.

And for his peace of mind, Tsaria honestly didn’t know which would be worse.

Chapter ten

Kamir didn’t know what to do. Not that this state of indecision was unfamiliar. Mansala called it the great debate. Veda said it was like being between a rock and a hard place. He huffed quietly. He loved them both, but someday they would both realize it was merely an accident of birth that put him in the position he was in, and not ability.

The servants had been in to light the sconces, and he had considered bathing but couldn’t drum up the energy. They had also brought food, but he had yet to touch any of it, and he felt guilty over that because apparently he had two bowls of something called apple crumble, plus custard. Custard was a thick, hot yellow vanilla sauce, currently keeping warm in a jug, and the crumble seemed to consist of a cooked apple base and a topping of brown sugar, spices, and flour, all baked to a crust. He had to admit it smelled wonderful, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat for fear Tsaria wasn’t.

“Can you smell that?”

Kamir was brought out of his wanderings by the small, yet determined, whisper. “But it’s Wednesday. We have to eat fruit on Wednesdays, and I don’t think we’re anywhere near the kitchen.” a higher voice pointed out. Immediately diverted, and guessing he was hearing children, he decided to play along.

“What a shame,” Kamir said, as if he was talking to himself. “As a guest of their royal highnesses, I would never want to offend the palace cooks, yet I am too full to eat this dessert. Whatever shall I do?”

The silence seemed to go on for a really long time, and Kamir knew the only way they had managed to gain access to his chambers, despite the many palace guards, was that Mansala was absent. They had entered through a passage that came out into his bathing chamber, and not the kitchen as they must have expected.

It was a good thing Mansala had just left to do an errand with Ash, Attiker’s right-hand man.

He looked up as he heard steps and gazed in wonder as two children he recognized came into his suite. Flynn, the boy, maybe ten if he had to guess, and the girl, Candy, probably three summers younger. Kamir stood and bowed. “I am pleased to meet you again. Please call me Kamir.”

The girl dug her brother in the ribs. “See. Told you Daddy said he was a good one.”

Praise, any praise, made Kamir’s heart swell, and even though he had a good idea who they were, he formally introduced himself. “I have many names, but simply I am His Highness, Kamir of Rajpur.”

The boy bowed formally. “I am Prince Flynn, and this is Princess Candace.” The little girl giggled.

“You can call me Candy like my Daddy and Papa.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Everyone calls you Candy unless it has to be official.”

Kamir was utterly charmed, and of course, asked if they could do him a great favor.

“What?” Flynn asked suspiciously.

“I am a guest, as you know, but I am struggling to eat all this wonderful food. I am fearful of offending the cook and I had hoped you might be hungry.”

Funnily enough, it turned out they were.

Like most palaces, this one was riddled with secret passages, and by the sound of it, thanks to Ash, Flynn and Candy were learning them all, but had been lured into following their noses. For a moment, Kamir wondered why he’d never been adventurous enough to discover his own secret passages, as he was sure the palace had them. But he knew. The adventures he found in books, with no company to encourage him to greater heights, were enough to sate his boyish longings, and he envied these two’s thirst for discovery. Spurred on by their eagerness, he ate some crackers and paste, which tasted wonderful. He heard all about their life as eelers and how they had barely survived in the orphanages called King’s Castles. The children informed him that orphans created by soldiers killed or captured in battle qualified for food and shelter, but lack of proper oversight meant some took advantage of both the stipend and the children it was supposed to aid.

Kamir was shamed again that even a failing system like that had never been put in place on his father’s watch. “If I return to take the crown, I will need advisors to implement a similar system.”

Candy beamed, but Flynn was old enough not to take something at face value. “You would need someone that has gone through it,” he stated. “No one that hasn’t would understand.”

Kamir inclined his head. “I promise to ask your advice if I ever get the power to change anything.”

“Do you think that you won’t?” Flynn challenged. “Aren’t you the king?”

“Yes, I am the emir,” Kamir said. “But I have to prove that to a very bad man that wants to usurp me before I have the opportunity.”

Flynn considered that answer. “Ash has taught me to fight. I can help.”

Kamir’s throat tightened. “I would be honored, but I imagine your fathers have need of you here.” Flynn shrugged.

“Not if it’s a worthy cause.”

“I am humbled,” Kamir said gravely. Not that he would ever put this boy in danger, but the fact that he had offered spoke volumes not just to his own heart, but to Attiker and Raz’s. “You do Cadmeera a great service.” Flynn inclined his head just as a boy taking on the mantle of a king would, and Kamir could only hope to match this child in bravery and sincerity. Cadmeera was safe for summers to come if this was who would rule. But then it would depend on the existing laws. He knew Cadmeera had as many stipulations for succession as Rajpur, and he knew Flynn wasn’t a shifter.

Tsaria put up a hand to silence Mansala as they entered the antechamber to the rooms Kamir was in. He could hear the emir’s voice and those of two children, and while Mansala looked uncomfortable, he stilled a moment. As Tsaria paused, he heard Kamir mention orphans, and how he would care for them. Was it a ruse? Or had been too quick to judge?

He acknowledged that if Kamir wanted him to stay because of the dragon, he could simply order it. But he hadn’t done that, and that, he supposed, was the one thing that kept his feet moving. But he didn’t trust any of them in the palace.

“Tsaria,” Kamir exclaimed when he saw him and stood. The boy stood as well and bowed.

“I am Flynn, and this is Candace.” He noticed the titles weren’t spoken, and he inclined his head politely and introduced himself.

The little girl jumped up. “Please call me Candy.” Tsaria was charmed, but Ash, who had followed them in, sighed heavily.

“Don’t you two get fed enough?”

“It’s Wednesday,” Candy shared, as if that was all the explanation needed.

“They won’t get into trouble?” Kamir said, nervously.

Ash grinned. “Did you save me some?” Both children smiled and the little girl giggled.

“No, Ash, but it was yummy. Must have been Cookie that made it. I’m sure she’ll make you some.”

Ash tried to hide his smile, then turned to Kamir and bowed. “Your Highness. I’m sorry if they’ve talked your ears off.”

“He says that,” the boy drawled, “like ears are gonna walk off on their own.”

“Or they could get detached on purpose,” Ash threatened. Grumbling, the children left with Ash and then as Tsaria looked around, he realized only Mansala stood between him and the emir. Mansala seemed to realize it at the same time, but instead of staying like a silent sentinel, he picked up the remnants of the food and walked away. Tsaria was left standing like a fool, having no idea what to say.

“I thought you might have left the palace,” the emir said.

“Did you?” Tsaria couldn’t help the challenge.

The emir met his gaze for a moment then turned away, but in that second Tsaria would have bet his life that the sorrow that painted his face was genuine, and for a moment Tsaria was shamed. And while this man could never have experienced the degradation he and so many others had, maybe he had grown up with a different kind of torment.

But he hadn’t known hunger.

He hadn’t known the pain and confusion as he’d been “taught” his new trade.

He hadn’t known the shame when, as an inexperienced boy, he had enjoyed some of his lessons, then hated himself until he learned to control his own body as if it no longer belonged to him. But then, it never had. Tsaria had always belonged to someone else. Was Kamir simply going to be a new master?

“So, what’s the plan?” Tsaria asked, brushing away memories that had no business intruding. “We need to know why you don’t change when I simply touch you.” Because if that was supposed to happen, it made no sense.

Kamir shrugged but turned away. “You know as much as I.”

“Then perhaps we need to figure this out? I assume you want to return to take the crown?”

Tsaria watched as the emir seemed to droop where he stood. He watched his shoulders curl forward and followed the slight bend of his neck. “I’m not fit to rule. My sister is far more qualified, and she would be perfect, but we would have to alter not only the royal edicts of Rajpur, but all sixteen members of the ruling assembly would have to agree, and I know I would be unable to persuade at least ten of them to crown a queen.”

The last was said in a whisper, almost as if he was ashamed, and Tsaria’s heart clenched despite his determination to remain unmoved. He spoke as if his very existence was futile, and that disturbed Tsaria on a level he was unfamiliar with. It was true Tsaria had seen many horrors both before and after entering the pleasure house, but for all his pathetic and limited choices, and despite all the emir’s wealth, it almost felt as if he had as little choice in his future as Tsaria did.

“Have you eaten?” Tsaria asked suddenly, regretting the question as soon as it left his lips. It wasn’t his place, but the emir looked like a slight breeze would blow him away.

Kamir turned, confusion on his face. “My apologies, I should have offered you some food.”

Tsaria shook his head. “I had some with Tam.” Tam had eaten it, so he’d known it wasn’t drugged.

“And I enjoyed some delicious crackers and paste with their highnesses.” Tsaria knew he meant the children.

“Then I believe as it is late enough, your Highness should perhaps take a bath and rest.” It was easy to drop into a role. Tsaria had done this a thousand times, and maybe the emir would speak more freely if he was relaxed.

“If we are to work this out between us, please call me by my given name. My mother chose it, so it is precious to me.”

They both lacked a mother’s love, but any reminder of similarities between them made him uncomfortable. “Kamir, then,” Tsaria agreed smoothly, slipping further into his familiar role. He walked to the bathing room and wasn’t surprised to see that the water came from a pipe and servants didn’t need to fill it. He also investigated the herbal salts available, and picked one containing chamomile and passionflower, both helpful to promote restful sleep, then added it liberally to the water.

Kamir appeared stripped to a simple robe. “You aren’t here to tend me. I am capable of running my own bath and even if I was so dim-witted, there are servants here.”

Tsaria didn’t know what to say. Kamir had to trust him before he spilled any secrets, so he knew he had to play his role, even if he felt some innate desire to spoil Kamir a little. Which made no sense. None of it did. “We need to be relaxed to talk without artifice or agendas,” Tsaria said. “I think this day, this week, has been unimaginably hard on us both.”

“Does that mean you will bathe as well?” Kamir blurted out, then seemed to realize his words. “Gods, I meant nothing. Please don’t think…” But if Tsaria had any confidence, it was in his own body. He could do what he was good at. He might want to seduce the emir’s mind, but that went hand in hand with seducing his body.

“Yes, Kamir. I need to bathe. I know you don’t expect anything.” Because any shame over his naked body had been beaten out of him summers since, he stripped, got in the heavenly bath, and beckoned Kamir to follow.

Kamir didn’t seem to know what to do, but Tsaria reached out and took his hand. Kamir’s robe fell off and Tsaria took him in. He was still too slender even if he seemed to have more muscles. His ribs were too apparent, and again he wondered if anyone had ever looked after this gentle man. But that made no sense. He was a prince, an emir. Rich beyond Tsaria’s wildest dreams.

Kamir stepped in and Tsaria prevented him from sitting opposite, despite the enormous bath having room. Instead he brought Kamir’s back flush to his chest, fitting him perfectly between his legs. Tsaria wasn’t hard. He could easily be, but command of his own body had been drilled so forcefully into him, he was unable now to truly let go.

Some patrons like to fool themselves that the slaves wanted them. Many didn’t care either way. Kamir relented and relaxed, and Tsaria felt every moment as Kamir finally gave him his weight.

When it happened, when Kamir finally surrendered, he couldn’t help the feeling of possessiveness, which was foolish, he knew. Tsaria bathed his highness, and at the final sigh, Tsaria knew he had fallen asleep. To have such power, such trust, was an incredibly heady feeling. Even as a slave, the bodyguards would be present, except Mansala had left them. It was an incredible display of trust that Tsaria honestly didn’t know what to do with.

He roused Kamir eventually and let out the cooling bath water, drying the emir because he doubted Kamir was awake enough to do it himself, and settled him in bed. When Kamir’s arms reached for him, Tsaria let himself be pulled down. He hadn’t meant to get into the same bed. He certainly didn’t mean to close his eyes. And he promised himself, when he knew Kamir was asleep, he would move.

Chapter eleven

The second Tsaria woke, he knew where he was, and who he was in bed with. He remembered everything from yesterday and knew without a doubt he would have been lying to himself if he pretended shock at falling asleep. He knew he was here because he wanted to be. Not that he understood that compulsion, but he couldn’t blame his current position on anyone but himself.

His current position was lying flat on his back with the beautiful emir curled up beside him, Kamir’s head on his shoulder, and his slow, even breaths dusting over his skin.

Tsaria knew he should attempt to move without waking the emir. Go find his own chamber. Pretend to still be distrustful.

Which gave him pause. Pretend to be distrustful? Pretend? Had he really gone from bitterness and suspicion to forgiveness in the blink of an eye? He had lost his mind. Maybe it was the shock of the last few days.

He was still wracked with indecision when he realized that the emir’s breathing had changed and that he’d lost the chance to try to sneak away because the emir was very much awake. And probably wondering how to extract himself as well.

Tsaria sighed and dropped his arm, giving the emir an out. But instead of any embarrassed scramble, Tsaria was suddenly looking at two wary, but still gorgeous, amber eyes. Kamir. It was easy to distance himself and call him by his title when he wasn’t looking into Kamir’s very soul. He could see hesitation and caution. Maybe shyness, but he didn’t see shame. Tsaria wasn’t used to morning-after encounters. The customers that visited the pleasure house always had to leave before sun-up, and the times where Tsaria had been taken to someone’s home, he’d had been expected to leave as soon as they had finished fucking him.

Which was probably what he should do now. “I apologize, Highness. I will remove—”

“Please don’t,” but then Kamir’s dusky brown cheeks took on a deeper hue, and Tsaria watched in fascination as the man blushed. “That is… Of course, you shouldn’t feel any obligation, or—”

Tsaria was utterly charmed and completely unable to stop himself from touching Kamir’s trembling bottom lip with his thumb, and carefully stroking it to the corner. He felt the nudge on his hip from Kamir’s rapidly swelling cock, and Kamir’s shy look turned mortified. “I—”

Before his brain even registered the thought, Tsaria shifted onto his side, bent, and fastened his lips over Kamir’s, swallowing the startled noise and demanding entrance with his tongue. Kamir parted his lips with an almost full-body shiver, and Tsaria wrapped his arms around him protectively. They were both naked after the bath, and for once he hadn’t had to command his own body to take interest.

Tsaria always had to submit to a lover. Both men and women, even if submission differed. Sometimes women were the worst. They demanded kisses and for Tsaria to lavish praise on them. Men usually just cared about the end result. It was one of the reasons why he was getting fewer requests with men. Too old, too tall. His days of being delicate were over, but somehow in this bed, he didn’t want to be fucked. Didn’t want to be reduced to a convenient hole. He slid down a little more and propped himself up on one elbow, letting his fingers trail down Kamir’s slim throat and the lump as he swallowed hastily. Then he watched as Kamir’s eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted as Tsaria’s finger trailed over his chest. Both his nipples peaked before Tsaria’s fingers reached them, and his areolas puckered.

They looked as equally delicious as Kamir’s lips and stopping himself from leaning forward for a taste would have been simply impossible.

“I…I-what?” Kamir babbled and Tsaria smiled as he licked the pebbling nub and gently took it in his teeth. He stretched out his hand and found Kamir’s hard length, swiping his thumb over the tip. Kamir’s moan was long and low, and he moved his hand up Tsaria’s arm. Slowly, hesitantly, Kamir’s fingers reached higher and slid through Tsaria’s long hair, the delicious light scrape on his scalp making his breath catch.

Tsaria let go of Kamir’s nipple and decided to investigate more of his body. He slid lower, but Kamir gripped his arms, so Tsaria stilled and focused on his face. Kamir shook his head, but then whispered, “Let me.”

And without giving Tsaria a chance to utter one startled word, he pressed him to his back and slid down the bed. Tsaria watched, completely stunned. The only time he’d had this himself was during instruction. The younger pleasure slaves were ordered to train, and Tsaria was always gentle with them, but working, he was always the one to use his mouth.

But you’re not working.

Or was he?

Kamir wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met. Cautiously, he licked the base of Tsaria’s length, and Tsaria moaned out his appreciation. With growing confidence, Kamir closed his lips over just the tip, then tentatively traced the slit with his tongue.

“Goddess,” Tsaria whispered, and Kamir hesitated. “Please don’t stop,” Tsaria begged. It would kill him. Each shy lick, the slim fingers that wrapped themselves around his base, and the cautious sucks were driving him insane. No one had ever taken their time with Tsaria, but this adorable man seemed to be trying to map every vein, every inch of skin with his tongue. For the first time in many summers, Tsaria could feel his pleasure building without any sort of self-control.

“Kamir, I’m close,” he warned. It was one thing to suck someone’s cock, an entirely different thing to swallow. But the ache deep in his balls felt so fucking good.

Kamir used his other hand to gently tug on Tsaria’s sac and Tsaria fisted his hands in the sheet below him. “So good,” he murmured breathily. Then Kamir used the tip of his tongue in Tsaria’s slit and pleasure and heat coalesced in his groin. Kamir tightened his fingers and that was it. He could no more hold back his orgasm than he could the cry of Kamir’s name as it left his throat.

Not that Kamir stopped there. He very carefully cleaned him with his tongue until Tsaria bent and lifted the man so he slid up his body. It was Kamir’s turn to moan as his cock scraped Tsaria’s groin. Tsaria laid him on his back, then leaned over and grabbed his hard and leaking cock, wrapping his fingers around it until Kamir began to pant in shallow breaths. “That was for you,” Kamir insisted.

“And this is for you,” Tsaria whispered, leaning over him to swallow the sounds he made when Kamir spurted into Tsaria’s tight grip. Kamir collapsed against him, and Tsaria could just reach one of the napkins lying on the nightstand to quickly wipe his hand, before he pulled him snugly against his chest and wrapped him up close.

He lay there completely stunned, trying to get air back in his lungs and wondering what had just happened. “Kamir—”

But there was a knock at the door and Mansala informed his highness that breakfast was prepared in the salon and that Jael was here.

Kamir smiled lazily before he opened his eyes, but whatever he saw in Tsaria’s sobered him instantly. He wrenched himself out of Tsaria’s arms and sat up. Tsaria frowned as he took in Kamir’s back and his heart sank. Was this regret?

“I’m sorry, that was unfair of me.”

“Unfair?” Tsaria repeated, unsure he had heard correctly. Kamir’s shoulders curled in and Tsaria ached to touch him. What was wrong?

“You probably imagined you were obligated.”

Understanding flashed through him, and he sat up. “No, Kamir.” He addressed him by his name deliberately. “I did that because I wanted to.” He laid his hands on Kamir’s shoulders and pulled until he turned.

“I never want who I am to be in our bed.”

“Well, let’s hope you never shift in here.” Tsaria warmed at the adorable, sheepish smile. It was too easy to tease him. He kissed his cheek. “I know what you mean.” He knew appearances would need to be maintained out there, but he liked that in bed they were just two lovers. “I think we should get breakfast. Are you hungry?”

Kamir shrugged. “I don’t often eat first meal.”

Tsaria didn’t reply because Kamir needed a keeper and he knew that if he slid into that role, he would enjoy it too much. He was coming to trust Kamir had no alternative motives, but the fact that he was the emir and Tsaria had been a pleasure slave would always be the bridge they couldn’t cross.

Tsaria was thankful the adjoining room was for dressing. Warm, fragrant water in two bowls, soap, and towels were laid out, along with two markedly different changes of clothes. Tsaria insisted on helping Kamir dress after they had both washed, but just as Tsaria settled an over-tunic on Kamir, Kamir stepped close. “I preferred it when you smelled of me.”

Tsaria pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at the outrageous statement. It seemed Kamir was only shy when they were in bed. He stood back, then picked up his own simple breeches and shirt. To be fair, he’d seen Attiker in something very similar yesterday, and these were better clothes than he was used to wearing.

As a boy, he’d been lucky to get filthy rags. As a man, he was used to dressing in either provocative silks or nothing at all.

Kamir waited while he tied the shirt, but the heat in his gaze let Tsaria know he was probably wishing he was taking them off, not putting them on.

“I cannot call you by your given name out there,” Tsaria cautioned. Kamir sighed. “I know you gave me leave to do so, but I fear it would make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Especially you?” Kamir guessed correctly.

“Yes, Highness,” Tsaria said firmly and opened the door, standing back for the emir to walk out.

It was charming to hear Jael firing questions at somebody, and he heard a light chuckle he wasn’t sure he recognized. He followed Kamir into the salon, only to see an elegant older lady sitting and listening to Jael’s excited chatter.

Kamir instantly stopped and bowed low from his waist. “Your highness, I am honored—” But Tsaria didn’t hear the rest, he just threw himself on the ground, kneeling and pressing his head to the floor in a proper expression of deference. As a slave he would be expected to do this. He closed his eyes tight and waited for an order. If he had been tardy in this back home, he would have lost his head.

“Gracious me,” her highness spoke. “Isn’t this your companion?”

“It is,” Kamir said quite clearly, but gently. “Tsaria, please stand. I would like to present you to the dowager queen mother, Her Highness, Aristella Kinsharae.”

Tsaria lifted his head and scrambled to his feet, his heart beating mildly. His companion? He glanced up, and she smiled, offering her hand, which he wasn’t sure what to do with. But he took a guess and took it lightly, bowing over it like Kamir had done. She smiled, but instead of letting go, she brought her other hand down to trap his in between hers and patted it.

“Now, I came to invite you to breakfast.”

Tam chuckled and mouthed the word “Liar” at her. She sniffed very disdainfully. “I wanted to make sure everyone knew they were invited.”

“For real?” Jael asked, excitement in his voice.

She let go of Tsaria’s hands, much to his relief, and waved at Mansala. “Perhaps we can all walk together?” Tsaria tried desperately to hang back, but her highness decided that he was to escort her and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. Four guards all fell into step with them as soon as they left the rooms. Jael squeaked when he saw them and tried to get to the other side of Tsaria. Her highness noticed. “They’re not here to arrest you, my dear. Why don’t you hold my cane as this young man is going to hold me up? The cane was a gift from my late husband, and I simply can’t be parted from it.”

Jael took it like it was studded with diamonds, and for the first time since he had been in her presence, Tsaria smiled. Her highness kept up the conversation with Jael, telling him they were going to meet her grandchildren, and they eventually walked into a much bigger salon with daybeds, padded couches, and smaller tables dotted about. A line of liveried servants was just entering from the other doors and whatever they were carrying made Tsaria’s belly growl. He clutched it in alarm, but her highness simply patted his hand again before letting go and announced she adored boys with a healthy appetite.

“Grandmother, have you been kidnapping our guests?” Attiker walked in just behind the servants, along with the two children Tsaria had been so charmed by yesterday. A plump gray-haired lady entered as well, and the princess was holding her hand and asking about cake. Attiker informed her she wasn’t allowed to eat cake for breakfast, but as soon as Attiker looked away, the cook winked at the princess and she giggled.

Tsaria stepped to one side, but bumped into Kamir, who had come to an abrupt stop. He followed Kamir’s gaze, but it was just Princess Candy and the cook.

“Amar,” Kamir whispered, his voice hoarse, and the cook’s head whipped around.

She pressed her hand tight over her mouth and tears sprang.

“Amar,” Kamir repeated joyfully and rushed forwards, enclosing her in his arms. “I searched everywhere when I could. Please tell me you are well.”

The cook hugged him equally hard and got out a napkin to wipe her eyes.

“This looks like a fascinating story,” her highness said eagerly, taking a seat. The servants arranged a napkin and silverware on a small table then came forward with dishes for her to choose from. “Amar?”

“How about I get the kids sorted and let Cookie explain?” Attiker took all three of them to a small table with chairs and introduced Jael. They were soon chatting like kids do, and individually eating an amount Tsaria would have made last for three days. And not because he didn’t get fed in the pleasure house, but because he had to keep his body as youthful and as small as possible.

Her highness waved at Kamir when they were all sorted, and even the cook had a cup of tea put into her hands. She looked a little flustered, so Kamir explained. “Amar was a cook at the palace in Rajpur when I was a small child. My diet was restricted and one of the many rules was only eating what was planned for me. Amar used to sneak me things when I was really hungry, and she got discovered and lost her position because of me.” Kamir met her gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

The cook just patted Kamir’s cheek and told him not to worry. She stood, excusing herself because the bread would need to go in the oven, and Kamir promised to see her later.

Kamir shook his head in apparent disbelief and sat back down after escorting her to the door, reaching for Tsaria’s hand. He took it instantly, knowing Kamir needed comfort.

“She lost her job over a small slice of apple tart,” he whispered. “I grew up with servants after my mother died. They all had strict instructions on how I should be punished for that.”

Punished? Tsaria grew still, as that sounded too familiar. Way too familiar. It seemed convenient they both shared a similar history. Too convenient. But Kamir seemed to realize he had an audience and quickly commented that the breakfast looked wonderful. Then the servants offered them food and Tsaria watched as Kamir hesitated over even a tiny amount.

Punished? But Tsaria had an awful idea that he knew so he simply filled Kamir’s plate as well as his own, pretending he didn’t notice the approving looks the dowager queen sent him, and kept an eye on Kamir while he ate. When they’d finished, another servant arrived to escort the prince and princess to their lessons. The princess put her hand in Jael’s and asked if he could come.

Jael looked at Tsaria and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. He was searching for something to say when Candy beat him to it. “When I came here, I couldn’t even read, and Master Eehle said that was a good thing, because I could start learning the right way.”

“What a good idea,” Attiker said, and as Jael seemed completely starstruck with the princess, he agreed immediately.

When the doors were finally closed and they were alone, Attiker leaned back in his chair. “I know you’re hoping for a plan, but this whole thing seems to hinge on you shifting again, correct?”

“I am required by law to prove my ability in front of all sixteen members of the ruling assembly,” Kamir confirmed, “which means I won’t have the right to the crown until then.”

“Does being a dragon and not a wolf matter?” her highness asked.

“No, a wolf is just an assumption, but the law simply refers to being able to shift into an animal.”

“And I take it you’ve tried?” Attiker said.

“I thought it might be touch,” Kamir blushed and shot Tsaria a look, “But it hasn’t happened again.”

“What will happen if you are unable?” Attiker asked.

Kamir shrugged. “As for me, I suppose I will be exiled if I’m lucky. If my uncle gets the chance, he will kill me.” He paused. “Rajpur will starve.” His voice trembled. Tsaria could hear his pain and wanted to help, but still couldn’t bring himself to fear past what would happen once Kamir did manage to shift. At the moment, everyone thought they needed him, but once Kamir proved his animal, he didn’t doubt he would be thrown away again. It might be Kamir’s inability to shift that was keeping Tsaria alive. Although he was struggling to believe Kamir had any malice in him at all.

“We shall go see Eldara again,” Attiker said decisively. “She looked for a wolf last time, so you never know.”

Kamir noticed Tsaria looking confused. “Eldara is a dragon, and is great friends with Attiker.”

Tsaria absorbed that, but surely she would have sensed another dragon? It didn’t make any sense. How long would this go on for? At some point Kamir would be forced into permanent exile if he didn’t shift, and then he would have no use for Tsaria.

A servant knocked and entered, carrying a sealed parchment on a silver tray. He bowed to Attiker. “Your Highness, a message had just been delivered for his highness, the emir.”

Kamir sat up straighter and took the parchment from the servant, breaking the seal and unfolding it. His indrawn breath was sharp.

“What is it, child?” her highness asked.

Kamir cleared his throat, then read.

The imperial court of Rajpur and all sixteen members of the ruling assembly demand that His Highness Kamir, Prince of Rajpur, present himself at the palace on the dark of the moon and prove his claim to the throne.

If the provenance ritual is a failure either by the absence of his highness or by failure to show his animal, then the assembly will have no choice but to perform the cleansing rites as decreed.

“Cleansing rights?” Attiker queried. “What the hell are they?”

Kamir put a shaky hand across his mouth, and Tsaria’s heart hammered.

“Ancient barbaric rules that no one has witnessed in thousands of summers. I know of them because I’m documenting the history of Rajpur, but I honestly thought no one else alive did.”

“And they are what?” Tsaria asked, knowing something was badly wrong.

“Rajpur, as you know, had a history of satanic worship and barbarism. It was said that if a prince and heir was born without an animal, then the kingdom had displeased the gods.” His voice cracked. “The punishment, the absolvement, as it is called, is to take ten children from each of the ten original named villages in the decree of Rajpur and ritually slaughter them. Their throats are cut on an altar to the gods.”

Kamir gazed at him. “It’s nineteen days to the dark of the moon.”

Tsaria couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Somehow, he had to duplicate what had happened to produce the dragon in Kamir or many children would die. He just didn’t know how.

Chapter twelve

Tsaria stared at the dragon in utter awe. She was magnificent from her ruby eyes to her orange and flame-red scales. He assumed her mate, and the dragonet, were as astonishing, but he was in no hurry to meet the male dragon, especially if he was bigger.

She greeted Attiker with a small head-butt that sent him toppling over, and in the midst of such worry it was a welcome relief to feel even a sliver of amusement. It was only sheer force of will that made him able to stand on his own two feet. It was barely four bells since he had met the dowager queen. At least Kamir was used to this lifestyle.

“How’s your family?” Attiker crooned once he’d finished grumbling and picked himself up off the floor.

Attiker tilted his head and nodded at Eldara as if answering some question.

“Eldara communicates with him by sending images,” Kamir whispered. “Attiker told me this was how they saved each other.”

“Each other?” Tsaria whispered back. How could a mere man save a dragon?

Kamir smiled, clearly understanding the incredulity that colored Tsaria’s question. “Eldara saved Attiker from plunging to his certain death and helped him win a challenge that ultimately saved Raz’s life and their kingdom. Attiker sacrificed himself to rescue her baby. It’s why they became friends.” Kamir glanced at Tsaria, then hesitated. “Attiker and Raz were determined to keep her a secret because of the danger hunters pose, but that gotten blown all to seven hells when she made a dramatic appearance last year and saved Attiker’s life by turning him into a white wolf.”

Tsaria glanced at him and caught what Kamir wasn’t saying. The emphasis on the word secret, and resentment made him snap. “I didn’t reveal your secret to save my life, your Highness. What makes you think I would talk now?” Tsaria took a step to the side and watched the horror chase over Kamir’s face.

“I didn’t mean to suggest you would,” Kamir said, possibly too loudly because Tsaria felt the gust of warm air as Eldara turned her head to look at them both. Tsaria swallowed hard but stood tall.

She wasn’t as large as Kamir, he thought, picturing the amber eyes in his dragon that were now the same in Kamir’s human form. The body of the breathtaking creature Kamir had changed into, complete with the gleaming purple and blue scales that became almost black at their tips stood, he would guess, a good three feet taller. Eldara was beautiful, but she wasn’t as gorgeous as Kamir.

Eldara snorted and this time her breath was a shade too hot to be comfortable. Tsaria’s attention returned to her with a start, and Attiker chuckled. “She doesn’t like whatever comparison you just made.”

Tsaria felt the flush that nerves inspired. Better not make— Wait, he hadn’t said that aloud. “I didn’t say anything,” he protested.

Attiker glanced at Eldara, then back to them. “Kamir’s dragon is purple and blue with amber eyes.”

Kamir gaped and looked at them both. “I never even thought to ask what I looked like, but are you saying she can communicate with Tsaria?”

“She must be able to,” Attiker said. “Kamir, are you getting anything from her?”

Tsaria watched as Kamir stared at her, but then slowly shook his head, his shoulders dipping a little. Tsaria blinked as an image of Kamir touching her snout came into his mind. “She wants you to touch her.”

“I did before,” Kamir said, as if stealing himself for disappointment, and it was Tsaria’s turn to feel guilty, before he reminded himself that this man was the emir and had been raised in luxury. Their lives were as far apart as the worm and the eagle.

“No, she wants you both to,” Attiker said.

Tsaria received an image of them both then. Kamir stood next to him, their hands touching either side of her neck. Eldara extended her neck in invitation, and Tsaria didn’t hesitate to place his palm on her scales at the same time as Kamir.

He jerked as images flooded him. A little boy with brown eyes he recognized standing motionless as his open palms were smacked bloody with a wooden switch. The pain hit him as if it was his own, and he bit down the gasp. Then hunger. Tsaria recognized that instantly. The yawning gap inside you. You could taste hunger. The spoiled bread if you were lucky, or the memory of it on your tongue. You could smell hunger. The stench of a dead animal when for a fleeting second you almost wished you were the carrion that ripped the animal open and got to fill their bellies.

And loneliness—even more of a chasm than hunger. The constant shame of not being good enough, strong enough, worthy. He opened eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed and stared into ruby eyes.

What was that?

But he knew, and this time it was his turn to feel shame, and he looked away from her knowing stare. Eldara was showing him that people should never measure pain. It wasn’t something to be stacked in a pile and a yard stick applied to it. No two people’s suffering was the same. It was also more than communicating. Eldara wasn’t talking to him. She was showing him memories. Memories that weren’t hers. He felt the hot breath and heard the chuff that sounded more like a demand and raised his head.

Then Eldara lifted her head and roared. A plume of almost blue fire shot from her throat. He knew Attiker and Kamir had stumbled back from the intense heat, but Tsaria seemed to almost revel in it and didn’t let go. He imagined flames caressing his skin, the bite barely the same as a too-hot bath, and he reveled in the heat as it warmed his usually cold, dead heart.

Then the flames were cut off, and as if he was suddenly swathed in a wave of exhaustion, he fell to his knees.

“Tsaria!” Kamir almost stumbled in his hurry to get to him.

“Kamir,” Attiker said in a cautious tone and Tsaria forced his eyes open in time to hear Kamir’s gasp and looked at Eldara. She returned his gaze, but to his astonishment, as they watched, she lowered her head, almost as if she was bowing.

“What’s she doing?” Kamir whispered and Attiker gazed at her, not answering for a long minute.

“She just called you Dragoran,” Attiker said. “And I would guess that’s something important.”

Kamir shook his head. “I’m not important. I can’t even change—”

“No, Kamir. Sorry,” Attiker said, “I meant Tsaria. She’s bowing to him.”

Tsaria gaped, but before he had a chance to move, she lumbered forwards and extended her neck, clearly wanting him to touch her again.

“Tsaria,” Kamir warned, but Tsaria had the greatest urge to touch her, and with an arm that felt like it had a lead weight attached to it, he managed to reach out. She stretched out some more and touched the tip of his fingers.

Tsaria’s breath caught in his lungs and his body froze. Pain like nothing he’d ever felt before raced up his fingers, down his arm, and across his chest like it was on fire and he was burning from the inside out. His whole body seemed to seize, and he managed to stay conscious for the second it took for Attiker to grab Kamir to stop him from getting to Tsaria. Good. He didn’t want him to die as well.

Tsaria remembered the pain before he even opened his eyes. The memory hurt nearly as much, but all he felt now was a pleasant warmth and someone rubbing the top of his hand gently. Because that occurrence was so unusual, he opened his eyes to be met with a pair of very worried amber ones.

“Healer,” Kamir almost shrieked, but thankfully didn’t let go, even when an older man hurried over to the bed. Tsaria would have recognized the almost universal healer robes even if Kamir hadn’t yelled.

The man bowed. “I am Laronne, Master Healer. “How do you feel?”

He honestly didn’t know, but he vaguely remembered Laronne. “Nothing hurts.”

Tsaria heard the long, relieved sigh from Kamir and turned his head to look at him. Took in the way he was clinging to his hand, the paleness of his cheeks. His normally warm brown skin seemed almost gray. “I’m sorry,” Tsaria said, hating that he’d scared him. Then he flushed at the presumption that he could have that effect on the emir.

Kamir reached out with his other hand and smoothed away Tsaria’s hair. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I have assured your Highness there seems to be no lasting damage, except, of course, the marks.”

Tsaria turned back to the healer just as Attiker walked in. “Marks?” he queried, then for the first time glanced down at his arm and gaped. Intricate black markings ran all the way from his fingers up his arm. He let go of Kamir and yanked down the plain shirt he wore, only to see the markings spread across his chest and all the way down his other arm to his wrist. That hand—his left—was clear.

“What in seven hells?” Tsaria whispered.

“Which is what we’d like to know,” Attiker said. “Eldara touched you and you seemed almost to go up in flames. You collapsed, and she flew off, and she hasn’t answered my call since.” He hesitated. “To be honest, I think she scared herself at your reaction.”

“But what are they?” Tsaria asked, looking at the marks again.

“She called him Dragoran,” Kamir reminded them.

“I can’t reach her since we came back to the palace, but I have another dragon expert of sorts waiting to talk to us if you feel up to it,” Attiker offered.

“Please, can you give us a moment’s privacy first?”

Tsaria glanced at Kamir in surprise, but then almost immediately everyone left, and it was just them. Kamir took both his hands in his. “We haven’t had a moment,” Kamir said, but smiled. “Not to talk, anyway. I just want to say I know you didn’t expect any of this.” His amber eyes darkened. “You have no reason to trust me, but I swear on the grave of my mother if you want to leave, no one will stop you.”

“And what will you do?” Tsaria was wavering. One minute he believed everything Kamir said, the next he heard his father’s voice telling him he was no good. Worthless.

“Whatever I can for my people,” he answered simply.

Tsaria thought about where they were, and not in the sense of geography, but with each other, and what he wanted. He glanced at his arm and knew he had to learn what it meant. “I think we should talk to their expert.” Which wasn’t what his heart wanted to say at all, but it was all that his mind trusted his mouth with.

Kamir stared at him for a long moment, then simply bent and kissed him. It was brief but felt meaningful. “When this is over, I want to take you to the ruins of Caheer and watch the sunset.”

He smiled because even though he’d never heard of them, they seemed important to Kamir, and they both readied themselves for whatever Attiker’s expert may say.

“Highnesses,” Attiker interrupted after Kamir rang the bell to indicate they were ready. “May I present Gerry Bentley.”

Tsaria gazed at the servant… groundskeeper? He was a huge man, probably nearing seventy summers, and wore a tan apron that generally demonstrated his specialty. He had dirt on his cheeks and carried a bag on his shoulder. He ripped his cloth cap off his head and bowed.

“Sire, pleasure to meet pals of ‘is ‘ighness.”

Tsaria loved him on sight. The fact that he beamed at Attiker and didn’t put on airs and graces. The word sire was even more ancient than caliph but reserved for trusted servants to use. He liked that this man called Kamir so.

Attiker grinned. “Gerry is head gardener for the estate and specializes in growing certain strains of flowers.”

Kamir shook his hand and assured him it was a pleasure to meet him, even sharing that their gardeners were struggling with flowering octopi, which Tsaria had never heard of. Gerry scratched his chin and said he’d had a little success with tea leaves to help the octopi. But only after they’d been properly steeped, mind you. He suggested the maids keep the tea after the pots had been drunk.

Kamir’s eyebrows rose and said he hoped at some point that the Rajpuran gardeners could come for a visit to be tutored. Gerry agreed, then said he s’posed it would be up to the “lad.”

“He means Raz,” Attiker translated.

“Excellent,” Kamir enthused and Tsaria met Attiker’s amused gaze. Neither the fact that the gardener had referred to the King of Cadmeera as a “lad” or that Kamir hadn’t so much as blinked but enthusiastically joined in the conversation seemed to bother anyone.

Cadmeera was certainly not what he was used to.

But neither is Kamir.

Attiker finally took charge of the conversation when Kamir and Gerry started discussing the proper care of ginger leaf for herbal tea, and briefed Gerry on what had happened with Eldara, even showing Gerry Tsaria’s arm. “Did you bring what we needed?”

Kamir cocked his head. “What is it?” he asked when Gerry pulled on two huge gloves and reached into a pouch he had slung over one shoulder.

“Aye,” Gerry confirmed and brought out something that looked like an egg, but much bigger.

Kamir gasped. “Is that what I think it is?”

Gerry beamed. Tsaria looked at Attiker for any sort of explanation. “This is a dragon lily pod,” Attiker said.

Nope, he was no wiser.

Kamir seemed to sense his confusion. “Dragon lilies are one of the rarest and most sought-after plants. People will pay fortunes to get them. They can only be grown in red rock and at such extremely high temperatures, it’s nearly impossible.”

“Which is great,” Tsaria said, running out of patience and sick of feeling ignorant. “But what has that to do with me?”

“I’d like you to take the pod,” Gerry said and reached over. Kamir gasped.

“Gloves!” But it was in his hands before he’d registered what Kamir and Attiker both shouted. Tsaria turned the pod over in his hands and then absorbed the silence in the room. Hastening to reassure Kamir, he smiled.

“It’s just warm.”

“No, it really isn’t,” Attiker said and shot Gerry an exasperated look. He had no idea why that was significant, but Tsaria balanced the pod on his outstretched palm because it seemed to tremble slightly.

As they were watching, the pod cracked like an egg and a root poked out. Tsaria gazed in stunned fascination as more roots followed and grew. Small buds formed on the end of two stems and then seemed to explode into bloom. “They’re beautiful,” Tsaria said in awe and glanced at Gerry.

Gerry grunted, a smile peeking out, and he looked at Attiker in triumph. “You were right.”

Attiker’s answering smile was apologetic and, carefully with the use of the gloves, Gerry retrieved the plant and then bid his goodbyes, almost begging Tsaria to visit his greenhouses as soon as he could.

He glanced at both Kamir and Attiker, then sighed. “Would anyone like to tell me what is going on?”

Attiker chuckled then sat and poured himself some wine. Kamir took some, but Tsaria refused when offered.

“So, there’s a legend Gerry told me,” Attiker started. “It could be ridiculous, but it explains a lot.”

Tsaria waited and didn’t object when Kamir took his hand.

“Eldara called you Dragoran. According to what I have been able to find out, Dragor was the name of the legendary King of Dragons when they were all-powerful. Dragoran actually means of Dragor’s blood.”

Tsaria laughed, because he wished for whatever Attiker was drinking, and it surely wasn’t just wine. But Attiker clutched his other arm, ignoring the growl from Kamir, which was startling in itself. “She bowed to you. You wear her sigils. And you touched a pod that would ordinarily give you barely treatable burns.”

“But I’m no dragon,” he protested.

“No,” Attiker agreed. “But apparently you have the ability to change another into one. Eldara said that was why she couldn’t sense an animal in Kamir before.” He looked at Kamir. “We’ve come further in understanding even if not in actions. Whatever Tsaria is doesn’t change the fact that you need to change on the dark of the moon, or a lot of children will die.”

And it was only nine days away.

What in seven hells was he supposed to do?

Chapter thirteen

Kamir made sure he was sitting close to Tsaria when they met in the private office belonging to Raz. Food and drink were served, then cleared away, leaving Raz, Attiker, Mansala, Veda, the dowager queen, Tam, and Ash. Carter, the trusted palace chamberlain, was also there, and after a few minutes a man he didn’t know slipped into the room and bowed his head when Raz glanced his way, then took a seat. He was introduced as Captain Thakeray. Finally, Gerry was shown inside, removing his cap and bowing to the king. Tsaria found it quite amusing when he’d referred to him as a “lad” not too long ago.

Attiker summarized what had happened with Eldara, while everyone seemed to sit in shocked silence.

Raz glanced at his grandmother. “Have you heard of this?”

She shook her head. “The only story passed down to me was of Prince Algred and his dragon-shifter omega. I’ve never heard of a Dragoran.”

“That’s the story I was told?” Kamir queried.

“Fourteen hundred summers ago, there was a similar challenge to the throne of Cadmeera as the one we just went through,” Attiker explained. “It was rumored that Algred had a pet dragon, when it was actually his omega who could shift into a dragon. Beast-masters were sent out to make sure the challenge would be lost by slaughtering what dragons they could find. Algred’s omega was killed and Algred died shortly afterwards.”

“Up until Attiker met Eldara, it was thought they were extinct,” her highness added.

“Could Algred shift?” Kamir asked.

“Of course. He had a wolf,” Raz exclaimed.

“Hmm,” Raz’s grandmother sounded skeptical. “I’m not convinced, but unlike you two in this case it was the omega that shifted, not the alpha.”

Kamir glanced over at his sister and met her understanding gaze. Maybe it was time to come clean. He looked at Raz. “You trust everyone in this room.” He didn’t phrase it as a question.

Raz inclined his head. “With the most important thing in my life.” He reached over and took Attiker’s hand, making it clear who he meant. Attiker rolled his eyes but looked pleased.

“While I do not believe in outdated designations, it has always been apparent to me,” Kamir said, “even as a young child, that I haven’t the heart of a ruler. If it were possible, I would stand down in favor of my sister. The only reason I want to accept the crown is to save my people from the cruelty of my uncle and his sons, Iskar and Damatrious. I am unsurprised it is the omega in the relationship that shifts.”

“But Highness, I’m not a prince,” Tsaria rushed out.

Grandmother interrupted as everyone started talking. “Your beasts don’t care for titles. It’s a simple accident of birth that decides that.” She glanced at Tsaria. “You have shown immense strength from what I have seen. Indeed, if you are, as Eldara seems to think, the Dragoran, then that makes perfect sense to me.”

“I would also like to point out that my omega is the strongest person I know,” Raz said quietly.

Attiker grinned and whispered way too loudly. “You are so getting lucky later.”

“Raz’mar,” her highness drawled. “Can you discuss your bedroom habits later?”

Raz groaned, but Attiker grinned unrepentantly.

Carter coughed politely. “Actually, the alpha and omega designation traditionally used to refer to a breeding couple only. Same-sex couples, especially within the ruling families, have been extremely rare.”

“Hey,” Veda objected. “Are you saying girls are only good enough to breed?”

Carter stammered his apologies. “No, Highness, not at all. I’m simply repeating ancient history.”

Kamir looked pointedly at his sister and hoped she might remember they were guests, and that Raz’mar was going out of his way to help them.

“So, leaving the preconceived ideas of designation out of the discussion, because ancient roles have no place here,” Thakeray said, “what’s the significance of the Dragoran?”

Attiker glanced at Gerry. “Can you explain what you told me, and anything else you might know?”

Gerry cleared his throat. “It was ‘er ‘ighness that told me when we were looking at trying to grow the lilies.”

“Do you mean my mother?” Raz asked.

“Aye, Sire. She was a great reader, as you know, and she spent months looking over every old book or scroll she could get ‘er ‘ands on. She came in one day all excited ‘cos she’d read this legend about something called the king of dragons.”

Carter coughed again. “Actually, the translation from the old tongue would be more accurately Alpha of Dragons.”

“Which makes sense,” Kamir murmured and glanced at Tsaria, who looked horrified. Kamir took his hand, uncaring for what anyone thought. Tsaria glanced down at their joined hands in shock but curled his fingers tighter in Kamir’s.

“Well,” Gerry carried on, warming to his story. “This ‘ere alpha never changed to a dragon ‘imself but could change his mate.”

“Mate?” Veda repeated.

Mate. Kamir’s heart hammered in his chest. He’d hoped, and he dared not look at Tsaria. To say they needed time to talk was like saying the endless desert had some sand.

“Aye,” Gerry answered. “It wasn’t like he could go around changing everyone else. They had to be true mates for it to work.”

True mates? Kamir’s heart beat even faster.

“But Algred was a wolf,” Raz said. “That makes no sense.”

“Actually, your Highness,” Carter interrupted apologetically. “After last year, I decided to do some reading about the ancient challenges, and there was never any question originally that Algred had a wolf, with one caveat. Algred had an identical twin brother.”

“How interesting,” her highness remarked. “And of course, in those days the ruling family were never to shift in front of anyone except in times of great peril.”

“Wait,” Raz said. “Are you telling me Algred couldn’t shift, but because of his brother, they managed to fool everyone?”

“The dowager queen would have known,” Carter said. “According to history, the brothers were very different. Algred was the eldest by nearly half a bell and excelled at horse-riding, jousting, and all tournaments. A natural leader. He was also skilled in negotiation. Beowen was the complete opposite and excelled at his letters and books, but he was rumored to be mute. It isn’t beyond the realm of possibility that the king was in on the deception for what he felt would be the good of the kingdom. There were a lot of warring tribes then, and if Beowen was named his successor, there would have been many challenges.”

“’Er ‘ighness also said that these Dragorans were very rare and were supposed to be the direct descendants of the first dragon that mated with a human. That’s how I knew you’d be able to touch the pod.”

It made so much sense, Kamir thought.

“It still brings us back to you needing to shift again in front of witnesses,” Raz said.

Kamir started a little, lost as he had been in his memories, and Tsaria clutched his hand as if he was frightened he would let go, when Tsaria seemed to be the only thing capable of anchoring him to the here and now. “We need to ask Eldara.”

“I did,” Attiker said. “And she said she’s a dragon, not a shifter, and doesn’t know, but she says you’re important. Apparently she recognized your lineage, your blood.”

“Wouldn’t Algred have had these?” Tsaria said, holding his arm out. He didn’t raise the other and Kamir was glad. He still wanted to hold it.

“Possibly, but it could have been duplicated with henna easily enough on Beowen,” Attiker said.

Kamir agreed, then scraped his chair back and stood, bowing respectfully. “It has been a long day for us all, and while the threat to the village children is of immense importance, may I suggest we attempt to talk to Eldara tomorrow?” He needed to get Tsaria back to their rooms. Have some normal time with Jael who he felt had been neglected, then talk.

It didn’t seem it would be that easy, though. Raz wanted Kamir to accompany him to go over some trade agreements that were vital because he had three ships worth of goods docked, destined for Rajpur, and they couldn’t unload unless both Raz and Kamir signed off on it.

Attiker was kissed within an inch of his life by Raz and Tsaria was insanely jealous. He got a palm laid across his cheek and a fond look before Kamir followed Raz and his guards out.

“Have you thought what you’d like to do with the rest of your life?”

Tsaria suddenly realized he and Attiker were alone, and his heart beat painfully. What should he say?

Attiker grinned and stood. “Walk with me?”

Tsaria could hardly refuse and followed Attiker to the far doors and down a short corridor. A guard followed, of course, but apart from an acknowledged smile, Attiker ignored him. “Did you know that I only met Raz because I was arrested for thieving a purse? It was the honor weekend, and he’d sent nearly all his staff into the city to enjoy themselves. I requested a royal hearing because I was desperate to catch a short-sail and I hadn’t taken the purse. Thought it would get me released because he couldn’t be arsed.” Attiker chuckled. “Not that I wasn’t guilty of plenty before, but by that time I was a seeker, and keeping on the straight and narrow. Nobility of all classes were my main customers, so I kept my nose clean.”

Tsaria gaped. He knew Attiker was from the common people. Everyone had heard the story, but he hadn’t known this. “Thing is, Raz didn’t care. He saw good in me I didn’t know existed.” Attiker smirked. “And made me the people’s champion.”

Tsaria had heard of that as well, but he was mostly vague on the details.

“So, I make sure whatever crazy scheme Raz thinks of to help his people is grounded in reality. For example, Raz wanted to declare all shops were closed on a recent holiday, so people didn’t have to work.” Attiker shrugged. “He thought he was helping. He didn’t realize that the shopkeepers on Kingdom Day—when Cadmeera initiated their independence—were so busy that their takings for that weekend were the equivalent of what they would usually earn in nearly two months.” Attiker shot him another smile. “He thought he was doing good until I advised him otherwise. He didn’t realize that implementing it meant a loss of income equivalent to two months earnings.”

“I don’t suppose I would have either,” Tsaria said. “My world was simply getting ready to be fucked and making sure I was good at it.”

He didn’t realize how blunt he’d been until Attiker remained silent. Tsaria glanced over. “Sorry.”

“Why?” Attiker asked. “I don’t apologize for being a thief. I don’t apologize for having a ma that kept a roof over us and crusts in our bellies by going out whoring.” He sighed. “I don’t even apologize for not being able to save her from fever white when her reality became more than she could bear.”

“My ma died when I was born. My fault. And why my father hated me so.”

Attiker glanced at him, pausing for a second as if Tsaria had said something else. “You don’t sound so sure.”

He shrugged. “Sounds ridiculous, but I remember her baking. Or not her, exactly, but the smell. Pretty sure I’m making it up.” Which made no sense if she was dead. He was silent for a long moment and Attiker let him be.

“So back to the rest of your life,” Attiker prompted after a minute.

“Nothing I can do will make any difference,” Tsaria said at last, and they came to a stop in a small courtyard that to Tsaria seemed to overlook the whole kingdom. It was beautiful.

“Because you don’t think you can bring Kamir’s dragon out.” Tsaria didn’t know how to answer, and after another silent moment he looked up to see Attiker gazing softly at him. “But that’s not the problem exactly, is it?” Attiker pushed.

Tsaria struggled to find words.

“Because whether Kamir finds his dragon or doesn’t, you don’t believe it will give you a life. He might get his dragon then learn to shift himself, in which case you’d be unnecessary, or even worse, he might trot you out when he needs to make a display then put you back in your nice little box until he needs you again.” Tsaria didn’t meet Attiker’s eyes. “He could be killed before you get the chance to help him, in which case you’d be dead as well if Gabar ever managed to get his hands on you.”

Attiker tapped his lips with his finger, the picture of great concentration. “Of course, I had it easier. Yeah, attempted kidnap, poison, and drowning sure, but I had a goal. You’ve just got a desire you share with hundreds of thousands of people. It’s not specific enough. Tell me,” Attiker pressed. “Tell me what your future looks like.”

Tsaria thought back to the image of him holding a baby from all that time ago. “I want a family,” he whispered. “And not one where I worry if I have enough to feed them at every meal.” He gazed at Attiker and Attiker smiled.

“You know this title I have?”

Tsaria nodded but squirmed internally. He didn’t want that. He wanted smaller, quieter. He wanted to make food for his kids, even though he would have to learn to cook. He wanted his mate to share their family. To have him wrapped around him every night in bed…

Tsaria wasn’t stupid, despite what Ishmael always told him. He knew the image in his mind was of Kamir. Beautiful dark-skinned amber-eyed babies. Maybe one with grey eyes.

“Well, it’s quite political, and I don’t think something like that would suit you at all.”

Tsaria’s cheeks heated in shame. Attiker thought he was incapable of being a consort as well. Soon Kamir would agree, then—

“The problem with Rajpur is the same as Cadmeera. You have to dismantle a broken system before making it into something we need. That’s got to be a graveyard’s missing shovel harder than starting from zero.”

“A what?” Tsaria repeated, bewildered, but Attiker waved a hand dismissively.

“Name me one thing you want to change, money isn’t an object.”

Tsaria sat back, stunned. Opened his mouth but closed it quickly. He had no idea. There were so many things, but then the memory of the dungeon hit him, and that goddess-awful smell. “I don’t want anyone in the dungeon simply because they are poor.”

Attiker smiled and leaned forward. “Then take that thought and hold it tight, and no matter what you go through in the coming weeks, don’t forget it.”

Jael was full of chatter about his new friends. Apparently, Flynn and Candy had been eelers which Tsaria had vaguely heard of, but more importantly they had a similar background to Jael, and he had started learning his letters in the same way Flynn had last year.

The palace was riddled with secret passages and Jael was being trusted with them all. They discovered a direct line from their suite to the kitchen and knew how to sneak treats from Cookie and run back before anyone was the wiser.

Tsaria laughed delightedly and was so grateful that Jael hadn’t been made to feel unworthy. After they had eaten, he watched Kamir teach Jael to play Shyann. The pieces on the board resembled a wolf king and his pack, and Jael picked it up quickly, moving his roving gammas until they nearly surrounded Kamir’s alpha. Tsaria had never played it himself but had watched it many times. Kamir and Jael seemed to becoming closer, and he knew Kamir was making a real effort despite his worry.

When Jael started struggling to keep his eyes open, Tsaria took him to bed in the small room in the suite Attiker and Raz had given them.

“Candy says I’m always going to be with you.” He said it challengingly like he dared Tsaria to say any different.

Tsaria smoothed his palm down Jael’s cheek. He hated doing this but he couldn’t make promises. “I want nothing more, and every day I know Kamir is trying to make that happen.” He sat back in shock at his own words, but he knew them to be true. Kamir was trying. Jael seemed content at that and closed his eyes. After dawdling and hoping Kamir would have gone to bed when he left Jael, he walked back into the main room.

When he returned to the day room, planning to cross to their bedroom, he saw that Kamir had poured them each a glass of wine.

“I think we need to talk about today,” Kamir said.

“Highness,” Tsaria acknowledged as if he’d been given an order and then sat down, pressing his hands together to keep them still.

“Do you distance yourself for protection or out of habit? I wouldn’t blame you for either reason.”

Tsaria widened his eyes, not expecting to be called out on his continued use of Kamir’s title and scrambled for an excuse. “I worry I will call you the wrong thing when it matters.” It was a lie, but it sounded better than admitting he still didn’t trust Kamir’s motives.

“And I told you it will never matter,” Kamir said. “It was you that insisted on using my title.” Tsaria kept his head down, not knowing what to say. He was silent too long.

“When are we going to acknowledge what Gerry said about us being mates?”

He couldn’t breathe. Never. He stood. “I’m not what they said.”

“A dragon alpha?”

He looked up and met those amber eyes he lusted after. “I’m a nobody,” he whispered, then in a blink, he was off his feet and nestled on Kamir’s lap. It took him a moment to work out how that happened, and then the tears came. A huge unbreathable wave of sorrow swamped him and he cried like he hadn’t since he was ten and his father had dragged him to Ishmael, who was standing by the cages displaying the day’s whores at the Market of All Souls.

Alain and Tomas, his two older brothers, had followed their dad with morbid fascination as he dragged him up the hill. Alain had even cried. Promised Dad he would share all his meals with Tsaria so it wouldn’t cost extra to feed him, but Dad had said Alain needed all the food he could get in his belly to work the fields.

Tomas just clamped his mouth closed and watched.

Tsaria had still been sobbing half hysterically when Ishmael—wanting proof he was unspoiled—inserted his greased finger in Tsaria’s ass, before his family walked away without looking back. He was so shocked he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t understood the comments about making him a man until much later when blood and another man’s spend ran down his thighs, and he was in so much pain he couldn’t move.

That had been the day after the market. Apparently, he was lucky because he got food.

But he’d lived. And pushed every violation down deep inside him until today when, for some ungodly reason, they were all clamoring for the surface.

It wasn’t Kamir’s fault, and yet he was blaming him.

And still he cried. He cried until he was exhausted. Until Kamir had undressed him and taken him to the bathing room, not daring to leave him alone, had cared for him like no one had ever done, and finally tucked him against his side and commanded him to sleep.

Chapter fourteen

Kamir had stayed awake a long time after Tsaria had fallen asleep in his arms, and he thought about all they had found out today, and his own admission.

And…decided it was freeing. He was sick of apologizing for what he wasn’t and trying to be something else. Finding out he was an omega didn’t make him less. If anything, it was so validating it made him more.

He knew Rajpur would take more than one person to make it blossom into the kingdom he knew in his heart it was capable of becoming. Veda was essential. But so was Tsaria. He could remain the figurehead if needed, even if it was the last thing he wanted. Change would take time, probably longer than his lifetime, but he was enthused with the idea he could spend that long improving life for his people.

He also knew Raz and Attiker were good people and would remain loyal to a Rajpur free of the yoke of poverty. They had the same ideals in Cadmeera, and had offered shelter and assistance to him when it could plunge them into another war.

He had eight days left to present his animal or innocents would die. There was no point appealing to the ruling assembly. If he had more time, then maybe he could talk to individual members, but he didn’t. He was determined to take them both to Eldara tomorrow, but he wasn’t sure that was the answer. Eldara had admitted she knew nothing about dragon shifters.

Somehow, he thought Tsaria and he had to figure this out on their own. He just didn’t know where to start.

The next morning, they were woken way too early by Jael deciding to jump on their bed. Apparently Mansala had been capable of protecting Kamir from assassins since he was four summers old, but was unable to corral one little boy.

They ate breakfast together and Mansala joined them. A servant appeared to take Master Jael to his lessons at the eighth bell and Jael went eagerly.

“I wish I had viewed learning with such enthusiasm at his age,” Kamir said after Jael had left.

“I wish I’d had the opportunity to learn,” Tsaria whispered, and Kamir winced.

“I’m sorry,” Tsaria said after a moment. “It wasn’t my intention to make you think you were in any way responsible for my life,”

“That’s the thing, though,” Kamir said. “I represent Rajpur. I was an adult while my father was busy warring, and never once did I leave the library unless I was forced.”

“Ishmael was strict,” Tsaria admitted, “but not once did I try to escape.”

“Why didn’t you?” Kamir asked, because this was the first time Tsaria had really shared.

“Because I was willing to trade my body for food and shelter,” Tsaria answered, and sounded as if he was ashamed, which Kamir wouldn’t have.

“No, my love,” Kamir said, reaching for him where they were sitting on one of the daybeds after finishing their morning meal. “Tsaria, you were a child. You did what you could to survive and I’m so thankful for it. Never feel you have to apologize for anything.” Kamir scooted closer and cupped Tsaria’s bent head in his hands and gently forced him to look up.

And then he stilled. Words left him as he gazed into Tsaria’s gray eyes, and his breath caught. He was stunning. Pale brown skin that almost seemed luminescent. Not a hair anywhere on his body, and Kamir had no doubt he had been given the herbs at the pleasure house to prevent it from growing. He knew if given in puberty it would stave off hair growth for many summers.

He was about the same height as Kamir but fit so perfectly against his body as if he were made to stay there. Sleek muscles. Long, talented fingers the memory of which had Kamir’s length stirring in the loose silk salvar pants he wore. “So beautiful,” he whispered, and bent forward, need clamoring at him, but then Tsaria’s words from the night before echoed in his mind. He’d had no choice.

“I desperately want to kiss you, but I would never—”

Lips fastened on his. Glorious, sensual lips and a tongue that slid along them, demanding entrance. Kamir’s body reacted instantly. Heat stole through him, robbing him of the need for air. He opened his mouth and sought Tsaria’s tongue. Shivers wracked him, trembling waves of lust danced over his skin on their way to his groin. Mocking, pulsing, the promise of what he wanted, what he needed more than his next breath.

Everything in Kamir coiled tight.

Tsaria pushed him flat with a gentle hand and he lay back willingly. He wanted—goddess he wanted everything.

“Kamir,” Tsaria choked out and reached down and pulled Kamir’s pants away, hooking his fingers into the thin liner of his salvar and removing that as well. Kamir gasped as Tsaria’s fingers brushed the delicate skin of his cock and it jerked unbidden, sending glorious tremors along his length and up his spine.

Kamir moaned and then Tsaria fastened his lips over the tip and Kamir cried out, startled that something could feel so incredibly good. He was hard, and everything in him seemed to pulse at once. Tsaria sucked and laved his length until Kamir was mindless, all his focus on the incoming storm his body shook with. Tsaria lifted a little and cupped Kamir’s sac, rolling it in fingers that were so damn talented, yet gentle. His tongue circled Kamir’s cock, tracing the vein, then moving higher and spearing the tip.

Kamir broke out in sweat, yet delicious shivers wracked his body until he wanted to beg for mercy, needing more. “Tsaria, beloved, oh…”

Tsaria sucked harder and cupped and tugged on Kamir’s sac, until everything in him grew so tight he wanted nothing more than to chase the impending crash. Then Tsaria scraped his teeth up his length and that final bite of pain pushed him over the edge.

And Tsaria never let him go. Not with his mouth until his cock had finished pulsing, and not with his arms as he held him tight afterwards. “You are amazing,” Kamir whispered after a long few moments. “Perhaps—"

“Highness,” the apologetic tone filtered into his mind like an irritating fly he wanted to swat away.

Tsaria drew back and the spell was broken. Kamir wanted to swear at the interruption. He had every intention of taking Tsaria to their chamber and spoiling him.

“A thousand apologies for the intrusion,” Mansala said. “But you have a visitor.”

Kamir turned, swallowing his desperation down. “Who?”

“Again, my apologies, Highness, but the visitor is for Tsaria. The man says he is his brother, Alain, and demands admittance.”

Tsaria hissed in a breath, as if in shock. “Alain?”

Kamir glanced at Tsaria and Mansala added, “He says he has traveled far.”

Kamir cupped Tsaria’s cheek. “Talk to me.”

Tsaria visibly gathered his wits. “Alain is closest to me in age, barely forty lunar months older. Tomas is my elder by nearly five summers. Alain—” he paused. “Alain was the most upset when our father sold me to Ishmael. He offered to share his meals with me, but our father said he would need it all to fuel him for the work needed in the fields.”

“He has travelled a long way,” Kamir said, not altogether happy with that thought for some ridiculous reason. His heart seemed to drop to his boots. Was it jealousy? Shame coursed through him. This was the only family member that seemed to give a damn about Tsaria, and he wanted it to be all about him. All him. To have Tsaria’s full attention. He was despicable.

“When father sold me, he was the only one that objected,” Tsaria said, and Kamir’s heart hurt for his man.

“Then let us welcome him.”

Tsaria clutched his hand, “You’ll be with me?”

“Of course,” Kamir soothed, but he was delighted with the idea. “I will never leave your side as long as you need me there.” So that promise might have been a little over the top, but Kamir meant every word.

He gave Tsaria a couple of minutes to get himself together, then sent for refreshments. Finally, he indicated to Mansala that they were ready.

Tsaria wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready for this. He hadn’t seen Alain since the day he’d been left with Ishmael. He’d been so frightened, betrayed. He was small but he had worked just as hard in the fields, even though nothing he did was ever good enough for his father. He’d labored so hard, Tomas sometimes had to carry him home because he’d keeled over asleep. He’d never been fed as much as the other two, and understood he would receive more if he worked extra hard, which he never seemed to manage to his father’s satisfaction.

Tsaria stayed sitting as Mansala let Alain in and for a very long moment they just stared at each other. Alain was the same. The brown mop of hair, so different from his and Tomas’s, the scar at the side of his mouth where a whip had caught him when Tomas had been practicing, and the freckles that were supposed to come from his father’s side of the family.

Alain stood still, barely breathing, until he choked out the word neera, which meant tiny fish, and was what Alain had called him just about every day of their lives. Tsaria was on his feet before he knew it and a heartbeat later wrapped in his brother’s arms, tears rolling down both their faces.

When Tsaria’s tears dried, he realized that apart from Kamir, who was giving them some space, they were alone, and that nearly set him weeping again because Kamir had made sure they had privacy.

“I will be close if you need me,” Kamir promised and left. Tsaria dragged Alain over to a daybed and they sat down. He busied himself preparing tea just to give himself time to recover. “How did you know I was here?” Because Tsaria had no idea what Alain was doing here. He’d spent ten summers barely eleven miles from their land and he’d never seen any of them.

“We got a visit from the prefect.”

Tsaria gasped and nearly dropped the teapot. The prefect was the emir’s hand of justice for the village.

“He wanted us to persuade you to return to the palace, but…palace, neera? What on earth were you doing there? He wouldn’t explain. He just said that bad things would happen if you didn’t.”

Tsaria’s heart fell somewhere around his sandals. “Bad things?”

Alain waved his hand almost impatiently. “Why are you here? In Cadmeera? I don’t understand.”

Tsaria abandoned the tea and got to his feet, trying to tamp down his anger, and reminded himself Alain was but a child himself when their father sold him. “I had to move on, Alain, you know this. I am too old for the pleasure house now.”

Alain reddened slightly and fiddled with the cup his tea was in, but didn’t drink any. “You know I tried to change Father’s mind.” He hesitated. “And got beaten for it.”

Guilt assailed Tsaria and he returned to his brother, remembering Alain was the only one that day who had spoken up for him. “Tell me about you,” he pressed. “Do you still work the farm? And Tomas?”

Alain seemed grateful for the reprieve. “Father isn’t the same. He gets confused. My wife Margaret cares for him. We live in the same house.” He hesitated and Tsaria processed everything.

“May your union bring you the blessings of the goddess,” Tsaria murmured automatically. A traditional wedding blessing.

Alain smiled tightly. “Tomas isn’t there. He joined the army on his sixteenth birthday, and I’ve never heard from him since.”

It took Tsaria a moment to absorb the words. “The army?” he repeated in shock. “But he was always about the farm.” Tomas could read and pored over Grandad’s diaries. He studied crop yields and rotations. New ideas for seasonal crops. He wanted to negotiate at the market, but Father wouldn‘t allow it, despite his sound reasoning. And sixteen? That meant he left seven months after Tsaria was sold.

“I don’t think Father ever recovered from losing both of you.”

Anger made Tsaria snap. “He didn’t lose me, he sold me to a whorehouse.”

Alain swallowed heavily and ducked his head, and Tsaria felt contrite. He was taking his anger out on the wrong person. He took a steadying breath. “I’m sorry. I know the fault isn’t laid at your door.”

Alain smiled, seeming relieved. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

Tsaria wanted to bubble with happiness, but something in him advised caution. “I met the emir at a celebration and accompanied him here.”

Alain frowned. “To be honest, until the prefect visited we didn’t know he wasn’t at the palace.” Alain shifted uncomfortably and then gulped his tea. “So, your job’s the same? Just one guy?”

Bitterness crept into where blood should have flowed in his veins. “Fucking, you mean? Just checking what you mean by job.”

Alain blanched. “Neera, no. I didn’t mean that. I tried to get Father to rescind the sale. But he was adamant, and there was no way I could have gotten my hands on the money to buy you back.”

Which was true, but even then… “If you missed me so much, why did I never see you? We were in the neighboring village.”

He looked aghast. “Ishmael never said? I tried for months, neera.” His eyes turned glassy, wet. “Ishmael said you were so angry you refused to see me.”

It was like a vise clutched his throat. Not that he wasn’t surprised by Ishmael’s lies. He’d forgotten Alain was only a little older than he. How could he have expected another child to ride to the rescue? Tomas, maybe. At sixteen he was considered a grown man, but he’d decided to ride to glory instead of rescuing his little brother. Tsaria stood and opened his arms. Alain just about dived into them, and they embraced without the storm of tears.

“I want you to meet Kamir properly.”

“I haven’t told you everything,” Alain mumbled. “We got a visit from the prefect. He told me if I failed to return with you, bad things would happen to Margaret and the girls.”

“What bad things?” Kamir asked, making Tsaria jump. He had come back into the room almost silently.

“I have children,” Alain blurted out. “Sarah’s seven and Arrabella is three.” He gazed at Tsaria. “They’re babies.”

Tsaria’s stomach fell. He should have known all this was too good to be true. And his throat closed with new tears. Alain was a good man. In his own way he’d had as many battles as Tsaria had, maybe more. Different didn’t mean worse. He’d been blaming him for a decision his father made so many summers ago.

He watched as Alain sniffed and a bad feeling curled up his spine. Did Tsaria believe everything Alain said?

No, if Tsaria was honest. And it wasn’t that he thought Alain deliberately lied, he just might have not been given the truth.

About any of it.

Chapter fifteen

“I have to leave,” Alain said after they’d all drunk the tea and eaten the pastries. “I have chores Margaret cannot do alone. I have a neighbor's help, but I must return as soon as I can.”

Tsaria knew exactly what chores Alain would have to do if he was running the farm, and Kamir offered help. “I can arrange a carriage easily,” he said cautiously, but Alain shook his head.

“I have one waiting, your highness. The same I arrived on. It was sent for me just after the prefect left.”

Tsaria met Kamir’s gaze. They were supposed to be visiting Eldara, but he couldn’t just let children be hurt.

Mansala stepped forward and whispered in Kamir’s ear, and Kamir inclined his head. “We need to discuss a plan.”

Alain bobbed his head at Kamir, clearly overwhelmed, then turned back to Tsaria. “I know what I’m asking. Don’t ever think I don’t. It’s just they’re…”

“Innocents,” Tsaria finished for him. He understood. He didn’t want to die. He definitely didn’t want Kamir’s uncle to get his hands on him again, but he couldn’t allow children to be harmed in his stead.

Alain stood at the same time as Tsaria, and Tsaria watched Alain go with a servant to freshen up. He was numb. Then a hand clutched his arm, and he turned to Kamir. “You really think I’m just going to let you just leave?” Kamir said. “Let’s investigate first.”

But what was there to investigate? Two children would die if he didn’t return. But then, more children would die if Kamir didn’t find his dragon. What a choice. And what about Jael? He couldn’t just leave him.

“Come with me,” Kamir said softly and Tsaria let him draw him away. He took Tsaria into the bedchamber and closed the door, then drew him into a hug Tsaria felt in his bones.

“I have no choice.”

“I wouldn’t love you if you didn’t say that,” Kamir whispered. “These are children.”

Love? Tsaria’s heart beat madly. He’d called him beloved many times but Tsaria had treated it as a throwaway nickname almost. This felt different, or maybe it was that Tsaria was finally paying attention. Did Kamir expect him to say it back?

Kamir cupped his face between steady hands. “But you’re mine, or I’m yours, whatever. I know who I am erects this huge, impenetrable wall between us, but I am convinced. I know we are bond mates, and this is much more than releasing my dragon. I’ve never said that. I won’t forbid you to do what you need to do, but I also won’t stand by while you put yourself in danger.”

Tsaria’s heart settled slightly because Kamir wasn’t going to try to forbid him to leave. “But we cannot just surrender,” Kamir said. “We need help and I think we can delay Alain long enough to come up with a plan, and there’s Jael to think about.”

Jael. He loved that brave little boy with all his heart but he couldn’t take him back to Rajpur.

It turned out that Alain was happy to bathe while they made arrangements, and Ash arrived. “Do you trust him?” Tsaria glanced at Ash, the no-nonsense man that seemed to occupy a huge position of trust with Attiker.

“I don’t know him,” Tsaria finally admitted. “Up to today, the last time I saw him was when I was sold to Ishmael at ten.”

“Then let’s err on the side of caution,” Kamir said.

“Caution?” Tsaria said with incredulity. “But children—”

“Yes,” Kamir said. “I know. Let’s take the time to see Eldara. I think she’s important.”

Tsaria looked around at the faces staring at him. Mansala was always there. Kamir looked earnest and truthful. Ash the same, but could he really believe them? Kamir had so many political needs and responsibilities that Tsaria could never hope to compete with. He worked in a whorehouse. However you dressed it up, whatever words you used, he still sold his body for money.

Sold his body for money.

But wasn’t that exactly what he was still doing? When they worked out how to make it happen, Kamir would need Tsaria to bring forth his dragon. He knew in his heart Kamir was a good man, but that didn’t alter their circumstances.

He needed time to think. He needed to work out what he wanted, and not get caught up in the royal hoopla, in case it didn’t last.

“Tsaria?”

He glanced at Kamir. “Can you just give me a little time?” The fact was that as a pleasure slave he was often in control, even if it was an illusion. Kamir gazed at him with those huge amber eyes, but for once Tsaria couldn’t work out if they were hiding something. He inclined his head and ushered everyone out of his rooms to leave Tsaria in peace.

And obviously once Tsaria had gotten that, it quickly turned out to be the last thing he wanted. What he wanted was a guarantee from Kamir, which was utterly ridiculous. He couldn’t give him one. He had to take Kamir on faith.

It took a bell, but he finally acknowledged that Kamir really did love him. He had no idea why, but Kamir had proved it over and over, and Tsaria believed him. He stood deciding to search Kamir out when a servant brought Alain back. “Brother,” Alain’s smile was cautious, and he twisted his shirt. “I’m sorry, but I had to see you before I left.”

The confusion must have shown on Tsaria’s face because Alain hastily added. “It’s all arranged.”

And now he was even more confused. A hundred images flew through Tsaria’s brain. The day he fell, and it was Alain who picked him up. Tsaria was crying because his knee was scraped and if he looked very carefully it might even have been bleeding. Father had told him to stop being a baby. Tsaria never knew why his father had never liked him. He’d been told his mother had died when she bled so badly giving birth. It wasn’t Tsaria’s fault, but Father had always treated him like it was.

Then when Tsaria was so hungry his belly ached, and it was Alain who shared his food when Father wasn’t looking. Alain always came when he had nightmares. Tomas was a carbon-copy of their father. Always treated Tsaria like he was too much trouble, always cared about the farm, which is why he didn’t understand Tomas joining the army. He would have been running the farm now.

Tsaria stepped into Alain’s open arms before he could drop them and buried his head in Alain’s shoulder, smelling the scent of home.

“I’m sorry our first meeting in so long has to be like this,” Alain murmured.

“Not your fault,” Tsaria sighed and stepped back. That bastard Ishmael had kept them apart.

Alain glanced at the floor and his neck reddened. “I don’t expect you to return with me,” he whispered and raised tear-filled eyes. “Especially after what…” he trailed off, reddening even more, the blush obvious since Alain was fair like Father.

“After what?” Tsaria repeated, and Alain flushed harder.

He shook his head. “No, I know. I get it.”

Tsaria could hear his words edging into panic. “Alain, tell me what you mean.”

He squirmed. “I know you’re important. And I understand what Ash means. I mean, how could I not? I know ensuring the emir gets crowned is vital.” Then he frowned. “But that makes no sense. Of course he will be emir. Why does that have anything to do with you not coming with me?” He shook his head. “But I understand the emir is more important than I, and despite what Ash said they wanted, I couldn’t leave without telling you I understood. After the way Father treated you, I don’t blame you for hating my family.”

Tsaria felt like he’d joined a conversation halfway through.

“I need to go. Ash promised some protection.”

“Wait,” Tsaria stopped him. “You spoke to Ash? Just now?”

“Yes,” Alain confirmed. “He explained how important you were and that I couldn’t ask this of you.” He frowned. “I think he was worried because I heard him talking to that big chap that follows his highness around.”

“Mansala?”

“’Course, no one would blame you for waiting here until the full moon,” Alain said.

“What?” Tsaria said in confusion. But that was at least another twenty full daylights, and the children would be sacrificed in seven.

“Not sure what you’re waiting out, but apparently something bad is gonna happen, then eventually ‘cos you can’t stop it, you ride in all victorious afterwards and it stops a war.” Alain seemed to think about that.

Tsaria shivered; he felt so cold. But Ash wasn’t Kamir. There was no way Kamir would expect Tsaria to sacrifice children. But what about the edict from the ruling assembly? Even more children would die if Kamir didn’t change into his dragon. But Tsaria had tried, and nothing had happened.

“And I understand,” Alain said. “Ash said his highness promised to send a guard back with me.”

“His highness promised a guard?” Tsaria said woodenly.

“Apparently you’re needed for the coronation and everything, but as soon as that’s done you can come back home.” Alain smiled hopefully. “They won’t need you anymore so you’d be welcome at the farm.”

Tsaria swallowed sickly. Exactly as he’d feared. That once Kamir proved his animal, Tsaria would be tossed away like spoiled meat.

“Don’t tell them I snuck out to speak to you after I promised I wouldn’t, please. I don’t want to anger them.”

Tsaria felt bile hit his throat. All those promises Kamir had made when he insisted he was different and tried to get Tsaria to call him by his first name. When they had woken that morning. When they had been close. What they had just done. It just proved he should never, ever trust the rich. “You spoke to Kamir?”

Alain huffed. “Ash first. But I can’t believe an emir would possibly want to talk to me. ‘fraid I might have been a bit tongue-tied.”

“Where’s your carriage?” Tsaria said, feeling numb. Kamir was willing to sacrifice children just to make his riding to the rescue worth the show?

“I was told it was outside the kitchens,” Alain said. “Told me they’d send provisions back with me.”

How kind of them. Tsaria suddenly lunged and hugged his brother. “I want to come, but I have no idea how to get out.”

Alain looked unsure. “Neither do I, but I can’t ask you to do this for me.”

“You’re not,” Tsaria said. “I’m doing this for Sarah and Arrabella.” He could help them, and even Kamir had admitted he did nothing to stop his father’s cruelties. The rich had means he only dreamed of. There was no way with the support of Cadmeera that Kamir wouldn’t be able to be crowned, animal or not. The only thing he trusted was Jael’s safety. He knew Attiker would make sure Jael was cared for. Would Jael even miss him? He glanced back at Alain, and Alain ducked his head, trying to wipe away tears. Tsaria had no choice. Would Jael ever forgive him for being one more adult that had let him down? One day he hoped Jael would understand, or better still forget all about him.

He knew what he’d be going back to.

“I just need to work out a plan to get out of here.” There was a passage in the bathroom, and somehow that must eventually connect with the kitchen. Flynn and Candy had said so, and Jael had bragged about it later, but they’d gotten turned around with the smell of Kamir’s food.

He walked over to the bathroom and looked around. The bath dominated the space and was set into the floor. It wouldn’t be moveable, so he looked at the walls. The two that shared the day room and the spare suite he ignored. Which left two. One had shelving for bowls of water and one had the closet with the mechanical pot in it for waste. Tsaria wrinkled his nose.

“What are you doing?” Alain whispered, like someone might hear them. Tsaria looked around in frustration and ran his hands over the bare wall.

“There’s a hidden passage. I know it comes out here, but I just don’t know where.” Alain stepped forward eagerly.

“Lainy,” Tsaria whispered. “You’ll get in trouble,” but Alain shook his head and moved the sacks of winter vegetables.

“Look, here.” He bent and pried a wooden board away from the wall, revealing a small crawl space. “Anytime you need to hide, just sneak in here.” Alain showed him the rough rope handle he’d tacked to the inside of the panel and made sure Tsaria could get in and out and stay hidden. He crouched down. “When Father drinks ale and you have to hide.” Alain didn’t look at Tsaria, but Tsaria still carried the bruises from the last time Father had gotten drunk. “When he falls asleep, I’ll always come and get you.”

Tsaria hugged his brother. “Does Tomas know?”

Alain shook his head. “Let’s keep it our secret.”

Alain ran his hands over the shelves and then bent to a small cupboard used for keeping bathing cloths and lotions. Tsaria heard a snick, and Alain straightened with what looked like a wooden panel in his hand. “False back. A little obvious, though,” he said rather disapprovingly. Tsaria took a step forward, but Alain put a hand out to stop him. “I don’t want to put you in danger.”

Tsaria agreed. The very last thing he wanted was for Kamir’s uncle to get his hands on him, and he would have stayed and gone over the plan some more if he hadn’t known Kamir and Ash had no intention of letting him go. He brushed a kiss on his brother’s cheek and scrambled in, realizing that Alain was too big to fit through. Kamir would and he even imagined Mansala would fit, but his brother had too generous a middle.

“Go back with the servant. Let her take you to the carriage. Dawdle if you have to. They won’t risk detaining you because they’ll be in a hurry for you to leave. I’ll get in the carriage and hide.”

Alain watched as Tsaria turned and crawled away, then replaced the wooden panel. The passage was plunged into darkness and Tsaria froze, but then when his eyes grew accustomed he could see cracks of light in between the wooden panels at various intervals and knew he was passing similar entrances into other rooms. He stopped suddenly to wipe his eyes, and then he heard it. A slight scuffle that stopped almost immediately, and Tsaria shuddered. Mice? He hurried on until he could hear muted voices and then he smelled it. Baked bread. No one could ever mistake the smell of loaves just out of the oven and if he hadn’t had been keeping quiet, he would have laughed.

But then he froze as he heard the scuffling again. Seven hells, were there rats in here? That had sounded loud. He held his breath for a long moment but didn’t hear anything else, so he carried on.

He got to where he knew from the light spilling in, he’d reached the kitchen and had to wait many agonizing minutes for the voices to fade before he risked getting out. Finally, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer and opened the panel into a storeroom. He quietly climbed out and jumped down. Then he took a breath and listened hard. Still no noise, so he opened the storeroom door and stepped into the kitchen, coming face-to-face with the cook.

Cookie. The one who had worked for Kamir when he was a child. To say she was startled was a little bit of an understatement and Tsaria bowed his head. “My apologies for startling you. I wondered if I could send my brother away with some bread perhaps? It is a long journey.”

Her face softened. “But, your Highness, you could have just summoned what you required.”

He dipped his head. “I’m not comfortable…” With anything. And he wasn’t “his highness.”

“Don’t you worry,” she chuckled and grabbed a basket from a shelf, filling it with so many goodies Tsaria’s mouth watered. Then guilt stabbed at him. She was being so nice, and he was deceiving her.

“I would never want to get you into trouble.”

She shook her head and tucked two bottles of beer into the basket.  She headed for another storeroom and Tsaria trailed after her. “His highness is one of the kindest people I have ever met. He won’t be angry.” She lifted the basket and handed it to Tsaria, who could barely carry it. “But I understand you don’t know him. Don’t worry, it will be our secret.” She patted his hand. “I love company. Anytime you’re peckish, you know where I am.”

Tsaria struggled to swallow the lump in his throat and honest-to-goddess wondered if he was doing the right thing, but then he thought about those two little girls and he knew he didn’t have any choice.

He took the basket and kissed Cookie on her floury cheek, which made her blush, then headed for the door. The carriage was obvious, as there would be no other reason for it to be outside the kitchen and he climbed in and hid. After a moment he heard voices, which thankfully included Alain’s, but also included Ash’s. Tsaria held his breath, even buried under the pile of blankets and the low seat. 

“Look,” Ash sighed. “Kamir’s a good guy, and from what I can see, so is Tsaria. We can work this out. None of us want to see your children in danger.” He sounded so sincere and for a moment it gave Tsaria pause.

“I thank you,” Alain said gravely. “But we both know far more people will die if they don’t find a way to defeat his highness’s enemies.”

Which sounded all wrong. Surely anyone that had children would put them first? Not accept their fate for the good of the nation? But the carriage moved and once Tsaria heard the horns he knew they were clear of the gates. He scrambled out. Alain blew out a long, relieved breath.

“Wasn’t sure you made it.”

He sat himself on the seat and watched as Alain investigated the basket. “Wow,” Alain said. “Good stuff.” He offered a chicken leg to Tsaria, whose stomach curdled at the thought of food, and he shook his head. Not that he blamed Alain. Even though he’d just eaten, food was never a guarantee for the poor.

They travelled in relative silence for a good five bells until they reached the border with Rajpur, because while Alain rattled on occasionally, Tsaria struggled to combat the guilt he felt every time he thought of Kamir and Jael. They would cross the passage through the Dijon Mountains soon, but it would take at least another seven bells to reach the city of Rajpur, and the farm was farther to the west.

“Tell me about my nieces,” Tsaria said, desperate for a distraction.

Alain looked startled. After a moment, he said. “Well, they’re girls.” Tsaria smiled encouragingly.

“Margaret can’t have boys.”

Tsaria didn’t have an answer for a moment, as the statement seemed so strange. Not that they couldn’t have children but a particular gender. Lots of people couldn’t have children, but it made no sense to say girls specifically. Tsaria sighed. That wasn’t fair. He understood the back-breaking work farming could be, and Alain had been raised by the same father as he had. He was bound to have a little prejudice.

“You said Sascha’s seven?” Tsaria said, then flushed, realizing he had the name wrong. What must Alain think of him that he couldn’t—

“Yes,” Alain said. “Little she-devil,” he added. “Bosses her ma around like she has the right.”

Something cold curled in Tsaria’s belly. “And Annabel? Is she a daddy’s-girl?”

Alain shrugged, and lifted the canvas covering the window. “Think we’ve crossed the border.”

Tsaria’s heart beat a rapid rhythm. He could understand Alain mishearing one name. He had travelled a long way, but Tsaria’s accent wasn’t difficult. He’d practiced at Ishmael’s insistence, and his dialect was practically non-existent, even if they hadn’t grown up together. There was no excuse for Alain not to correct the wrong second name.

Or was he being too hard?

“Tell me about Sascha. Does she take after you in her coloring, or Margaret?”

Alain frowned but mumbled something about Margaret. And it was the second time Tsaria had mentioned Sascha, not Sarah.

Annabel, not Arrabella.

Tsaria opened his mouth because he really needed to know, but in his heart he knew there was something very wrong. “Are you sure you have daughters?” Tsaria said in defeat, but the carriage gave a little jerk, and he could hear many horses ahead.

Ahead not behind. Which meant they didn’t come from Cadmeera.

He met Alain’s uncomfortable gaze. “What did you do?”

Alain pressed his lips together. “What I had to,” he snapped out as the horses came nearer, and the carriage slowed to a stop. “Some of us don’t have a prince in their pockets.”

Tsaria closed his eyes briefly in defeat. What had he done?

Chapter sixteen

“You have a visitor, my lord.” Gabar looked up as his slave-master bowed. Ibrahim wore his freshly powdered wig as usual, a scarlet tunic over black silk leggings, and leather sandals. His brown eyes gleamed with excitement, which meant he was probably fresh from whipping a slave bloody for some imagined infraction or had accepted the slave’s daughter as payment. She would be lucky if she were still alive. He knew Ibrahim’s taste ran to children. As a man, Ibrahim disgusted even him, but as a slave-master he was excellent. He was also his right-hand as much as Gabar would ever allow anyone to be.

Not that Gabar questioned the age of his own whores, but he needed them to do more than to lie frozen in a comatose-inducing terror.

“An envoy from the endless desert.”

Gabar frowned. The endless desert wasn’t a kingdom, simply a huge stretch of sand. People did traverse it. It was the only way to get to Marston Keys across land, although any sane person took a ship. It was rumored to have a hundred hidden catacombs, even the remains of a city buried in a single week by a catastrophic sandstorm. He sighed. He really didn’t need this today. He had barely six days until Kamir would be forced to show himself, and he needed everything ready. The Rajpuran Imperial Guard weren’t falling into line as easily as he had hoped, saying they would only take orders from the true emir, and the assembly members he had spoken to said that the line of succession should only run downwards, meaning one of his two sons. And both Iskar and Damatrious were next to useless. Iskar cared for nothing except that his wine goblet was kept full and he had enough whores to fill his bed. Damatrious was a soldier, but he often dared to challenge what Gabar mandated, and he couldn’t have that. He would make him a general or something to keep him busy. Stir up a war.

And he’d heard rumors that the Anti-Shifter Alliance was gaining popularity because Kamir hadn’t shown his face.

Gabar was tempted to tell the slave-master the envoy could spend the night cooling his heels in one of the cells, but as he was getting nowhere and could use a useless diversion, he granted his assent for him to enter. He could always get rid of him when he was bored.

Except he wasn’t a he.

Gabar stared open-mouthed at the vision in front of him. She was barely clothed in silks. Gold chains ran from her left ear to her throat, to dip between her breasts and wrap around her waist. The chains were adorned with gems. What he knew to be real sapphires, rubies, and emeralds littered the chain. Then his gaze dropped, and his body stirred. The chain continued down until it stopped over the juncture between her thighs, and a brilliant diamond sparkled in the exact place her cunt was hidden.

Gabar wanted nothing more than to rip it away and see what other secrets the silks were hiding. She bowed low, almost a curtsy, and bells tinkled from under the silks. She was breathtaking. “I am Elainore. Daughter of the Sand. I bid you greetings.”

Gabar jumped to his feet so quickly he nearly tumbled, but he hastened to cover his clumsiness, and took the hand that was offered. “I’m delighted to meet you. I am Lord Gabar Anslar, Acting Emir of Rajpur.” Or at least in Kamir’s absence.

Soon to be the true emir, if he had anything to do with it.

She allowed him to take her hand, and he clung on far too long, but he was distracted by the feeling of peace that bathed him. He’d been frantic since both Kamir and the slave had escaped, and it was utterly glorious to have all his worries fade away.

“You are too kind,” she murmured and the loss of her hand as she drew it back was like a knife to his gut. He realized belatedly that she had sat and sank into his chair.

“How can I help you?” In the back of his mind, he shied away from the word. Help? He had never helped anyone that didn’t help him, and he knew nothing of this woman except her beauty.

And there were many beautiful women, and all could be bought. He needed to get himself together and remember who he was.

“I am hoping we can help each other.” Her voice was as musical as the bells that tinkled when she moved, and as discreetly as he could, Gabar tried to move to give his pants a little more room.

“What—” Gabar coughed to clear his throat. “How can we help each other?”

She dipped her head and Gabar felt the loss of her gaze. Her eyes were blue, but a beautiful cerulean, more magnificent than any sky or sea. They were framed by long golden lashes that matched her hair. Thick tresses hung in complicated twists, adorned with the same bells that made such perfect music that his body strained even more.

“My people come to petition for land. You have a desert area to your west that is inhospitable to your people, as there is no water readily available.”

The fog of lust seemed to clear a little as she mentioned land, and the wanton fingers of greed wrapped him up in a familiar cloak. He let his gaze run over her body, and wished his hands could do the same, preferably while she was trapped underneath him. “We have plans to irrigate the land.” Ridiculously expensive plans that had never come to fruition, but she didn’t know that.

“I would never expect, nor would my people, for you to gift the land. I am sure you would find it in your heart to do so, but my people would never accept charity, simply a fair exchange.”

Gabar had to hand it to her. She’d basically called him generous and charitable—which was so laughable as to be ridiculous—and at the same time blamed her own people for refusing an offer he would never make in the first place.

“Exchange?” What did they have? He had plenty of coin.

“I have been sent because I am a beast-master.”

Gabar frowned. A beast-master? He had plenty of grooms.

“I don’t mean beasts of burden,” she said slowly, and a prickle of something entirely different from lust ran down his spine.

“Exactly what do you mean?” He leaned forward as he strained to hear her answer.

“I mean, I can control the beasts that live inside of men. The ones that they are able to change into.”

His heart picked up even more. “Control?”

She inclined her head. “I understand, for example, that Cadmeera has ridiculous rules. That a king can only ascend when he proves his true mate can shift into a beast. A beast-master has no need for such restrictions.” She looked him square in the eye. “I can bring forth any beast that shares the body of a man, and when I do, I have complete control over it…or should I say, those that are commanding me will have complete control over it.”

Gabar put a hand on his chest as if to contain his heart that was beating so hard it threatened to escape. “Any beast?” Because dragons were mythical creatures with magic of their own.

“Any beast, even mythical ones,” she confirmed, “and if we came to an arrangement, then whoever controlled me would control the beast.”

He sat back because his heart was pounding so hard it hurt. If he controlled Kamir and his dragon, then he controlled the imperial guard, and likewise the people. He wouldn’t need to bother with his useless sons. Kamir would simply be a figurehead, and the real power would be in his hands. And perhaps, slowly, the forces and the people would get used to him, so if he ever wanted a complete transition of power, it would be accepted. “I’m sure you wouldn’t expect me to simply take the word of a stranger, beautiful though you may be,” he said with a smile that generally got results.

“Did you know your slave-master has a hidden wolf?”

Gabar blinked in astonishment. Ibrahim? A wolf-shifter? That was impossible.

“He is unaware of it, but I felt it as soon as we met.”

“I—” But he pressed his lips together. That was unbelievable, but then rumors told of the Cadmeeran consort being unaware he had a wolf until he met the king. She sat still, waiting, as if daring him to ask.

“Prove it,” he said softly, and got up and pulled the cord to summon a slave. Ibrahim himself answered, which told him that the slave-master was waiting outside to satisfy his own curiosity.

Ibrahim entered and bowed low. “How may I serve you, my lord?”

Gabar glanced at Elainore and she stood, extending her hand to the slave as if she were a noble lady. Ibrahim didn’t hesitate to take it, but as he began to bow, she clasped his fingers tight. Ibrahim jerked and tried to straighten, but she kept hold and murmured words Gabar couldn’t hear.

Ibrahim gasped and bent over, and she stepped back. His slave-master stumbled and fell to his knees, a cry working from his throat. Gabar watched in utter fascination as Ibrahim fell forward onto his hands, fur sprouting from his bare arms. His face elongated and changed. Gabar could hear the sickening sound of bones breaking as his shape changed. He opened his mouth as if to utter another cry and bloodied fangs erupted.

But then Elainore uttered more words and Ibrahim froze. His body shook, agony twisted his features.

“He is between shift,” Elainore stated. “If he holds this change, as I have commanded him to do, his body will break apart. As it is, every muscle, every nerve screams in agony. He has a beast’s heart, which is strong, but not even he can withstand this sort of pain.”

“How long?” Gabar whispered in a kind of detached fascination.

She shrugged. “Long enough that if you want him to live, he won’t ever want to repeat this and will do whatever is necessary to make sure of that.” She glanced over at Gabar. “I can also command him to take his own life.”

Gabar’s mouth gaped. Ibrahim was one of the most obsequious individuals he knew, but that was simply born of self-interest. He had power in his own small world and would do whatever it took to retain that. He would not willingly take his life.

“Show me,” he commanded.

She waved a hand and Ibrahim’s transformation into a wolf was complete, but he lay there trembling, shaking, bloody saliva dripping from where his fangs had broken through his gums. “Get to your feet and extend your claws,” she ordered, and despite a whimper, claws stretched from the pads on his paws as he struggled to his feet. “Now slit your own throat and make sure it’s slow.”

Gabar watched in awe as the wolf’s right paw lifted shakily to his throat.

“You have to dig deep to get through the fur,” she said, almost as an afterthought.

Blood bloomed from the first puncture mark, but Ibrahim obeyed, slicing his claw through the fur until blood spurted from the wolf’s throat. Ibrahim fell to the ground before he’d even sliced all the way, his legs giving out. Finally, his paw lay limp as he gasped for air. His brown eyes clouded over and with a last shuddering breath, he lay still in a pool of his own blood, and shifted back to human.

Gabar met Elainore’s satisfied smile. “But he is still only a wolf. How do I know you can replicate that with a mythical creature?”

“You don’t, I suppose, until I prove it. But I also wouldn’t expect you to grant me the land until I do.”

And he only had six days.

“If we cannot transport water, how can you?”

She smiled. “We have a team of oxen and carts that can bring us the water we need, sourced from whatever river you give us permission to use.”

He laughed to himself. The Shoitan River passed through the sewers before it drained. It was completely undrinkable, and as such, useless to the city for anything other than dumping waste. Her people could wrestle with that.

He would gift them drinking water to keep her happy until Gabar no longer had need of her. It was perfect. “Let me call slaves to dispose of the mess on the floor and we can move into my private sitting room. I will summon refreshments.”

“You are too kind, my lord,” Elainore murmured.

He kept his face straight. If she only knew.

Chapter seventeen

The smell made Tsaria want to gag even before he was fully conscious, and he knew he was back in the dungeon. Tears pricked at his closed eyelids. How could Alain have done this? If he had feared for his children’s lives, then Tsaria didn’t blame him, but as his awareness solidified, so did his memories. He doubted if Alain even had children. Who wouldn’t know their own children’s names? Whispers crept into his thoughts that he belatedly realized were actual voices. He was surprised he couldn’t hear the clang of the doors, or the rattle of chains as the other prisoners tried to move about.

“You think he’s bitten the black yarrow?” came a voice, and Tsaria idly wondered which prisoner they meant. Yarrow was a simple white flower that grew everywhere. The black yarrow was similar but so named because it was deadly. It had been used over the summers as a method of suicide. Less than half a bell after eating the dark gray, almost black petals, the person would start to convulse. It was a horrific way to die, but readily available. The phrase “biting the black yarrow” came to mean killing yourself, or attempting it.

“Nah, was an ambush, so I heard.”

“But why did Moxie bring ‘im in ‘ere, then? Why not leave ‘im on the road?”

“Moxie reckons someone wants ‘im. Might even get coin for his return.”

“An’ what we s’posed to do with ‘im in meantime?”

The second voice was silent, but Tsaria could imagine a shrug.

“Shouldn’t he be tied up, then?”

This time, the second voice laughed. “You know he’d be dead if he ever tried to find his way out.”

That was odd. Find his way out? How was he supposed to do that in the dungeon? Trying to take shallow breaths because of the stench, he cautiously cracked an eyelid. He wasn’t surprised at the stone wall. He’d expected that. And judging from the cold, hard ground, he hadn’t even gotten a pallet. The unexpected candlelight shining right into his eyes made pain shoot into his head so hard he wanted to vomit, and he was unable to swallow down the whine.

“Moxie!” one of them shouted way too loudly for Tsaria to stomach, and he just managed to roll slightly before he vomited then passed out again.

The next time he woke, he couldn’t stop shivering. He didn’t know how long he’d been here or even where here was, because it wasn’t in the palace dungeons. He was aware enough to know that, and his head hurt a little less. He still felt wretched, and he shook constantly from the cold.

“If Moxie wants him alive, we’re gonna have to cover him wi’ something.” Tsaria could barely process the words. “‘es freezing.”

Tsaria thought it worth risking trying to open his eyes again, and he managed it…almost. He couldn’t see much of anything, though.

“Tell Moxie ‘es awake.” Tsaria heard running footsteps, but didn’t honestly care. For a long moment, he wished he could just close his eyes and never wake up.

Kamir.

How could he have been so foolish as to believe what Alain said? What had he done? For too long a moment, his throat tightened so much he doubted he could swallow if he ever got any water, and of course as soon as that thought hit him, water was all he desperately wanted.

“Here.” The female voice surprised him so much he opened his eyes and took in the leather pouch tipped toward his lips. He eagerly parted them and greedily drank the tepid, stale water. He spared a thought for poison, but at that moment he wasn’t sure he would have cared. The pouch moved away, and he strained to follow it, before a hand pressed his shoulder. “Easy, lad. You’ll be sick if you drink too fast.”

Again, stunned to hear a female voice, he focused on what he could see in the shadows cast by the rushlight she carried. He recognized the faint smell of the dried pith of the rush plant and whatever animal fat it had been dipped in. They used them on the farm since wax candles were way too expensive.

Tsaria gazed up at her and she let him with no signs of discomfort. He would put her in her fifties but didn’t doubt here—wherever here was—was as hard on the body as the fields, or the other back-breaking work the poor had no choice but to do. Her brown skin and eyes didn’t give him much hint at her heritage, and her head was shaved like most of the poor that didn’t want it riddled with lice. She wore cheap breeches and a loose man’s shirt.

She also had two throwing knives tucked into her belt. He met her implacable gaze once more and didn’t doubt she knew how to use them.

“Where am I?”

She tipped her head to the side as if contemplating her answer, but then she grunted as if making a decision. “You’re under the city.”

Tsaria gaped. “Rajpur?” He was in the sewers? That accounted for the goddess-awful smell.

“But how—” The woman he presumed to be Moxie raised a hand. It didn’t hold a blade, but it was still effective at silencing him.

“Not how this works. We take turns. I answered your question. Now you answer mine.”

Knowing he had no choice if he hoped to get out of here, he nodded, then winced, wishing he hadn’t moved his head.

“Why are you so important that the guards from Cadmeera and Rajpur were willing to fight and die over you?”

Tsaria didn’t know where to start, or even if he should. Die? He closed his eyes in horror. People had died because he had made such a rash decision. “I am a servant,” he answered. “Brought along with the emir’s party while he travels.” What could he say? He didn’t know her, and she’d likely sell him out to Lord Anslar.

“I didn’t ask who you were, but why you were important.” She unsheathed one of the knives from her belt.

Tsaria didn’t answer. She gazed at him, and he returned her look. This was his mess, and he wouldn’t involve Kamir. “Can you at least tell me how I came to be here?” She arched an eyebrow. “I refuse to say anything that may get another killed.” He tried to sound apologetic.

She sighed and stood. “You’ve been here two days. My lads saw the standoff as the soldiers from Rajpur seemed to think they should take you and the Cadmeeran troops arrived and disagreed. The man in the wagon with you ran as soon as the battle started. By the time we found you, you’d been lying in the ditch half the night.”

So Alain had escaped. He wouldn’t wish death on him, but it was clear where his loyalties lay.

“Did they all die?” he whispered, ashamed of the catch in his voice.

She narrowed her eyes as if surprised he would care. “It was luck we happened upon it first, before more guards arrived. My lads hid until it was over then reported it to me. We didn’t see you at first. You were alive, so we brought you here. The least you can do is pay for making sure neither side got their hands on you.”

“I’m a pleasure slave,” he admitted.

“Well, shite,” Moxie swore. “But that still doesn’t explain why they were fighting over you.”

No, it didn’t. “I am sure the emir would pay for my safe return, but he has many enemies. I don’t know who you could trust.” It wasn’t like she could just walk up to the palace and ask. Besides, Kamir wasn’t even there.

“You’re lying,” Moxie said and stood up. She pointed to the dark tunnel ahead. “That’s the only direction to go, but even if you attempted it in the condition you’re in, you wouldn’t make it before one of the other gangs found you. And they won’t be giving you water, they’d just pass you around until you wished for death. You get an idea of how I can make money enough to make it worth my while to get you out of here, I’m all ears.”

She turned, and he opened his mouth but closed it again. He didn’t know anyone that they could get to in Rajpur that would help him. Tsaria closed his eyes and listened to her steps until they grew silent.

Tsaria woke several more times over the next few days. He was given water and stale bread he couldn’t stomach, and two big lads took him to the run off when he had to relieve himself. Moxie had been back twice, but there was nothing he could say. He didn’t trust anyone in the palace, and Cadmeera was too far. He had no coin to tempt them to make a journey, and she flatly refused to send any of her lads as she called them. It didn’t matter what name he dropped. The fact was, she wasn’t convinced they wouldn’t simply be thrown in a cell, and Tsaria had to agree with her. The guards wouldn’t tell those higher up about every beggar that came to the gates.

Tsaria was desperate. He had no idea how many days he had been here, but knew if he didn’t get to Kamir and somehow help him find his dragon, Kamir would die, and he couldn’t let that happen. No one from the pleasure house he trusted at all still lived. No one at the palace. And his brother had already proven how trustworthy he was.

The fact was, he had no one.

And the one person he desperately wanted, Tsaria had betrayed.

In the end, Moxie spent most of her day by his side simply to keep the rats off him. The fact was, she couldn’t even show her face where it might be recognized, so the palace was out. If he had been fully conscious, he might have felt the urge to survive, but between the head injury and the cold, she knew he’d succumbed to a fever. He would die.

Anger that had been her constant companion for thirty summers threatened to boil over. What a waste. How many children had she sat with until they too died? Only the strongest survived down here, and this one didn’t have the will to live.

“Moxie?”

She turned and smiled at Pip. They’d been with her the longest, and at twenty-three, could easily go and find themselves a wife or a husband, but Pip said they’d be bored. Pip ran their own crew and mostly worked the festivals and the markets. They had a crew of five and excelled in everything from simple purse-lifting to seduction and then blackmail.

Pip’s dark-brown eyes ran over the slave’s body. It was obvious from his shivers and the sweat pouring off him that he had a fever. Moxie had kept him dry best she could. “I was in the Duchess, just listening.”

Two evenings a week, Pip sat in the tavern—The Grand Duchess—and listened to gossip. It was a hive of information, from which visiting lords ordered local tack repair for their horses to which large house was all aflutter with some celebration and may be taking on extra maids. That could be a very lucrative play. Maids were often invisible and got into all the chambers.

“And?” Moxie prompted, trying to dribble a little water between the slave’s cracked lips.

“There was a Cadmeeran traveler there.”

Moxie looked up at Pip right away. “Cadmeeran?”

“His accent slipped a couple of times, but he was trying to get people talking about the dead soldiers.” Pip said. “Made out like it was just gossip but speculated about one of the missing servants.”

Moxie stilled. “The palace never said that anyone was still alive or missing.” They’d all kept their ears open in case of a reward, but there’d been nothing.

“And he specified servant,” Pip said.

Moxie sat back on her heels and looked at the lad. He hadn’t been conscious since yesterday and she’d even had some of them get more straw from the inn’s stables in return for mucking out the guest’s horses so he wasn’t lying on the cold floor. But she knew if he didn’t get some sort of medicine soon, he would die. It might already be too late.

“Your decision. If you can find him, blindfold him and bring him here if you think he can be trusted.”

Tam sat and nursed an ale for the third night running. He’d gone around all the inns on the edge of the city because the poor were likely to talk for coin. He’d had no luck, and they were running out of time. Kamir had to leave for Rajpur tonight to stop the slaughter of the innocents promised by that evil bastard Gabar.

He’d even found Tsaria’s brother, or what was left of him with his throat slit, behind a pleasure house. Not that he was sorry. The bastard had betrayed them. They’d heard about the farm, riddled with debt because of poor management. Apparently, his wife had run off with a peddler the previous summer and there were no children. The problem was they had no idea if Tsaria was alive. Kamir was insistent he was, but Attiker had confided when Kamir had gone in to see to the children that he doubted it.

And Jael had gone missing. Flynn and Candy had with great reluctance admitted that they’d shown Jael the secret passage in the palace that apparently led to the kitchen because Cookie deliberately left treats out for them, but neither knew where Jael had gone. Ash had undertaken a sweep of the passages himself, as they had to remain secret, but there was no sign of him. When they got Tsaria back he would be gutted. Attiker was a mess, and convinced he’d failed the child as well as Tsaria.

Tam had been given two of the swiftest horses and there had been a third waiting for him to ride the last leg. He was currently tucked in a corner relatively close to the hearth, even though the fire had burned down, and he didn’t know what to do next. He’d tried all the pleasure houses and burned through the cash his highness had given him to no avail. This was his last chance, and he was sitting here praying for a miracle.

He dropped his gaze as he sensed it, and sure enough, a rat poked its head out through a missing brick. Rats were such misunderstood creatures. Sure, they could carry the plague, but how was that any different from the pestilence some humans thought they had the right to wreak on others?

As he watched, the rat sniffed the air, then simply stilled and seemed to look at him. Taking a chance, Tam bent and extended his hand and the rat ran right onto it. He automatically tucked it into his pocket, as they liked dark corners.

Animals talked in images. Hard to understand sometimes, but he watched in his mind as Tsaria was carried by what looked like youngsters into what was clearly the sewer system. Then more images of a woman holding a blade. Then another that made Tam draw in a sharp breath. Tsaria looked dead, but then he drew a rattling looking breath.

“Mind if I sit?”

Tam cursed because he’d been so taken up with the fact that Tsaria could soon be dead, he’d let his guard down and allowed someone to approach him unaware. Rookie mistake and he knew better.

The rat jumped out of his pocket and scuttled away. “Help yourself,” Tam said and picked up his glass to drain it. It might be worth trying the other inns.

“I understand you’ve been asking a lot of questions.”

Which was a lie. He never asked direct questions. He steered conversations so other people asked them. But this time he hadn’t had time to go slow and careful and had been reckless. From what he’d seen, Tsaria was near death, if not already gone.

“Look,” Tam said. “I don’t have time to be all cagey and dance around the subject. If you can help me, good. If not, I’m going to try to find someone who can.”

“Name’s Pip. I have what you’ve been looking for, but it will cost—”

“I don’t fucking care,” Tam spat out and got to his feet. “The thing I’ve been looking for might be the answer to stop not only a war, but also to save a great many from poverty or slavery. Help me or not, but I don’t have time to fuck about.”

Pip also stood. “I will have to blindfold you.”

Tam shrugged. In his heart he knew time was running out for Tsaria, if it wasn’t already too late.

Chapter eighteen

Kamir watched Eldara become merely a speck in the distance as she flew away, taking his last vestige of hope with her. She had tried, but while he felt great power, she explained that only the Dragoran could change him. When Attiker had pressed her because she had managed to bring forth his white wolf last year, she just dismissed it as wolves were apparently easy. But only those gifted with dragoran blood could change another into a dragon, and then only if they were true mates.  

And Eldara wasn’t Kamir’s mate.

Even Attiker and Ash were quiet. Jael seemed to have vanished into thin air. There had been no word from the troops sent after Tsaria and Alain, and when a full day passed with no messenger bird, Tam had decided to leave that night. Veda had also left, but she had been with her lover and absent from the palace when they realized what had likely happened, so Tam had a good five hour start on her.

And now it was only four days until Kamir had to present himself at the palace or many children would die, and he could never allow that to happen.

Accompanied by the guards who had remained at a distance, they rode back to the palace. What had he done wrong? Why had Tsaria fled? Cookie had been nearly inconsolable when she realized Tsaria had left with his brother, not just given him the food.

What had Kamir said wrong? He’d thought they finally had a connection.

“Highness,” Mansala said quietly, drawing his horse alongside Kamir’s. “I spoke to the servant girl who took Alain to see Tsaria at his own request.”

Kamir glanced over. “She saw him?”

“Yes, highness. She was too frightened to admit to accompanying him to either Attiker or his highness, but there’s a cook…well, Cookie, that ferreted her out.” Kamir hissed in a breath. This might be credible.

“Apparently, our girl was curious. She heard Alain say you were leaving for Rajpur at the full moon.”

Kamir turned to him in bewilderment. “But that’s way too late.” It wouldn’t be the full moon for another fourteen days.

“Yes, highness. Because apparently your plan was to let the innocents be slaughtered, then ride in like an avenging angel to take Gabar out. Your righteousness would be so intense, no one in their grief would care whether you had an animal or not.”

Hopelessness and desolation pricked at Kamir’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter, does it? No matter what lie Alain told, or what I do, they will find some excuse to murder babies and blame me.”

Mansala was quiet for a moment. “If I could help with that, I would give my life,” he vowed, which brought fresh tears because Kamir knew that. Of course he did. But he was sick of other people dying or being murdered in his stead.

“But we know that Tsaria’s brother fooled him,” Mansala added.

Did they? Or hadn’t Tsaria trusted him enough to take his word? But, of course he hadn’t. A moon of nice food would never make up for the cruelty of a lifetime.

“The guards on both sides are dead. It was clearly an ambush that Cadmeera arrived just in time to see and fail to prevent.”

“But no other bodies,” Kamir said. There had been no civilian deaths, according to reports. One Cadmeeran guard had survived and was gravely wounded but managed to ride to the nearest inn, had told them what he could. He had said all the Rajpuran troops had been slain, so where was Tsaria?

Kamir entered the palace and, as usual, servants were there immediately. He knew everyone in Rajpur needed him on the throne. He had many lives to save, but one in particular. He had no idea how to bring his dragon forth without Tsaria. But at this point, a greater part of him didn’t care. Kamir loved Tsaria. He loved that shy man with every fiber in him and was sick of being told what to do.

He was going to ride to Rajpur. He was going to find his lover, and if, at some point, he became a dragon, all well and good. He had a few people on his list to roast with a fiery breath.

Tam knew where he was. He only needed his sense of smell, unfortunately, but he could also hear his splashing steps and was glad his boots were waxed. He felt Pip’s fingers on the rag, then his eyes were uncovered. Still fucking pitch black.

“Use the rag for your mouth and nose through here,” Pip instructed and tied their own. “How far?” Tam mumbled and tried not to gag, but instead of a verbal response, Pip stopped and turned to a blank spot of stone brick.

“Coming up,” Pip said quietly.

“Just you?” came a muffled voice.

Tam would swear he could almost hear Pip roll their eyes. “As if you ain’t had eyes on us since we came down.”

Then a rope ladder abruptly flew down the stone. Pip glanced at Tam. “Follow me. We have to crawl.”

Pip wasn’t joking. He climbed up maybe thirty feet until he watched as Pip hauled themself into a tight opening. The space was too tight to get on his knees, but not wanting to be left behind, especially as the air was a little clearer, Tam dug his elbows and boots into the damp earth and shuffled along. He didn’t complain when bony but strong arms hoisted him and he dropped into another tunnel. The stench was still there, but it wasn’t quite as bad and watching Pip undo their rag, he did the same.

His eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light and he guessed the flickering was from the vents up above, as it was still daylight.

Tam had spent time in the tunnels in Cadmeera, knew the sewer rats, both the human and the animal kind, but there seemed to be an added air of desperation here. Not that Cadmeera was perfect by any means, but since Raz and Attiker had taken control, there’d been hope. And hope was such a powerful thing you could almost taste it. All he tasted here was helplessness mixed with the stench of human and animal excrement.

“Who are you?”

Tam blinked and knew immediately who he was looking at. Up above, they were called house-mothers. They basically ran groups of kids doing everything from stealing to whoring. Some looked after their brats as best they could, so long as they were earning. Some were the worst kind of evil. He had no idea which type she was. She looked a good forty summers older than him, but he doubted she was more than thirty summers older. Life wasn’t kind for the likes of them. He also knew she understood exactly who he was because he wouldn’t have gotten here with his throat intact if not.

“I am here to find my emir’s heart. I understand you have kept him safe.”

As statements went, it was powerful. It gave this woman all the power to bargain as she saw fit. If Tsaria was as sick as the rat had shown him, then he didn’t have time to idle.

“His heart?” she whispered, taken aback, but she quickly rallied. “You’re piss-poor at bargaining.”

“I have no proof, nor any time, as I know he’s sick,” Tam said. “He is a pleasure slave, but my lord wants him to be his bond mate. Kamir is battling on many fronts and is bound to return today to stop the cleansing rites.” Tam had a second to wonder why he had mentioned something no one, including him, had ever heard of, but the second he did the woman grabbed his arm.

“Say that again.”

Tam sighed. “They were safe in Cadmeera trying to bring forth Kamir’s animal when he got a missive from the ruling assembly to say if Kamir didn’t show his animal on the dark of the moon, then they would enact the cleansing.” Tam paused. “No one has ever heard of it. Kamir only knew because he is a historian.”

The woman let go and Tam studiously didn’t rub his arm.

She turned. “They call me Moxie, but in reality, should I ever bother with a war to claim my title, I’m Lady Maxella Legia Armonvellion, from the Duchy of Carlisle. I know what a cleansing is because my great-great grandmother saw one enacted.”

Tam’s jaw dropped so far he could nearly feel it hit the stone floor. He gathered his wits. “What price to get him out of here?”

She didn’t reply for a moment and a young girl hobbled close. Tam glanced down at her twisted leg and gaped anew when Moxie put her arm around her and held her close. None of the house-mothers above would have taken her. “Food and somewhere above to store it,” she said, but Tam knew the moment Kamir found out about them, she and these kids would never have to beg or steal again. And they wouldn’t remain down here either.

“He’s sick, as you said. We bartered for a tonic, but I doubt if being down here helps.”

Tam was shocked again that they thought to offer Tsaria that much. Moxie patted the lass’s hand and nudged her to the corner, then turned on her heel and both Pip and Tam followed her. The tunnel opened into another chamber, but it was dry. Tam took in the second little girl holding Tsaria’s hand and dropped to his knees.

For an endless moment he thought he was too late, and only took a shaky breath when he heard the wet rattle from Tsaria’s throat. He was barely recognizable. His normally warm, brown skin was tinged yellow. Cracked lips and sunken cheeks stood out. Tam knew he had been down here a matter of a few days, but he looked like he had been in the palace dungeon for weeks. Tam slid his hand into the sewn pocket on the inside of his jacket. Tsaria wouldn’t survive being moved in this state. He had to get his fever under control. He quickly withdrew a vial and pulled the stopper out. Moxie knelt and lifted Tsaria’s head without asking and slowly, so he didn’t choke and waste it, Tam dripped the liquid into Tsaria’s mouth.

“You got any more of that or are you takin’ him?” Moxie laid him back down and covered him up with the sacking.

“What is it?” the little girl asked.

“Elderflower, turnip husks, and mayan berries,” Tam answered and gazed at the raven-haired urchin. “Elderflower is good for getting air into his lungs.” The berries were a lot more complicated.

She brightened. “I brought you a daisy, didn’t I Ma?”

Moxie chuckled. “Best flower I ever saw.”

“My name’s Cherry.”

“Nice to meet you, Cherry,” Tam said, utterly charmed.

“Will ‘e be well now? I held Granny’s hand all the time when she was abed, but the men came and got her to put her on a wagon when they decided the goddess wanted to keep ‘er” She paused. “Maybe ‘cos I didn’t ‘ave no elderflower.”

Tam swallowed down the lump that had lodged itself in his throat and thought about what to do. He glanced at Moxie. “Pretty sure you don’t crawl through the tunnel, so we’ll have to take him out the way you go.” She smirked, but Tam carried on. “I have lodgings. The Speckled Owl. I need help to get him there unseen.”

Moxie glanced at the corner and as if waiting for her signal, two older boys stepped forward. Tam drew in a slightly deeper breath. He knew Kamir was on his way. He just had to do everything he could to keep Tsaria alive until then.

Chapter nineteen

Tsaria felt like he was burning in the fiery pits of hell. Occasionally, he was thrown into freezing waters just to confuse his body so much that at one point, he begged whoever was pinning him still to let him go because he wanted to die and his own arms thrashing him to death would be as good a method as any other.

He was done. Finally, exhaustion and a weakness so all-encompassing it seemed to steal the very breath from his lungs, took over and he was so beyond any protest his mind could make, never mind his body, that he just accepted his fate. He would die.

He would have liked to tell Kamir his heart. He’d thought to protect himself, he had to be free. Tsaria had been caged his whole life. Poverty, family duty, Ishmael, and then because he hadn’t trusted the one person capable of setting him free, he’d finally been trapped in a cage of his own making. And now the chains were tightening around his very soul.

But at some point he regained his wits to see it wasn’t chains that held him still, but strong arms that smelled so familiar he wept. Had he died? Perhaps the goddess had decided his suffering was enough, and she’d welcomed him into her kingdom.

“No, my heart,” the owner of the strong arms spoke. “You belong to me. The goddess cannot have you until we are both ready to be taken into her loving arms.”

Tsaria didn’t understand, but he didn’t care. He welcomed the fantasy where Kamir whispered how much he was loved. He tried to tell him the same, tell him how sorry he was, that he shouldn’t have doubted him, but had no energy for words.

More time passed. Tsaria had no idea how long until he blinked his eyes open to see a strange room. He noted the fireplace, the fire burning low. The small table was littered with several scrolls, a pot of ink, and two quills. He knew he lay in a bed, and beyond that the cramped room had two chairs by the warm fireplace, and another two tucked under a small table. As he lay there, sounds crept into his mind. Footfalls, the clatter of what he assumed were buckets belonging to the maids that built the fires.

He heard the soft knock and felt the bed shift as whoever sat next to him rose to answer it.

“Thank you,” came a familiar voice, and the door closed. He knew that voice, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge it. The smell of dinner rose, and he heard dishes being set on the table, then gentle hands smoothed his hair. “You need to eat, my love. Which means I need to lift you higher.”

Tsaria didn’t protest and eventually, when he was propped up higher on pillows, he couldn’t avoid looking at Kamir any longer so he focused his gaze on his man.

“Are you real?” It was impossible.

Kamir leaned forward and Tsaria felt the brush of gentle lips on his brow. “Very real.”

But that made no sense, because Tsaria had betrayed him. He had trusted a man he hadn’t seen since he was a small boy over one who had shown him nothing but kindness and gentleness. “Why are you here?”

Kamir cupped Tsaria’s face in his hands. “I came because you are here. How could I possibly be anywhere else?”

Why? The little voice that told him that Kamir only needed him to bring forth his dragon still needled him at the back of his mind. “I failed you.”

Kamir shook his head. “You could never fail me.”

“But the dragon.”

“Isn’t your responsibility,” Kamir said firmly.

“And the children?” Tsaria whispered, hating that he had to ask.

“Same,” Kamir said. “Tomorrow is the dark of the moon.”

“But—”

“All you need to worry about right this second is swallowing the broth I’m going to give you.”

Tsaria was bewildered but too weak to do anything except open his mouth when bid and swallow some broth. His eyes widened after the first mouthful because it was tasty when he’d expected bland. “Cookie insisted on following with the guards. She won’t allow anything to pass either of our lips that she hasn’t made herself.”

Which brought tears to his eyes, and Kamir hummed and kissed his cheek. After half the bowl, Tsaria turned his face away, and thankfully Kamir didn’t push. “Tam says small amounts and often.”

“Tam is here?”

“It was he that found you,” Kamir explained. “Helped by a person called Pip and a lady called Moxie, who I can never hope to repay.” Which surprised him, but then maybe nothing Tam did should surprise him. “Why don’t you try to sleep again?”

“I’m sorry,” Tsaria whispered, even as Kamir arranged his bed cushions to let him lie down. He had something to say. He’d wanted nothing more than to tell Kamir his truth, but his eyes were closing of their own volition, no matter how valiantly he fought.

“Incoerasa,” Kamir murmured, which made Tsaria’s breath hitch. Incoerasa in the old tongue meant my heart. “You have done nothing wrong. Now sleep, and when you wake, it will be time to return to Cadmeera and you will be safe.”

It was only as Tsaria was losing the battle to stay awake that he realized that Kamir had said Tsaria would be safe, not that they both would be.

He woke later and couldn’t even summon the embarrassment that it was Kamir who attended to his needs. He swallowed a few mouthfuls of soup and then a strengthening draft that Kamir said was to prepare him for the journey. There was something he was supposed to remember, but none of his thoughts were solid enough to grasp.

“I love you,” Kamir whispered in his ear as his eyes grew heavy so quickly. “You are the best of me, and I want you to be happy, but more than anything, I want you to be free.”

Tsaria hadn’t realized that it was a goodbye until he woke and he was in a carriage.

And instead of Kamir attending him, it was Tam.

Kamir bent and kissed his beloved’s cheek after his eyes had fallen shut and stayed that way. Tam had promised the sleeping draft was mild and if anything, sleep aided the body to heal. Kamir took a moment to gather strength. He’d never had a purpose. Growing up as almost an afterthought, he’d never expected to become the emir, and he had died a little with every female baby born that couldn’t replace him.

Every new queen his father paraded had made him pray she would be the one to give birth to a son. Even knowing that the moment he got a brother, his life would be forfeit so he didn’t inherit. Then the war had come, and his father had been distracted and then killed.

Kamir had become something he never expected nor wanted, and now his final act couldn’t even prevent his uncle from assuming the throne. All he could do was save a hundred young, innocent lives.

He had a choice, as Raz’mar had told him the evening before he left.

“I would never make you return. You are both welcome to live your lives in Cadmeera.”

Kamir had thanked his highness, but then shrugged. “I often wondered what my purpose in life was. I am not fit to command a kingdom, so if I can do nothing other than save a hundred children, then I consider my own life well spent.”

“Brother,” Raz said, which brought tears to Kamir’s eyes. “It is just such a statement that proves you are an emir.”

But Kamir shook his head. “Please, just promise me that Tsaria will be safe, and you will never stop trying to find Jael.”

Raz smiled, but it was melancholy. “You never need to worry on either score.”

Kamir stood and bowed. It wasn’t usual for one ruler to offer another deference to another, but they had both opened their lands and hearts. “I ride in an hour.”

There was nothing more to be said.

“Mansala?” Kamir met Mansala’s gaze. “I wish you would accompany Tsaria and Tam.”

“Except he wouldn’t be your life sentinel if he did that,” Tam said, following Mansala into the room. Kamir caught the hitch in Tam’s breath and watched as Mansala’s eyes darkened briefly in sorrow, but only as he looked at Tam. Kamir’s heart ached for them both. Another love that would never have a future.

Mansala glanced at a sleeping Tsaria, then turned to Kamir. “I took the most important vow of my life when I was but four summers old.”

Kamir didn’t deserve such loyalty, and he pulled the other man into his arms, which he hardly ever did, and they were silent for a moment. Kamir had even asked Tam to drug Mansala to prevent him accompanying him, but Tam had told him he couldn’t do it because he was in love with him. In love with his honor. In love with his big heart. In love with his strength. And he could never be the one to take any of that away.

So, Kamir had given up on trying to prevent Mansala from accompanying him. He wouldn’t give up trying later once they were at the palace. He knew Gabar needed him as a figurehead to assuage the imperial guard and the people while they became used to either his uncle or his cousins taking the crown.

So, he needed to save Tsaria, a hundred children, and then Mansala. And when that was done, he didn’t care what happened. He would give his own life at that point with no regret.

Or maybe one. The silver-gray eyes he saw every time he closed his own.

Chapter twenty

At Mansala’s urging, Kamir didn’t slip into the palace unseen like some thief, but made sure with Tam’s help, before Tam left, that the whole city was expecting him.

Or his people, anyway.

Not that it took long for the imperial guard to surround them, but Kamir still took his time, greeting the people that lined the streets to welcome him, so humbled that any cared to do so.

He was surprised when his uncle met him on the steps of the palace, bowing low. But then he knew it was all for show.

“Highness, we are so glad you have returned safely after your state visit.”

State visit? That was a good excuse. He greeted his cousin Damatrious, who was standing stiffly behind Gabar, and followed them inside. He cared not where Iskar was. “I would appreciate some time to discuss your appearance before the ruling assembly tomorrow and then your presentation to the imperial court. In particular, if there are any special guests you want invited.”

Kamir almost laughed at Gabar’s attempt both to appear as if the assembly was a mere tiny detail and didn’t involve the murder of children, and to find out if he knew where Tsaria was.

“We expected her highness, Princess Veda, to accompany you?”

Kamir smiled blandly. “She’s visiting the poorer areas of the kingdom in my stead. I’m sure she’ll be here for the presentation.” It was a lie, but one Gabar couldn’t refute. There was no way Gabar was getting his hands on Veda.

Kamir hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until he was shown to his rooms and all but collapsed on one of the daybeds. When eventually all the servants left except Mansala, he tried again to spare his friend. “You need to leave before I meet the ruling assembly tomorrow.”

Mansala met his gaze with his usual solemn look. “Highness,” Mansala said and then did something he hadn’t ever done in Kamir’s presence. He sat. Kamir was so startled he managed to stay quiet. “When I was four, I had no understanding of what it meant to be considered for the position of your life sentinel. My father just told me I had the opportunity to save my mother and sisters from poverty.” He hesitated. “Mine was not a deliberate birth, but an accident. My family couldn’t afford the children they already had, never mind an extra mouth to feed.”

Kamir stared at his solemn face. Dark brown eyes, deep brown skin, the small scar on his left cheek he had gotten when Kamir’s father had decided Kamir should be proficient with birds-of-prey and Mansala had undertaken to find a hawk and train it himself in an attempt to help. He’d been seven summers of age and hadn’t understood that the birds needed to bond as chicks, not as fully grown adults.

“It was the luckiest day of my life, and not because of what my father said, because I got the chance to serve one of the most honorable people I know, and you made sure my family had all the fortune they would ever need,” Mansala said. “But I cannot go to my grave with such a regret as leaving you without your sentinel. You owe me that.” He flashed his white teeth. “I took an oath. Please don’t ask me to break it.”

“But Tam—”

“Would never respect me if I broke it. Highness,” he took both Kamir’s hands in his, which again, he never did. “Please don’t ask something of me I cannot do. Breaking my vow would kill me faster than anything Gabar might order.”

Kamir swallowed heavily. Relief that he wouldn’t be alone was wrapped up in so much guilt that he couldn’t even save one who, from childhood, had vowed to give his life to save Kamir’s.

“How about you bathe and rest if you can?”

Kamir knew his inability to change into a dragon hung over them both. “Is it hopeless, Mansala?

“Nothing is ever hopeless when you have justice on your side,” he said gravely.

Kamir didn’t sleep. How could he? At dawn he bathed and was dressed by the slaves under Mansala’s watchful gaze. The meeting with the ruling assembly was still four bells away, but he saw little point delaying anything. He knew he had to be sequestered in his private prayer room for a full bell to ask the goddess for guidance, but to be completely honest, he wasn’t interested in any celestial being that would allow innocents to die in their name.

Mansala waited outside as Kamir let himself into his prayer room, and the door closed behind him. He was alone. He wasn’t sure what he expected as he didn’t want Veda anywhere close, so eschewing the pews and the cushions, he walked to the corner and sat on the floor.

His head hit the wall, and he wondered how he had gotten to this place. He ached for Tsaria. Not that he wanted him anywhere near the palace, but if he closed his eyes, he could imagine him. The night they had come together, he’d sucked Tsaria’s length. The first time in his life he’d ever done that. Tears pricked at his eyes and his throat grew tight. He loved that man. He’d never loved anyone except Mansala and Veda, and that was a different type of love. No less of one, but very different.

And he didn’t understand how it happened. Any of it. He wasn’t a warrior. Someone else needed to be a dragon. Someone worthy. It just showed how unfit he was because he hadn’t changed again. If he could wish one thing, it would be to see Tsaria and Jael happy. He hoped Tsaria would find love. Find peace.

Which made him think of his own life. He might as well compile his own wish list of dreams. They were never going to happen, but he could dream. They would be incredible together. He and Tsaria. Mansala would be life-mated to Tam. Hunger and poverty would be a thing of the past in Rajpur. All slaves would be free.

They would have at least three children as well as Jael because he had been desperate for a brother or another sister growing up.

Almost as if he had been expecting it, he heard the tap on the window grille and prayed that Veda wasn’t there, and that for once in his life, he would get an answer to them. Terror that she would come here almost kept him frozen, but the climb outside on the ledges was dangerous so he moved quickly to the window and opened it.

He didn’t recognize the lad that entered and stared at him in bewilderment. “Sire,” the lad’s head bobbed as he dropped silently into the room. “I have a message.”

Kamir pressed his lips together to stop the cry that he knew would escape them.

“The boss has many in the villages. We’re ‘oping to secure the full hundred, but we need a delay. As much time as yer can give us.” Kamir had no idea how to delay anything, but he would try.

The lad turned back to the window. “Oh, and she says to tell yer that she’d be ‘ere ‘cept every sword is needed for the village kids.”

Kamir smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. He knew who “she” was. “Tell her I love her.” He nearly laughed as the lad rolled his eyes, then disappeared the same way he had come.

Kamir locked the catch on the grille and tried to think what to do. They needed a delay. The next bell sounded, and he knew he had to leave his prayer room, so he went to the door. Mansala was waiting and accompanied him back to his rooms. He didn’t expect Gabar to be waiting for him, nor the woman who was with him, but he sat on the daybed, knowing he had to create a delay.

Gabar waited until the servants bringing refreshments had gone. He glanced at Mansala. “I could have your life sentinel arrested and detained by the guards if I wish, but if you grant us a private audience for half a bell, I will refrain.”

Kamir knew his uncle wasn’t joking, that he had such power, and glanced at Mansala. “Perhaps you could wait outside the door?”

Mansala searched his face as if trying to work out whether Kamir had another reason other than Gabar’s dictates, but then bowed and left.

“You haven’t introduced us,” Kamir said, pointedly glancing at the woman. He studied her for a moment. Draped in expensive silks and gold chains, she clearly wasn’t without resources. She bowed when she realized she had his attention. “Highness, I am Elainore, Daughter of the Sand. My people come from the endless desert, and I believe we may be able to help each other.”

He didn’t scoff out loud, but she must have sensed his skepticism because she turned to Gabar and her voice dropped low. Her hand reached for his cheek, and she trailed her fingers down to his throat. “My dearest, I need you to be honest with me. Do you think you can do that?”

Kamir watched in astonishment as Gabar swallowed heavily and stared at her, seeming utterly enraptured. His pupils grew so large there seemed to be no white in his eyes and he stared at her, completely enthralled. “Tell me,” she whispered, a thread of sound that seemed ridiculously loud. “You wish to use me to ensnare Kamir and his dragon so you have a puppet you can control with the people.”

“Yes,” Gabar murmured, not even glancing at Kamir.

“And why is that?” Elainore asked very gently.

“Because my sons aren’t ready to rule,” he admitted.

“But that’s not all my dearest, is it?” Elainore continued her touch down his throat.

“No,” he agreed, swaying nearer to her. “I deserve to rule in their stead before I train them.”

“But why wouldn’t the imperial guard and the people accept you?”

“Because I’m of the previous generation,” Gabar answered in an almost dreamy voice.

“Very good,” Elainore murmured. “It has been such a long day and you are tired. You need to sleep.”

“Yes,” Gabar muttered and sank onto one of the daybeds, closing his eyes. He took one breath and stilled.

Kamir turned to Elainore in complete astonishment, but wary in case it was a trick. “Highness,” she started. “My people have gifts, as you have just seen. I care not for political machinations only to find my people a home. I told your uncle I could bring forth your beast. I already brought forward Ibrahim’s wolf and used it to kill him.”

Kamir jerked backwards. Ibrahim’s wolf?

“He was a toad of a man, and I feel no guilt over ending one that was responsible for many slaves’ suffering. His latest victim was the kitchen maid’s nine-year-old daughter. He deserved to die for that alone.”

She sighed, then took a determined breath. “Your uncle is convinced I can bring forward your dragon, but unlike wolves I cannot. Only those of dragon blood can do that, but I can create an image that would satisfy the people to give you enough time to work with your consort to bring your dragon forth for real. A delay, if you like.”

A delay.

Which was exactly what Veda needed. Suspicion coiled in him. Things that seemed to be too good to be true were often exactly that. “And in return?’

She swallowed. “My people starve, Highness. The desert is an unwelcoming place, save for a few creatures.” She gestured to Gabar. “We are not welcome among you because of what we can do.”

“What makes you think you are welcome now?” Kamir held back the cringe, knowing he had to be deliberately cruel. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

“We have nothing to lose. Our birth-rate is practically non-existent. I am one of only four born to my parents’ generation, and the only one with the gift of commanding beasts.”

Kamir was torn. But what had he to lose? “What do you mean by commanding beasts?” he asked. She smiled. It was such a joyful, infectious thing that his heart warmed. He had only seen such a smile on the innocent. Children that had never been taught that the world was often a cruel and unforgiving place. He relaxed a little. Perhaps Elainore was the answer he so desperately needed.

Elainore kept the smile on her face, even though the skin on her cheek cracked and blood wept from the split on her dried lips. She idly wondered what Kamir would say if he knew everything she had done today was an illusion, including her appearance. Gabar had been a simple one. A beautiful woman pandering to a lonely man. Not that Gabar thought he was lonely, but the death of his first omega many summers ago had twisted him into something that would work well for her use. A simple illusion reminding him of his first omega without him even realizing, then a powder added to his wine before they had seen Kamir had taken care of the rest.

Ibrahim had been much harder. It was true that she could recognize the beast inside another, but only if it had evil intent. All beasts were born pure, but those born to evil humans would be corrupted over the summers, even if the human didn’t realize the beast within was slowly going as insane as they were.

Only then would the animal be able to be controlled.

As Elainore’s people knew.

She turned her thoughts inward as she felt the nudge in her mind and shuddered in delight as the forked tongue seemed to lick at the inside of her throat, and smiled again.

It was true she was considered a beast-master, but only for those that were as demonic as the human they housed. There was no way she could bring forth a dragon, but if she was clever and could manipulate Gabar and his sons, who in their greed and selfishness were almost there, it wouldn’t matter.

And the power of the kingdom would be hers.

Chapter twenty-one

It took Tsaria a few moments to work out that he was in a cart because of the movement. He was lying down and despite feeling incredibly weak and wishing he could fall back asleep, he knew his fever was gone.

Which made him focus a little better. Fever? He remembered Moxie right away, and her boys, although he thought he’d seen a girl as well. Not that it mattered, and he shook his head—or tried—impatiently.

Kamir…where…then he remembered, and focus hit him like a staff straight to his gut. He knew instantly what Kamir had done. Moisture made his vision blur more than the drugs and, with a cry, he tried to sit up. A firm hand steadied him, and Tam’s face swam into his vision. Tsaria swallowed sickly. “Why?” he whispered, knowing he’d been drugged.

“I’m sorry,” Tam said, sounding as heartbroken as he. “He needed you safe.”

Tsaria groaned and closed his eyes. He should have known. He felt the water pouch touch his lips and jerked his head away. He had no intention of being fooled a second time, and ignoring his thirst, he glared at Tam.

Tam held the pouch to his own lips and took a drink. “It isn’t drugged. It was a mild sleeping draft in your strengthening tonic.” He sighed. “I expected you to sleep longer.”

Tsaria sat up, avoiding Tam’s offered arm and yanked the pouch out of his hand, ignoring the guilty look, and took a few tentative sips. It tasted fine, but he dared not risk any more. With a huff, Tam took some more, than passed it back apologetically. “On my honor.”

Tsaria felt better after he drank and looked at the flap securing the cart. It wasn’t so tightly tied that he couldn’t see through the eyeholes where the rope weaved in and out. It was light out, but that gray, early dawn kind. The one where the mantle of darkness had not quite decided to give way. “Where are we and how long since we left?”

“Half-way,” Tam said. “We’re not properly out of Rajpur yet. Trying to get through the pass before the market gets busy.”

So, unless he could get a ride, he would never be able to return to the palace on foot. It was way too far. He would do it, but Kamir didn’t have that long. He would sacrifice himself today. “Mansala?”

Tam pressed his lips together as if he didn’t trust what would escape them, but Tsaria knew. There was no way Mansala would let Kamir go alone, so Tam was in the same position as he was. “And are we really both going to just let them go to their deaths without doing anything about it?” he asked in bewilderment.

“What can we do? Cadmeera cannot afford another war. They would shelter us all, but Raz cannot send troops.” Tam looked down, and it was easy to see his struggle. “I cannot ask Mansala to break his vow. It’s what he is.”

“Exactly,” Tsaria agreed. “And I wouldn’t love Kamir if he let those children die.” Absolutely not.

Tam hesitated, staring at him for a moment. “You love him?”

“Of course I—” But then Tsaria stopped. Panic surged through him. Kamir had professed his love. Had called him incoerasa, his heart. He had taken everything Kamir had offered and given nothing in return. Had kept his feelings guarded like they were a dowry. Something to be bargained with. Shame burned him like the pyre he deserved to lie on. Kamir would go to his death not knowing Tsaria loved him.

He loved that incredible man with all his heart and soul, but never once told him. He ignored his wet cheeks, the agonizing pain in his heart, and the deep longing for a future with the best man in the world, and focused again on Tam.

“I love him,” he said like a vow. “I’m going back. You can do what you like, but I’m not leaving him.”

Tam stared at him for a long moment, then smiled slowly. He moved to the opening and yelled to the driver to turn the cart around. “We need a plan. Veda and Draul said they had enough people to protect the children,” Tam added.

“What we need to do,” Tsaria said, “is get to Kamir and Mansala, but also stop this from happening ever again.”

Tam stared at Tsaria and Tsaria took in every unspoken word. The fact was, to stop Gabar and every other bully that had spent summers reinforcing Kamir’s low self-worth, he had to change Kamir into a dragon.

Tsaria closed his eyes and remembered the moment he’d first seen Kamir. He’d walked into the chamber not wanting to be there, detached, almost, at what was expected of him, and then their eyes had met.

Something pure had passed between them, and as Tsaria was finally being honest with himself, it had been the moment he’d fallen in love with the beautiful man who had grown scales and fangs and claws. Tsaria had since been so desperate to protect himself from his money and status that he hadn’t ever given Kamir a chance since. Rejected him. Pushed him away. Denied their love.

Kamir had offered him everything, but because he had been so stupid, he’d rejected the one thing, so sincerely offered, that would have been the best thing ever to happen to him. Kamir’s love. He hadn’t tried to replicate that moment. He hadn’t given himself freely. He’d mistrusted him. Constantly denied whatever they could become together.

Tsaria closed his eyes and knew this was their last chance. He couldn’t crawl back to Cadmeera. He would be taken care of, sure. Live free. Or he could follow Kamir to the palace and stand by him. There was a very good chance he would be killed. Almost a certainty.

What should he do? But he almost laughed at his silent question. He loved Kamir, and for the first time, he absolutely believed Kamir’s love wasn’t based on what Tsaria could do. No, he knew it wasn’t. Other people had made choices for him all his life. This was one he had to make for himself. And he knew what it was going to be.

“Are you sure?” Tam asked.

“Yes.” He was, completely. “But we need a way of getting into the palace, and I don’t think getting arrested will help this time.” Tam grinned and Tsaria remembered Tam’s mouse. Which led his thoughts to another type of street vermin…

Kamir was ready. He hadn’t eaten the morning meal Mansala had presided over. He knew Tam and Tsaria should be well beyond Cadmeera’s borders now and wondered if Tsaria would ever forgive him. But no, he probably never gave him much thought. He would be glad to be free of the whole nonsense. Tsaria would lead a comfortable life in Cadmeera. Who knew, he might even find love. Or a family. Once upon a time Kamir had dreamed of the same, but as his upcoming meeting would be likely the last thing he would ever do, he was content to wish that dream came true for Tsaria. He just wouldn’t be there to see it.

He waited as the ache spurred by that thought spread through him. But it wasn’t jealousy, merely regret. He truly wanted Tsaria to be happy. Thanks to the laws and customs he had allowed to perpetuate, Tsaria had been sold into sexual slavery as a child. Ignorance was no excuse. He was his father’s heir, and had never once tried to wrest power from Gabar. He might not have been able when Tsaria was a child, but in all those summers he had done nothing to try to help his downtrodden people other than hide away in his library and read scrolls. He wondered how many had died per scroll? Was there a blood number per inked word?

He was dressed in every finery possible, his emir sash draped across his silks. His last hope was the woman, Elainore, and her conviction that she could create an illusion good enough to convince the ruling assembly he was a dragon. He understood her desperate need to help her people. The desert was an unforgiving place, so harsh that sometimes even prepared travelers didn’t survive the crossing.

“Highness,” Mansala almost whispered the title.

“Please,” Kamir said. “Today of all days, please call me by my given name.”

Mansala stared at him for a heartbeat, then crossed the space and gathered Kamir in his arms.

“I wish you weren’t here,” Kamir choked out and felt the answering rumble from the chest he was pressed against. Even though he was so very glad to be with his best friend, he also wanted to spare him.

“Kamir,” Mansala said clearly. “It has been the greatest honor of my life to serve as your sentinel. But we’re not done yet.” He hesitated, then stepped back. Kamir let his arms fall to his sides. “Do you know the procedure for today?”

Kamir wished he didn’t, but thanks to the books he pored over, he knew exactly what was coming.

“The clerk of the ruling assembly will present himself here at the eleventh bell before midday. I will be escorted to the assembly chamber. We partake in the blood of the gods—”

“The what?” Mansala interrupted, which he never did.

“Spiced wine. It’s symbolic only. And everyone drinks from the same cup.” Kamir smiled. “It cannot be poisoned.” Mansala huffed. “Then in front of certain approved witnesses, I am expected to change into my animal.”

“Certain witnesses?”

“All sixteen witnesses,” Kamir said. “My uncle, as my closest blood relative, will be there. Iskar and Damatrious too, I imagine. Possibly Elainore.”

Mansala frowned. “The woman that was with him yesterday?”

“She says she is from the endless desert and has powers of illusion. She thinks she can convince the assembly I can turn into my dragon in return for land to save her people. She holds sway over my uncle.”

Mansala was silent. His skepticism was clear.

“I don’t trust her,” Kamir said. “But what other choice do I have? If I don’t produce my dragon, Rajpur will fall to my uncle. If I refuse, then children die.” Kamir placed a gentle hand on Mansala’s shoulder. “You will have to leave.”

Mansala shook his head, “Highness?”

“You will have to,” Kamir repeated regretfully, then he turned to the glass and gazed at himself, but he didn’t see the fitted black breeches with the gold thread, or the polished knee-length boots crafted from the finest leather. The dazzling white shirt covered with the deep purple jacket split at the hem to showcase his breeches. The purple sash proclaiming him the heir and the ruby and diamond-encrusted crown. The one of a kind seven-hundred-year-old statement not to the holiness of the Rajpuran royal family, as it was meant to be, but to the thousands of slaves that had worked in back-breaking conditions in the Rajpuran mines, and often lost their lives. As he looked in the glass he just saw the shame of a kingdom. He wasn’t surprised Tsaria couldn’t bring himself to love him. He was the embodiment of a class that celebrated greed and bullied all those without money. Cruelty and subjugation were normalized.

No, it was better this way. He had to work out some way of bringing forth his dragon without risking Tsaria. He would never let his uncle or cousins get his hands on him. Kamir would fight to his last breath to keep him safe.

They both looked over as the knock came at the door. Mansala slid the ceremonial sword into Kamir’s pearl-encrusted scabbard and stood back.

“I hate this,” Kamir said.

“I know,” Mansala replied, both acknowledging there was nothing they could do to change anything. Not yet anyway, and not without a dragon.

A whole unit of imperial guards fell into step beside him as they walked to the assembly chamber, Mansala at his side. Horns sounded as he arrived, and the doors were swung inward. All sixteen members of the assembly were sitting on a raised platform to the right. Gabar stood to the left, and Elainore was beside him. He didn’t dare catch her eye.

The clerk that had led the procession unfurled a long scroll and intoned the words that Kamir knew. That in front of the ruling assembly, his provenance to be the emir of all Rajpur should be demonstrated.

Kamir didn’t bother listening to most of it, simply took the proffered goblet , knowing he had to be the first to drink, and swallowed the three mouthfuls as ordained before it was passed to the assembly members and finally Gabar. His cousin Iskar lounged in the corner, but he already had a full goblet. Damatrious was handed a note by a guard and sighed in frustration, but left the room.

The clerk finished his speech, and then dismissed the servants from the room, and stood in the corner with five guards. Kamir had the right to ask a question first. He struggled for a moment to focus on the idiots, all sitting there clothed in superiority and threatening the lives of innocents, but then he stared them all down. “It may be easy to order the killing of innocents, but it is often impossible to take a blade and slice their small throats yourself. I wonder how many of you would sanction that order if it was you that was wielding the blade?”

Kamir took them all in. He counted at least ten either blank faces or superior smirks but saw the other six either beset with guilt or horror at his question. It was still a minority, though, and he blinked twice to try to focus. Their faces blurred.

He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t quite form the words. The first assembly member sprawled out on the desk in front of him, and Kamir knew that something was very wrong.

He heard the dragon rather than felt it, which was odd. There wasn’t the same feeling of utter peace that there had been when Tsaria had changed him. This time it was almost as if it was happening to someone else. The roar grew louder, the heat. He blinked and saw Elainore with her arms raised as if she was summoning his beast, and heard running steps he knew not who they belonged to. Was this the illusion? He closed his eyes and swayed. He heard one of the assembly members shouting something but he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, and he sank to the floor, and sat on something wet, Sticky. 

Blood, so much blood, he didn’t know where it came from. Screams of fear instantly silenced by a snap of jaws. Blades raised, but the arms holding them were bit off by sharp teeth before they could be swung, and then there was only agony to be heard in every scream. Bodies snapped in half. Heads swallowed by powerful jaws.

He heard the large doors open, and what seemed like hundreds of panicked footsteps. His vision grew dark, but he was still aware of what was happening even if he couldn’t focus.

He shook his head. Tried to take in the unbelievable carnage in front of him. Bodies. So much blood. Screams rent the air, then cries, then whimpers. Then silence. The ground was littered with bodies, and all swam in red.

By the goddess…what have I done?

He wasn’t sure whether he closed his eyes voluntarily or not but he was so glad when he sank into nothingness. He hoped he would never wake up.

Chapter twenty-two

Kamir woke and immediately regretted it. Something tight scraped under his jaw and he raised a hand in bewilderment to find some sort of metal collar surrounding his neck. At the same time, he blinked his eyes to focus and realized he was in a room he’d never seen before, certainly not his own chamber. He forced himself to remember and glanced down at his hands. Each nail had caked blood under it, and he stared in dawning horror.

It was meant to be an illusion. She’d said so. But he hadn’t trusted her even then. Had his dragon really come forth and… Blood. Death. Nausea swam in his insides, and he swallowed down his dry throat with difficulty. A covered jug sat on a small side-table, but there was no cup or glass. He could drink from the jug if he trusted what was in it. He’d drunk the blood of the gods and that’s when everything had gone wrong. It had been drugged. That much was certain, but he didn’t remember much afterwards.

Kamir closed his eyes. No, no, he did. The screams, the blood, the carnage. How had that been an illusion? His heart beat like a wild thing, and he clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking.

Where was Mansala? Had his uncle imprisoned him? Please let him be safe.

The door abruptly swung open with a crash and guards poured into the small space. His gaze fell on his cousin Damatrious, dressed in full battle armor, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Cousin, I—”

“Silence,” Damatrious thundered, and Kamir quieted in shock. A clerk stepped into the small room and unfurled a scroll. With a curt nod from Damatrious, he began to read.

Kamir Rahanne Saad Anslar of Rajpur. You are charged with the unlawful killing of his Lordship Iskar of Sanjeveli, seven members of the ruling assembly, and a further six citizens of Rajpur.

“What? No. I would never. I-Iskar?” Kamir stammered. His cousin? Damatrious’s elder brother? “No, I—”

“I bid you to remain quiet,” Damatrious spat again. He slid his sword from its scabbard and took a menacing step forward, his eyes full of rage. “But I also beg you to give me a reason and I will end this right now.”

Kamir stared at him in bewilderment, his mind whirling. Iskar? Fourteen? Goddess, please no. He thought back to the day his dragon had first appeared. Veda had insisted he wasn’t the one that had hurt people. He hadn’t killed all those slaves. Those guards. That the wounds had been inflicted to cover up blade injuries, but what if she’d been wrong?

The clerk carried on reading, but Kamir barely heard him.

You will present yourself at the twelfth bell this night to hear witness statements and then receive the judgement of the ruling assembly. Should the majority of the assembly find you guilty, you will be purified by fire in the presence of the goddess as is the law.

Ordered this ninth day of Khala by Damatrious Anslar of Sanjaveli, Acting Holy Emir of Rajpur.

He didn’t know how he managed to stay on his feet until they had all left and the door closed behind them. It explained the collar. If he changed into his dragon, the collar would choke him. He knew the collar was made from ivory carbide and was reputedly indestructible. It was also rare, and he had no idea where they had found the materials, and it took weeks in a dense furnace to even shape it.

Which gave him a little focus. Ivory carbide took weeks to shape. They wouldn’t have had a collar of it just lying around. That made no sense. Of course, his uncle had been planning for just this, but in that case, where did Elainore fit in? Damatrious had never mentioned his father, which meant Gabar must be alive.

Kamir thought hard and tried to still his racing thoughts. Concentrate. Was Damatrious capable of a coup? He was only acting emir because his elder brother was dead, supposedly by Kamir’s hand. But who else would gain from this? Not Gabar. Gabar needed Kamir alive as a figurehead so he could rule, if Elainore was to be believed. The last thing he would want would be to hand over the crown to either of his sons until he had shaped them and had his fill of power. None of it made any sense, with one exception.

And Kamir’s sight blurred with moisture.

Him. That Kamir’s dragon had really killed all those people. That he’d really killed all those people.

An illusion hadn’t caused death. An illusion hadn’t seen innocents ripped apart. That had been him. He held his hands up and looked at the caked blood. There was much more on his soul. Kamir felt the fissure tear in his chest and rip apart his heart. It had been him. He had killed all those people. He’d nearly drowned in rivers of crimson, and wished he had.

He would be sentenced to death this night and it was fitting. All these weeks he had tried to bring forth his dragon, and now it was the last thing he wanted. He would go to his death as the monster he was.

He bit back a sob and imagined Tsaria. What was he doing right now? Surely they should have gotten back to the palace? Maybe he was sharing a meal with Attiker or taking a bath. Was he thinking of Kamir at all? Or was he just grateful to have escaped?

He couldn’t stop the solitary tear that trailed down his cheek. It was done. Funny, but he’d never expected to live a long life. He’d spent as much of his youth trying to remain unnoticed. Expecting any day for a brother to be born, followed by his own death. He imagined he would suffer a fatal accident of some sort. He had hoped to finish documenting the unvarnished history of Rajpur but that would be someone else’s task now, if it was ever completed.

He wished the twelfth bell would come faster.

The only people Kamir saw for the rest of the evening were slaves that came with wine he had no choice but to drink and food he couldn’t stomach. He’d tried to speak to one, but he had withdrawn without even looking at Kamir. When had he last eaten? At the inn, he recalled, where he’d spent those precious hours in with Tsaria.

Tsaria was safe, though. His sister too. He knew Draul wouldn’t let any harm come to her.

He tried not to think about what was to come. Purified by fire in the presence of the goddess. Old school. Executions hadn’t happened like that in hundreds of summers, but then an emir hadn’t unlawfully killed another of high rank in centuries.

The eleventh bell sounded and Kamir banged his head back on the wall in time to the strikes. None of this mattered, really. He was going to die. He had killed so many people and he deserved to die for it.

“Highness.”

Kamir opened his eyes. He hadn’t even heard the door open, yet Elainore was standing there. The same silken and golden glory. False humility he didn’t believe as she lowered her head. “What do you want?” He didn’t have time for niceties. And he really wasn’t interested in how she’d gotten into his room. Not that he was surprised, as he had seen her control his uncle.

Her eyes lifted, and she pinned him with a glare. “Justice.”

“Well, I will be dead in half a bell so you will get it.”

She laughed. Put her head back and crowed. Kamir tried to tune her out. He was thinking of Tsaria and she was interrupting. In his mind they had visited the ruins of Caheer, lying together as they watched the glorious sunset, and Tsaria was kissing him. He wanted to stay in his dream for as long as possible. Her laughter fell away, and she grew silent for a long few minutes. Kamir didn’t break it. She could stand there as long as she wanted.

“Let me guess, you are lying there feeling either betrayed or terrified. Terrified that because of your dragon you will be sacrificed.”

No, he was resigned. It didn’t make him less scared, but it didn’t make him less responsible either. Kamir swallowed down the sudden bile that rose in his throat. The blood had clung to him, was still clinging to him. A million scented baths would never get him clean.

“People were drugged, and your dragon killed all the witnesses.” She said it like it was nothing.

Kamir turned his head slowly and stared at her, then sat up. He couldn’t threaten her but he could at least be vertical. “It was supposed to be an illusion.”

“I cannot be expected to control your dragon,” she snapped out. No, he despised her, but his beast was his responsibility. The deaths were his fault.

“From what I have observed,” she continued. “Damatrious will plunge the country into chaos. He refuses to listen to his father, and he won’t honor any agreement I have made. He also refuses to see me alone.”

Kamir studied her. So, she couldn’t bend Damatrious to her will unless she got him alone. That was why she was here.

“I don’t have the time to alter the minds of the assembly, and there is nothing I can do to delay a punishment.” So she wasn’t that powerful. She’d already admitted she needed Damatrious on his own. “Iskar is dead. That is what triggered the purifying. If both had died Gabar wouldn’t have called for it.” Gabar wanted to use him. Damatrious was probably giddy with the thought of all that power, and he would have the country embroiled in a war very soon.

“Because Damatrious got called away on a ridiculous military issue, he is now acting emir.”

Yes, because the law was different for first born sons. They became the emir immediately and had six lunar months to prove it if they hadn’t already shifted on their sixteenth birthday. Dametrious could only call himself acting emir. Kamir stared at her, trying to work out if she told the truth. But it made sense because neither Elainore nor Gabar wanted him dead. They wanted Gabar to rule which he could only do with Kamir there. The illusion was because he had undisputedly produced a dragon. But then…

Of course. Both sons were supposed to die. To ensure the rule fell to him and Gabar. But Damatrious was alive.

“Damatrious is a complication I didn’t foresee,” Elainore admitted, knowing he had come to the same conclusion as she.

But none of it mattered. Being innocent of one death didn’t absolve him of the others. The thought of all those dead made him want to throw up. It didn’t appease his conscience that he hadn’t slaughtered Iskar himself, because the blood of all the others was firmly on his hands. “What do you expect me to do?” Kamir asked. Not that he had any intention of begging for his life.

“I need a delay to enable me to get to Damatrious to sort all this out. You are allowed a family member to speak for you, so I understand, and that would trigger the delay. Clearly your uncle cannot fulfil that role because it concerns the death of his son.”

Kamir scoffed. “I don’t have any brothers, or I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.” He wouldn’t even be alive.

She tutted. “You have a sister.”

Kamir was briefly stunned that she would even be allowed to speak, but then understanding slammed in and glared at Elainore. “I will tell you and my uncle once and once only; there isn’t any reality where I would bring Veda back here to let Gabar get his filthy hands on her.” She was too far away, thankfully, to petition the assembly in time. It would be over because he wouldn’t ask for a delay. Good. He needed her safe.

Elainore’s smile fell. “Look, all I want is land for my people. I’m sure you really don’t wish to burn to death.”

“Not especially,” Kamir said. “But I came here knowing I would either bring forth my dragon or die. There was no middle ground.” And he’d brought forth his dragon, and many people had died for it.

“But I am offering you one.” Frustration colored her tone, and Kamir could imagine her stamping her foot.

Kamir scoffed. “You don’t have that power any longer.” He had a sick sense of satisfaction that her actions were backfiring.

“Not now,” she agreed. “But a request for the princess would trigger the delay. I thought you wanted to save your people?”

Kamir didn’t laugh, even though he wanted to. “My people may be better off with Damatrious.” They couldn’t be worse off, anyway. If he lived, Gabar would be in charge, and he couldn’t allow that. He knew that was why the lad had been sent. Veda wanted a delay to give her time to get here, but Kamir couldn’t allow that. Too many had died already.

Elainore shook her head. “You’re a fool,” she spat. “I’m handing you your kingdom on a plate.”

“Except you aren’t,” Kamir said softly. “It’s Damatrious’s kingdom, not mine any longer.” He leaned his head back. He was so tired.

“Perhaps Damatrious would meet a fatal accident?”

Kamir closed his eyes, sick of the conversation, but he was immediately lying in the river of blood and opened them quickly. Iskar. The law was complicated. The only way a purifying rite could be sanctioned for someone of such a high rank was if that person had unlawfully killed another of a high rank, which was why his uncle had never thought to use the rite the first time his dragon had supposedly killed people. Because they were soldiers and slaves, and thought lesser of, much to his shame.

Damatrious had much to learn, but of the alternatives he was the best choice. And his grief, his rage, had seemed genuine.

“No more deaths. Especially none in my name.” He was responsible for enough. Without him and Gabar by default, Rajpur had a chance. If he could do one thing for his people it would be that.

She stood and fisted her hands. He could nearly see the frustration burning through her. “They were supposed to be scared of you. No one expected Damatrious to be absent—”

“Enough!” Kamir spat. “I don’t care. Just get out and take your lies with you.”

Her eyes flashed. “Very well. When the flames lick your skin I hope you remember you had a choice.”

But he didn’t. He’d never had one. The twelfth bell sounded, and Kamir sighed and stood up. He was alone in the room, and he would go alone to his death. Not that it mattered, and somehow he didn’t feel alone in his heart. The memory of Tsaria’s touch was with him.

And the hope of his love.

Chapter twenty-three

They heard the sound of hooves from a distance and Tsaria’s heart threatened to stop. It was an exact repeat of the clash that had resulted in him being taken to the sewers and nearly dying, except Moxie had saved his life. “Stay down,” Tam ordered. “Get under the seat.”

Tsaria obeyed. He had no fighting skills. The hooves sounded louder, and he knew the moment the driver realized he couldn’t outrun them and slowed. The cart came to a stop, but he was so covered in sacks he couldn’t properly hear what was being said. What was Tam saying? Any second, they would search the wagon. He heard Tam shout something, then the sound of a blade drawn, and that was it. He shoved the sacks away as best he could and yelled. “I’m here. Leave them alone. I just hired a cart,” he added. He might not have any skill with weapons, but he wasn’t about to hide while they hurt Tam. The flap, ripped as it was, was roughly torn aside by one of the biggest men he’d ever seen.

He caught a flash of dark brown eyes, jet-black skin, a completely bald head, and a gold ring through the man’s nose before rough hands grabbed him and yanked him out of the cart. Another man held Tam with a knife across his throat, and the driver was slumped on the ground. Tsaria hoped he was just unconscious.

A fair-skinned man with more tattoos than Tsaria had ever seen swaggered up to him. “You’re the emir’s fuck-toy.”

Tsaria kept his mouth closed. He’d learned to be silent. First with his father, then Ishmael, then every person who had hurt his body because they had the right, and he had none. The man laughed. “I don’t suppose you’re used to talking. I imagine your mouth is used for so much more pleasurable things.”

The man standing to his left leered at him, grabbing his crotch and squeezing. “Do we ‘ave to hand ‘im over?”

Tattoo man, who seemed to be in charge, grunted. “To get the reward.”

Reward? What reward?

“What reward?” Tam demanded.

Tattoo man laughed. “You didn’t know? The palace in Rajpur has posted a very tasty reward for him. We were just lucky we got here first as you passed the border, but there’ll be plenty out trying.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll double it,” Tam said. This time, there was a general snicker all around.

Tattoo man thought that was especially funny. “You got chests of gold in that cart, do you?”

“He means the emir,” Tsaria said. “Kamir will pay any amount to set me free.” Would he, though? He still couldn’t help the little voice that whispered so insidiously that he wasn’t worth what he hoped.

Another snicker. "Well, seeing as how it was his highness that posted the reward, I’m thinking he had a huge change of heart.”

“You saw him write the order, did you?” Tam croaked out. Tsaria saw a line of red bloom on his throat, and he wished he would stay silent. Tattoo man shrugged.

“Royal order means coin. Don’t care who signed it.”

Tsaria swallowed, but it was difficult. He didn’t have a knife to his throat because he supposed they took him to be less of a threat.

He heard a soft twang. A strange noise, but one second the man that held Tam was grinning and the next an arrow was lodged in his forehead. Everyone seemed to freeze, then bedlam erupted.

Or it tried to. The reality was it wasn’t the only arrow, and it was followed by people brandishing swords with deadly accuracy. The men who had stopped the wagon were all lying dead in less time than it had taken him to take a breath.

Tam appeared in front of him, while Tsaria was still trying to process what had happened. “Are you safe?” He couldn’t seem to form words, but then another figure stepped in between him and Tam and chuckled, bowed, and removed his…her hood. “I am sorry we were late.”

It was the same woman who had held him and Jael on the horse when he’d been rescued before. She was stunning. Ink wound its way over both her arms and slid up her neck. She was dressed the same as the rest of them in practical fitted breeches and a shirt, but she stood out even then.

“Who are you?” Tsaria whispered.

She smiled. “Kamir’s sister, Veda. I am very happy to meet you again.” Tsaria didn’t manage to swallow this time, and tears leaked unbidden. Before he knew what was happening, slim but very strong arms surrounded him in a hug he remembered from his flight from the palace dungeons. He tried to remain stoic, cautious, but his heart hurt so much and after a moment, he clung on. He’d have loved a sister.

“I need to get to the palace,” he croaked out.

Veda stepped back and let him go. “Why?”

Tsaria frowned in confusion, but Veda spoke again before he had the chance to. “I’m not saying I don’t think it’s necessary. The exact opposite. I just want to know why you think you need to go.”

And here it was. “Because I love him,” Tsaria almost whispered. “And because I need to tell him that. Because he doesn’t think I do. Because I…failed him.”

Veda hugged him again. “Good answer,” she said, but then her men made Tsaria get back in the cart, surrounding it as they led it off the trail before they decided to stop and camp.

Before Tsaria had much time to think about his declaration, he was sitting nursing a mug of some sort of stew. He doubted he could eat, but Veda simply said that as soon as they had eaten, they were pushing on to the palace. “We’re waiting on information,” Veda explained, “And a safe place to hide. It isn’t that we don’t think it’s urgent.”

“You’re just going to ride in?” he asked doubtfully.

Veda smiled, but it wasn’t as confident. “No, we’re working out a distraction.”

“Meaning?”

She leaned forward. “Kamir has to shift. It’s the only thing that will work. If we just take him back, then the punishment for the villagers stands and they will kill the children. We have men in every one, but the soldiers could overwhelm them.”

Tsaria hung his head. This was his fault. “I don’t know how to make him change.”

Veda tipped her head to the side and considered him. “What happened last time?”

“We-we just touched.” It had been so much more, but he didn’t know how to describe the feeling.

“Did you?” she asked softly.

He met her understanding gaze. “I never felt anything like it.”

Another man Tsaria didn’t recognize came and sat beside Veda, and brushed a kiss on her cheek, handing her a mug. He passed the other to Tsaria and he took it, recognizing the smell of tea, grateful not to have to eat the stew or answer her question when he didn’t know how. “I have a rider on his way with information,” the man said, then stuck his hand out. “Name’s Draul, and I’ve met your emir. He’s not bad. Needs a bit of backbone, but between you and Attiker, I’m sure you can set him straight.”

Veda grinned. “Another territory to cross off your list.” He laughed, then sighed.

“The next won’t be easy.”

Tsaria frowned in confusion. “You have a list?”

He smirked, and Veda giggled. “I won’t be able to join you right away.” She put a hand to her flat belly meaningfully.

Draul hesitated. “Don’t bite my head off, but I’m not sorry you won’t be there. Abergenny is a huge mess, and it will take weeks to get there.”

She noticed Tsaria’s confusion. “Meet my mate, Draul Eryken.”

Tsaria gaped. “Leader of the anti-shifter alliance.” Everyone had heard of him. He should have known with his first name, but he wasn’t expecting to meet a hugely famous human rebel leader. “I don’t understand. I thought you hated the wolves.” How was he a friend of Attiker?

Draul sipped his tea and Tsaria took a sip as well. “Yes, until meeting Attiker, I wanted nothing more than to remove their royal arses, but I found out that sometimes they’re exactly what’s needed for the people. I was wrong about Raz, and he proves it every day. Someday it won’t be birthright that dictates who’s in charge of other people’s lives, but that might not happen in my lifetime.” He shrugged. “In the meantime, I want to make sure empty bellies are filled and if people want to trade their bodies, they do that by choice.”

Tsaria froze. “Choice?”

“I have no issue with adult sex workers, so long as they choose it and get paid,” Kamir said. “What I have trouble with is anyone forced into it because of poverty and drugs. Fever white won’t ever go away, despite what some wish. But most take it as an escape, a promise of a better life even for a bell and only in their imagination. Who wouldn’t want to escape from drudgery?”

Tsaria met Draul’s brown eyes and recognized the pain he had seen in many others. He was speaking from experience, and his heart ached for him. He glanced at Veda. “Should I offer my congratulations?”

She smiled and patted her belly affectionately. “This one’s for Attiker and Raz. I’m merely a surrogate because despite them working on it and him being perfect, Flynn doesn’t have a wolf because Raz definitely can’t sense one, and that’s so enshrined in the Cadmeeran constitution, even the humans might object. Raz and Attiker are hoping for a compromise, but we’ll see. It’s interesting times.”

Tsaria remembered Flynn and how he was with Jael, and his heart ached for them both. Jael must think he’d been abandoned, and he’d be right.

What a waste. Tsaria had made so many foolish mistakes. In protecting his heart, he’d probably lost it.

He heard running footsteps, and a man hurried over and whispered something to Draul. “Good,” Draul answered. “Ask him to come and warm himself here and see to his horse.”

Tsaria heard the hooves and assumed this was the rebel with the information they sought. Draul stood up as a man in a cloak came striding over to them. Draul shook his hand and pulled him in close. “Come and sit. Tell us what is going on.” The man sat cross-legged on the matting by the fire, accepted a mug that Veda passed him, then pulled back his hood and stared right into Tsaria’s eyes.

Tsaria gasped in shock and stared back, open-mouthed.

Draul glanced between them and frowned. “You two know each other?”

Tsaria couldn’t have found words if his life depended on it.

“You could say that,” Tomas said slowly, “Tsaria is my little brother and I haven’t seen him for over eight summers.”

The silence was suddenly all-encompassing. Tsaria didn’t move. He couldn’t get his frozen limbs to do anything. Tomas was in the human alliance? Draul sighed. “I know this is shite, but we don’t have time for family reunions now. What do you know?”

Tomas dragged his eyes from Tsaria. “Iskar is dead, and Damatrious is blaming Kamir’s dragon—”

“No,” his tongue suddenly loosened. “Kamir would never kill anyone.”

Tomas eyed him. “Well, someone did. I couldn’t get into the main hall, but seven members of the ruling assembly are also dead. Damatrious has summoned Kamir at twelfth bell to be charged and if the majority of the assembly find him guilty, he will be cleansed by fire.”

Veda paled and covered her mouth with her palm as if she was going to be sick.

“What does that mean?” Tsaria asked, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Draul looked at Veda and she lowered her hand. “It’s an ancient punishment,” she said. “Not been used for centuries. It basically means my brother will be tied to a stake and burned alive.”

Her last word was choked out and Draul drew her into his arms. Tsaria was on his feet before he even realized it. “We need to go.” 

Draul looked at him. “You said you didn’t know how to bring forth his dragon.”

“True, but I will never find out hiding here,” Tsaria said.

“That was you?” Tomas asked, disbelief obvious in his voice but got to his feet. “Then you ride with me. We haven’t time for carts, and we need to be quick. We barely have four bells before the twelfth.”

Everyone else stood, but Tomas shook his head at them. “Be ready at the south gate, but you can’t come with me now. I cannot get more than one inside.”

Draul nodded once. “We have fresh horses waiting.” Except it became clear that Tsaria had only ever sat a horse once in his life, so Tomas picked the largest of the two and Draul practically lifted Tsaria up so he was sitting in front of Tomas.

“Ready?”

No. But if he had any chance of saving Kamir he had to be.

Chapter twenty-four

They were silent for a time. Tomas wasn’t driving the horse hard, which Tsaria could understand as he was carrying double, but then the terrain became rocky and Tsaria knew they were above the cliffs near the Market of All Souls. Tsaria knew he should say something to Tomas, but he didn’t know what.

“Did you know we aren’t blood-brothers?”

Tsaria jerked so hard, if Tomas hadn’t had his arms wrapped around him, he would have fallen off. “What?” he whispered, and would have doubted Tomas even heard him above the noise of the hooves if he hadn’t answered.

“I don’t think Alain remembers, but your ma came to the farm when you were a newborn.” Tsaria could barely do more than shake his head. “She was a slave from one of the bigger houses, cast out because she got pregnant. When Father found her she was half frozen, curled around you in the barn. My own mother had left for a better life not long after Alain was born. Father was cruel even then, and a band of troupers came through. Ma could sing and she just left.”

Tsaria wanted to ask, “Without you?” but that would have been cruel, so he kept his mouth closed. “Father grew more bitter every day, but when your ma arrived, it seemed to give him a second chance. I was convinced he loved her. She could cook like a dream with barely anything and she always smiled.” Tomas was silent for a moment, and Tsaria didn’t break it. “You were toddling and into everything, and Father, Alain, and I were in the fields. Not sure exactly what happened, but the door was left open, and you got out. She’d put you down for a nap and was making bread and didn’t know you were up until she went to wake you and you’d gone.”

Tomas hesitated while the horse picked his way through a pile of rocks before they hit a smoother track.

“She found you just as you reached the creek. We heard her screams but couldn’t get there fast enough. She couldn’t swim, but she still threw herself in after you. Father got to you just as you both reached the big bend. He reached out and managed to grab you but couldn’t get to her. She slipped away because of the fast current. He found her dead two miles away, and even though it wasn’t your fault—”

“He blamed me,” Tsaria finished. It explained so much.

“Father changed again, and…I’m sorry, but I blamed you as well. We were always poor, but when we lost your ma, it was like we lost Father all over again. I tried for so long to make him listen to my ideas for the farm, but then one day he came back from the market and said he’d found a way of getting us through the bad harvest.”

“The day he took me to Ishmael,” Tsaria said quietly.

“I’m just as much to blame. I was a horrible brother.”

Tsaria took a deep breath and let his resentment go. “No, you were a child as well. Obviously, Father influenced you. You were just trying to do what you thought was best.”

“I hated myself for it. Hated the rich. Hated those that would buy children, but hated those that would sell them even more. I had a massive fight with Father and told Alain I was going to visit Ishmael and see what I could do to get you back. I had a little money from extra work saved that Father didn’t know about and told Alain. I was always good with horses and could train them to the plow for others. We agreed to go the next day, but when I got home Alain had told Father and he had found the coins, and what I was going to use it for. He beat me so I could barely stand and took all the money. I left and joined the army three days later.” He was silent for a long moment. “I was always going to come for you, and I’ll never forgive myself for not doing so.”

But Tsaria had. He’d forgiven him, and haltingly, he told him about Alain.

“I wish I was surprised,” Tomas said. “I went back three summers ago. The land had been sold. Father and Alain were living in the house. Alain was bitter. Blamed me for not sticking around, but he was always lazy. I let it go because he was my younger brother, but at his age I was working twice as hard for Father and training the plow horses. Alain said he found enough seasonal work to keep them both, but from what I could see that was in ale, not food. I offered to find him non-military work with the regiment, but he sneered at me and told me I wasn’t wanted. I left them some money and never went back.”

Tsaria breathed out. It had all been a lie. He doubted if there had even been a wife.

They travelled in silence for another bell, and at another rocky part, Tomas jumped down and led the horse because it was dark, before he mounted again. “So, you’re bonded then?”

Tsaria paused. “Bonded?” He hadn’t heard the term.

“A shifter bonding,” Tomas clarified.

“I don’t know what that is,” Tsaria admitted, feeling foolish.

“I don’t know much, but my sergeant had a wolf and would tell shifter lore to those that were interested. But I suppose you aren’t bonded, as you’re not sick.”

Now Tsaria was really confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“The omega gets sick if his alpha is apart from him for too long in the first few days after they are first bonded.”

Tsaria swallowed heavily. “Doesn’t that apply to just shifters, though? I don’t have a wolf.” Or a dragon.

Tomas seemed to consider that. “Maybe, but then we never knew who your father was.”

“She never said?”

“Not as far as I know, but she’d hardly tell me if she did,” Tomas pointed out. “I do know from my sergeant that if shifter blood is diluted enough, they may carry the gene to pass onto children but are not able to shift themselves.”

“I can’t shift.”

“No, but many omegas can’t.”

Tsaria smiled a little to himself. Not in humor but remembering the conversation with everyone that meant Kamir was the omega, not him, because Kamir could only shift with him. Not that he blamed his brother for the assumption, but he definitely wasn’t about to share. That was private, or as private as it could remain.

“We need to talk about what I can do to get you inside,” Tomas said. Tsaria agreed. They were passing through the outskirts of Rajpur now and would be at the palace in less than a bell.

“I’m worried I’ll still fail,” he blurted out, knowing it wasn’t getting inside that worried him, but not being able to change Kamir into his dragon.

Tomas was silent for a while, but then he asked, “Tell me how you met.” So Tsaria did.

“And you went with Alain because you didn’t trust Kamir? Because Alain played you?” Shame burned through Tsaria.

“He doesn’t know how I feel,” he whispered, feeling his cheeks heat.

“Well, I don’t know about dragons, but I’ve spent the last seven-plus summers with horses and the one thing I know about them is that a horse has to trust you to be able to train them to do anything. And some of them can be buggers until they do. They act all lordly and in charge but really, it’s because they don’t have any confidence in you. They’re skittish until you prove yourself. All them times you touched Kamir, did he trust you?”

Tsaria opened his mouth, but then paused. “He didn’t know me. Of course, he didn’t trust me.”

“He didn’t know you the first time, though, and he changed then,” Tomas pointed out. “What was different?”

Love. Tsaria nearly spoke the word aloud. It had been instant, before all the politics and who they were had gotten in the way. He’d felt such utter peace the first time they had touched, and then every other time it had been veiled in either suspicion or distrust on his part. Every time, he thought Kamir had an ulterior motive. The times they had touched, Tsaria had been protecting himself or unconscious, so he assumed that didn’t count.

“You really think Kamir’s dragon can sense my moods?”

“I don’t know,” Tomas admitted. “I’m just saying horses definitely can, and that’s the animal I have experience with. Hush,” Tomas bent down over Tsaria as they rode past an ale house that had many customers hanging around outside. Tsaria recognized where they were. They weren’t far from the pleasure house. He’d been so caught up in Tomas’s words, he hadn’t noticed.

“What’s the plan?” Tsaria whispered.

“I can get in with my credentials. I have a good track record with the army’s horses. Many generals send for me. I’m going to tell them I was summoned in case the dragon comes forth.”

“Really?” Tsaria squeaked out in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice.

“It’s the only way I can get in,” Tomas said. “Desperate measures, but they’re used to me and won’t question whether I’ve been summoned.” He paused. “My skill isn’t with dragons, obviously, but I’m the closest they have. None of the Rakar beast-masters from the mountains can get here in time.”

It made sense. The Rakars were huge mammals. A cross between a mountain bear and a water-horse, they could travel for days carrying huge weights, with little water to drink, but were hard to manage.

“But I don’t understand how you will get me into the assembly?”

Tomas huffed. “Either tell ‘em you’re my little brother, or well, it will depend on if I recognize the sergeant or not.”

They rode up to the gatehouse. The sergeant examined Tomas’s papers, but it was clear he knew him. Tomas leaned forward conspiratorially. “’Course, I’m hoping it was a bad batch of flanx berries in the wine, but orders is orders.”

The sergeant chuckled, then glanced around to make sure he wasn’t overheard. “Strange going-on though. I saw some of the bodies.”

Tomas sighed and nodded sagely. “I heard there was a sighting of a wild yakish near the base of the pass.”

The sergeant’s eyes widened. “It’d explain it scaling the walls, but strange one would come this close.” He looked around as if expecting the wild lizard-type creature to slither under his desk. “Don’t envy your job.”

“Between you and me?” Tomas whispered. “I was hoping at least one of the Rakar beast-masters could get here.”

The sergeant glanced at Tsaria, who was trying his best to be invisible. “A bit small, isn’t he for managing one of them?”

Tomas took a step away from Tsaria and the sergeant followed him. Tomas mouthed the word “bait” and tapped his nose.

The sergeant nodded sagely and handed Tomas his papers back. “Good hunting.” And they both were let into the throne room.

Kamir stood as his wrists were shackled by the guards. It wasn’t done to restrain him, as there were fifteen guards accompanying him, but to shame him, to enforce he was a prisoner. That, along with his collar, marked him as such.

Not that Kamir cared about status. In fact, he wished to get the whole thing over and done with. He knew he was going to die. He looked up as they entered the throne room and noted the nine remaining ruling assembly members sitting on the dais, and remembered they had been the ones that had looked at him with contempt before. It saddened him, because he knew that meant the ones who had viewed him with an open mind had all been killed in the attack. Elainore and Gabar had been very specific in their kills.

The room was packed with guards, unsurprisingly. Damatrious was standing in the middle of the room, in full uniform, looking every inch the emir he hoped to be. His gaze roamed over the witnesses. Gabar stood alongside Elainore, unsurprisingly, but Gabar seemed less somehow. Not the powerhouse his uncle had always been. Elainore just looked frustrated. She clearly hadn’t managed to gain access to Damatrious, but she would probably try later.

For a moment Kamir felt even more shame. Not for himself, but for the people he had failed to protect. Even if he saved a hundred children today, how many more would die from poverty?

Barely hearing the clerk repeat the list of his sins, his eyes roamed over the crowd of people here to witness his death. In his imagination, Tsaria was standing there, light-brown skin almost luminescent in the light from the multitude of sconces. His beautiful hair flowing down his back and rippled like water. The sun-burnt copper undertones when the light caught it, and those tear-laden silver-gray eyes stunning in their intensity.

Kamir blinked in shock.

“What say you?” Damatrious snapped.

Kamir glanced at his cousin, then back again, as if searching for the same image, even if it was an illusion. The image had been so real, but all he could see now was a sea of guards. Which was good. He might wish in his heart for one last chance to see his beloved, but he knew that wasn’t possible. He would never want Tsaria to be in that much danger, and he knew he was safely back in Cadmeera.

“Are you so craven you don’t even have a defense?” Damatrious thundered, clearly abhorring Kamir’s lack of focus.

Kamir sighed and gave his cousin and the assembly his full attention. “Your minds are already set, and nothing I could say would sway them. All I will add is that I love the people of Rajpur with my whole heart and wish for a better future for them.”

Damatrious scoffed. “With the exception of those you slaughtered.”

Kamir didn’t bother arguing. His dragon hadn’t slaughtered anyone. The same something stirred inside him as before. Kamir tried to focus but the feeling slipped away.

“Assembly,” Damatrious commanded. “You have heard the accused has no defense. As acting emir, I demand your ruling.”

Kamir didn’t bother looking at their faces. He was too busy dreaming of a pair of silver-gray eyes. The only thing that would keep him sane enough to go to his death with dignity.

He saw the assembly members discuss something between them, but their attempt at swathing his death in such gravitas was pathetic, as he knew full well they had already made up their minds.

The leader of the assembly cleared his throat. “The people of Rajpur”—now that was silly. The assembly didn’t speak for the people, they only pretended they did—“find that his holiness, Prince Kamir, has failed to answer the accusations and it is our solemn duty to find the accused guilty and subject to the traditional purifying rite.” The leader of the assembly stared directly at Kamir. “Do you have any final words?”

No, no, he didn’t.

The leader waited a heartbeat for Kamir to answer, but when he didn’t, he looked up at the assembled people. “Then it is the will of the people of Rajpur that Prince Kamir be taken immediately from this place and tied to the purification stone and be absolved of his sin in front of all witnesses gathered.”

Kamir closed his eyes briefly as he felt hands clasp his arms in case he was unwilling to move. He kept his eyes closed as rough hands pushed him forward, having no intention of opening them. Closed, he could still imagine the silver-gray eyes were staring at him, and he had no desire to find out that was yet another fanciful illusion.

Chapter twenty-five

Tsaria stood hidden behind Tomas and drank in Kamir as the clerk of the ruling assembly proclaimed Kamir responsible for the slaughter of fourteen people.

He looked thinner than barely a few days ago when he’d seen him last, and he had a horrid thick collar wrapped around his neck. Tsaria ached once more to take care of him. No one else did, and Kamir clearly wasn’t capable of doing it himself. No, no, that wasn’t fair. He was eminently capable of a lot of things. Tam had shared everything he knew of Kamir as they travelled, and apparently he was singlehandedly responsible for ending the war with Cadmeera. The princess had been necessary and Tam had been vague on details, but he had negotiated the terms of surrender with the old king of Cadmeera and had helped Attiker defeat the insane leader of Abergenny when he had tried to poison Raz’mar and mount an invasion. He had heard of the people’s champion, Attiker, before he had even met him. Not that he could do something like that, but Tsaria wished he had the chance to try.

Kamir wasn’t a coward, but because of outdated laws, he had been stripped of any power and his uncle had nearly brought Rajpur to its knees. A job, he was sure, his son would finish admirably.

“It’s only because of Iskar that Damatrious can call for this punishment,” Tomas whispered.

Because in Rajpur, all deaths weren’t counted equally.

Tsaria glanced around nervously. There seemed more people in here now than when they had come in and he caught sight of a strange group of men and women who had come in then had spread themselves out at the back. They were dressed in the normal clothes of tradesmen and the like, but their feet were bare. It struck him as odd, and he wasn’t sure why. More than one had lip rings, and some had nose rings as well, joined together by a chain. No one was taking any notice, so he looked back and met a familiar pair of amber eyes. Tsaria’s breath caught in his throat. Kamir.

He was helpless to look away, but then the clerk demanded Kamir’s attention. He watched the almost vacant expression on Kamir’s face and knew he was distancing himself in his mind. There had been no shock from Kamir as he had looked at Tsaria and he realized Kamir thought Tsaria was a figment of his imagination.

The clerk asked again if Kamir admitted responsibility for the deaths and Kamir looked straight at Damatrious and was silent for a moment, before he spoke. “What difference would any denial make?”

“Is that an admission?” Damatrious demanded before the clerk got the chance to reply.

“If you like,” Kamir replied softly and ignored all the gasps around the room, including Tsaria’s.

Why? Why wasn’t he fighting? Tsaria nearly asked the question out loud, but then he took in Kamir’s defeated gaze, and knew why. Kamir couldn’t let the children die. He had no hope of saving his people. He had no hope of changing into his dragon. He had no hope of any future where he was loved, and that was Tsaria’s own fault. He had done that. He hadn’t trusted Kamir enough, and now it was too late.

The throne room doors opened at the back at the same time that Kamir was surrounded. But Kamir wasn’t fighting. He simply ignored the guards’ unnecessary rough handling and went outside. All the witnesses followed in hushed fascination, which made Tsaria feel sick. What could he do?

“If you’re going to do anything, now’s the time,” Tomas whispered as they all spread out in a semi-circle in front of the post Kamir was being chained to. The base was stone, and Tsaria watched what they were doing with abhorrence. The stone was covered in straw and wood chips. He’d understood what cleansing by fire meant in an abstract way but seeing his gentle man tied to a post on a bed of kindling was a horror he couldn’t comprehend.

The clerk unfurled a scroll.

By the will of the people of Rajpur, Kamir Anslar has been found guilty of the slaughter of innocents and is sentenced to the cleansing of the goddess.

Tsaria’s heart broke, and he took a step forward. Tomas immediately covered him by stepping up, too. The guards recognized Tomas and relaxed. They would assume Tomas was checking Kamir wasn’t about to change into his dragon. After all, that was why he’d claimed to be here.

The kindling lit, Damatrious stepped back as Tsaria stepped forward again, the heat fanning his skin.

And because he was suddenly the closest, he caught Kamir’s gaze. For an endless second Kamir gazed at him with adoration until he noticed Tomas move, and Kamir blinked. Horror warped Kamir’s calm features, and he shook his head frantically, but Tsaria knew. Kamir had just worked out that Tsaria wasn’t an illusion.

Flames roared as it seemed like the pyre Kamir was standing on caught at once. He heard a distressed noise from one of the witnesses but tuned it out and took another step. Flames licked at Kamir’s feet. He felt people’s heads turn, unable to look, but he was sure there were as many that gloried in the sick sight. He took another step forward toward those amber eyes. The ones he adored so much.

Then the flames caught beneath Kamir and Kamir was suddenly surrounded by a fiery wall. The fire smothered him and in his head Tsaria heard a cry of torment. No. Kamir was hurt, and Tsaria had to soothe him. There was nothing else in his mind and body except that need, and ignoring the guards’ shouted warnings, Tsaria took the few steps onto the pyre, and simply walked through the flames. He reached for Kamir and brought his hands up to clasp his cheeks. The pain ravaging his features instantly diminished. He wanted Kamir to hold him, but the chains… “I love you,” Tsaria promised while the fire raged around them. Flames roared over their bodies.

“How are you—” Kamir gasped, but then Tsaria decided Kamir’s lips had better uses than forming words, and he stood in the middle of a fire that should have roasted them alive and kissed him.

Flames roared around them, and it was as if they were one. The flames blasted through them, joining them together. Bonding them for all time.

Tsaria drew back a little for breath, cocooned by the flames that didn’t hurt them, that could never hurt them.

“This is impossible,” Kamir’s voice broke.

“No, my love. We are bonded.” He knew deep inside him it was true. “You have a dragon, an elemental used to the heat of the fire mountain. It was our bonding that protected you. In here you are safest and you are keeping me so, but I think the people of Rajpur need to see your dragon. You need to take your throne and end this nonsense.”

“And you’ll stay with me?” Kamir almost begged.

Tsaria’s eyes burned. “I never want to be anywhere else.” He kissed him once more and demanded Kamir’s dragon come forth, pouring all the love in his heart into the command. Kamir arched his back and roared, his voice quickly becoming flames that poured from his throat and the collar dropped uselessly to the ground. Tsaria didn‘t move as Kamir grew scales and a huge tail. He wasn’t scared. He was in love. The audience clearly didn’t agree and started screaming. Many ran. The guards that drew their swords were shot a warning flame. The ones who backed away were spared, and any who thought to draw a weapon against Kamir’s bonded were incinerated on the spot.

Kamir’s dragon roared again, the people who had stayed trying to cover their ears at the deafening noise, until with a whoosh the fire went out, and the kindling and the post became simple ash. The silence was palpable. Tsaria glanced down at the collar and the chains that had held Kamir, nothing but a twisted, molten mess on the floor. And amongst all that, Kamir just stood breathing heavily. Tsaria stepped close and put a hand to Kamir’s neck. He would never let anyone hurt him ever again. “Your people need to hear you speak.”

Kamir changed instantly back to human, dressed still in his imperial clothes, and the audience gasped. Tsaria wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. They weren’t impressed by his dragon, simply that Kamir could appear fully dressed when he changed back?

But maybe they were in shock. It was one thing to hear of a legend, it was another to see a living, breathing embodiment of it. He met Kamir’s eyes and gloried in the trust in them. The love. He would never doubt him again.

“I am Kamir Anslar, son and heir of the last Emir of Rajpur and direct descendant. You have seen me cleansed by the goddess and change into my animal, fulfilling the qualifying edicts to assume my throne.” He looked at Damatrious, who to his credit was one of the ones who hadn’t run, then dropped his voice. “I didn’t kill your brother. I don’t know how she is managing this but the enchantress Elainore from the sand people is responsible and must be detained right away. She has your father in her thrall and was responsible for the deaths.”

Damatrious gaped.

Tsaria glanced around. He didn’t see Gabar anywhere, but they were in the courtyard, which was filling up quickly as the word about Kamir was obviously spreading.

Damatrious beckoned his guards. “Seal the palace. No one in or out, especially Lord Anslar. On my order.” The guards all jumped to attention and left, but a new influx of people surged out to the courtyard.

Damatrious turned back to Kamir, then slowly but deliberately bent his knee and knelt in supplication. “Highness, please accept my apologies and my undying loyalty. You survived the cleansing, and it is clear you have the blessing of the goddess” Damatrious bowed his head and drew his right hand across his chest. That must mean something because he’d seen those close to Raz and Attiker do the same.

A cheer went up and in the blink of an eye, people tried to crowd around. The witnesses, guards, even servants came to cheer and bless their new emir. But then the crowd swelled again. It seemed that everyone wanted to swear their love and loyalty. Someone bumped into Tsaria and he had to let go of Kamir just to stay on his feet, and instantly a wall of people separated them.

Tsaria stumbled again as someone crowded him. A sting bit his neck at the same time, and Tsaria brought his hand up even as he looked down to see where he could safely place his sandals.

The last thing he remembered seeing was a pair of bare feet.

Chapter twenty-six

Kamir’s dragon roared. It took him a moment to work out it had actually been in his head and he hadn’t just roasted the entire throng, when a feeling of utter loss, closely followed by panic, swept through him. He knew it was Tsaria before any other thought came to mind. “Silence!” he shouted, and every single person stilled.

He glanced around. “Where is my bonded?” He couldn’t see him. He couldn’t feel him. “Sire?” Damatrious said in confusion. “I wasn’t aware—”

“The sand people,” Tomas shouted, struggling to get through the crowd that had pinned him in the corner. “They were surrounding him, but I couldn’t see properly.”

“My bonded is the man that accompanied this soldier into the chamber,” Kamir said, remembering they had stood together, his feet already moving to the entrance before a dozen guards stepped up to him.

“Search the palace,” Damatrious ordered and began giving specific instructions on which entrances should be blocked.

Kamir glanced around. “Where is my life sentinel?” Damatrious paled.

“I will have him brought.”

Which Kamir knew meant Mansala was in the dungeon, and much as Kamir wanted to rush after Tsaria, he knew he couldn’t help without having some idea of where they had taken him. Kamir wanted to flay them all alive, but Damatrious seemed to have command of the guards, and Kamir needed that. “From this moment, you are commander of my armies,” he decreed.

Damatrious looked stunned, but then bowed his head. “I will not let you down, Highness.”

“Seize him!”

Everyone turned at his uncle’s voice and Kamir almost found fleeting amusement. If Tsaria was here, when Tsaria was here, they would laugh together at the pathetic excuse for his uncle, even surrounded by the newly arrived imperial guard.

Damatrious stepped forward and inserted himself in between the guards and Kamir. Not that he needed it, but just at that moment a beaten and bloody Mansala arrived as well. The differences were stark between Mansala and Gabar. Despite what he had clearly endured in the dungeon, Mansala—as always—carried himself with dignity and purpose.

“My lord,” Damatrious said, addressing his father. “His highness has just proved his right to the crown of Rajpur by surviving the cleansing and shifting into his animal. I am a witness and have already withdrawn my claim.” He looked to the imperial guard. “Protect his highness, as is your sworn duty.”

Before Kamir had the chance to even take a breath, the guards surrounded him and Mansala like a protective cloak. But Kamir didn’t want that. He needed to find his bonded, or his soon to be bonded. He felt rather than heard an objection in his mind as clear as if someone had spoken, then the image of the two of them in flames. His dragon couldn’t have spoken more clearly if he had shouted. They were bonded, but he still couldn’t feel Tsaria. He turned to Mansala. “We think the sand people have Tsaria. Whatever else you do, please find him.”

He ignored his uncle’s pathetic protestations and then his attempt to insert himself between Kamir and Damatrious. Damatrious wasn’t having it, and neither was he, and successfully ignored, Gabar was pushed out. Kamir dismissed him.

Barely three bells later Kamir had to accept that neither Tsaria, Elainore, nor any of the sand people were in the palace or the immediate vicinity. Apart from one unit of the imperial guard who refused to leave Kamir’s side, every soldier Damatrious could get his hands on had searched all possible venues within a distance a group of twenty could travel quickly. Kamir had sensed Tsaria’s absence almost right away, and he didn’t understand how they could simply vanish, unless Elainore had managed to throw an illusion up for everyone, but then most of the witnesses had been drugged earlier. He knew she wasn’t as powerful as she was making people think. The soldiers were still knocking on doors and insisting on inspecting every building, but that took time.

Kamir paced.

Then paced some more.

“I want soldiers sent to the endless desert in case they’ve somehow slipped past us.”

“It’s been done, Highness.” Mansala frowned. “But I do not understand how even the swiftest horses could get away that quickly.”

Kamir whirled around. “You think they’re hiding? But isn’t every building being searched?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be looking in buildings.”

Kamir stared at Tam, who had just walked into the throne room. He caught on instantly. “The sewers?”

“They’ve just vanished,” Tam said.

“But didn’t you say she could create an illusion?” Mansala interrupted.

“But one large enough to hide them all?” Kamir questioned. He sat down on one of the daybeds, not certain how much longer his legs would hold him up. “This makes no sense. She said she was willing to create an illusion of my dragon, and she did so to cover the deaths, possibly including Iskar’s, but in return for land for her people. She must know I wouldn’t simply give her and her people a home here after taking Tsaria.”

“So she must have another motive,” Mansala said carefully.

“Do we have any experts on them?”

Mansala smiled. “Yes, Highness, you.”

Kamir drew in a breath, but his chest hurt. It was true he had included them in the research he had done, including the great sandstorm that was supposedly a punishment from the goddess that had buried what was once a thriving city. “I mean modern ones. Not someone that merely knows their history.” He blinked. “Water, food, trade. They must deal with someone for that. The desert is an inhospitable place.”

“They come to the trade district market, Highness, at the south of the city.”

“Not the Lost Souls?” Kamir asked bitterly.

Tam shook his head. “I’ve never seen them there. The trade district market is nearer the passes to the endless desert, and mostly deals in simple food stuffs and farm animals.”

Frustration at not having knowledge about the kingdom he was supposed to govern flooded Kamir. He should know these things. Why in seven hells had he always buried himself in the library?

Because you never expected to live to rule.

But it was a poor excuse and one Tsaria was suffering for. 

“Sire,” the soldier who’d come with Tsaria spoke hesitantly, and Kamir turned to him, ashamed he had pretty much ignored him since Tsaria went missing. He realized he hadn’t even questioned the soldier’s presence or why he was with Tsaria. All he knew was that his dragon was at peace with the soldier, so Kamir had been as well. He was quickly learning to trust his dragon’s instincts.

“Speak freely,” Kamir ordered.

The soldier inclined his head. “My name is Tomas, and I have been working secretly with Draul Eryken and now Princess Veda for the last four summers. I was responsible for getting Tsaria in here, as I have a reputation as a large beast trainer.”

“And they thought you were here to control my dragon,” Kamir surmised, unsurprised Veda or Draul had a hand in this. “Where are they now?”

“Waiting to be summoned if needed, but I knew only I would be able to get Tsaria in here.”

Sudden anger flared in Kamir. This man had put his beloved in danger. “You will address him as his highness.”

“Sire, I understand your anger.”

Kamir scoffed. “I doubt it.”

“Tsaria is my little brother.”

Kamir gaped, and with the shock, shame replaced his anger. “I—I apologize,” Kamir said. “I had no right to speak to you thus when you are trying to help me and my people.”

“His highness told me—”

But Kamir stopped him with an impatient huff. “Again, my apologies. Of course, you have the right to call your brother by his given name.”

“He told me Alain had tricked him, your highness. There is no time to go into our family history, but I didn’t treat Tsaria well when I was younger, and when our father sold him, I decided I couldn’t stand by and live in a world where that could happen. I joined the army and eventually met Draul. But what is important is that I spent some time with the Rakar beast-masters last year.”

Kamir wasn’t sure how summoning them, if that was what Tomas wanted, could help.

“I spent three months with them perfecting my own skills, and they told me rumors of why the sand people had been banished in the first place, and that once they had a thriving city.”

“Supposedly they displeased the goddess, and she covered it in a single night with a tremendous sand storm,” Kamir finished, knowing the history.

“Some of them had talents. The main one that the Rakar beast-master had heard about was their ability to bring forth the beast inside a man.”

Kamir agreed. “She said that, but she also told me she couldn’t control my dragon. I think her illusions are a clever mesmerism, almost as if she causes mass hysteria, but she relies on drugs to help with that as well.” He glanced at Damatrious. “She was desperate to get you on your own, so without help she can’t control a room. We know that the first time my dragon was supposed to have killed, the burns were used to cover up sword injuries inflicted at my uncle’s command, and I imagine some similar deception was wrought this time.”

Damatrious sighed heavily and bowed his head.

“This is where the beast-masters’ account slightly differs from what you know,” Tomas said. “Yes, they had the ability to control a beast such as a wolf, but only if the human was full of evil intent and had slowly poisoned the animal he housed.” He stepped forward. “I doubt, for instance, she could affect Damatrious’s wolf and that was why she needed him alone for mesmerism to work.”

“Ibrahim,” Damatrious said suddenly. “My guards were summoned to dispose of his mutilated body. Father said he had caught him with a slave girl and punished him, but from what I’ve heard that would have been a first, as he had multiple sins he was never punished for before.” He glanced at Tomas. “You think Elainore was responsible?”

“How did he die?”

“According to my sources, his throat was slit so badly his head was nearly severed.”

“Which seems too personal a punishment when a sword or a guard holding a sword would suffice,” Kamir said, and felt a sense of satisfaction in his mind. So, his dragon agreed with him.

Kamir gazed at Tomas, who was staring back at him. “There’s something else.” He watched as Tomas’s eyes widened slightly and he huffed.

“It’s an old wives’ tale. Even the beast-masters didn’t believe it, but it’s supposedly the reason they can control the beasts whose minds have been poisoned. We know they were supposed to receive the retribution of the goddess, but not why. This was apparently the reason.”

“I understand, but even so please tell us,” Kamir encouraged.

“According to rumors the sand people aren’t born with animals, but over time some learned how to…” Tomas winced. “Create one inside them.”

“How so?” Mansala asked.

“Creating their own wolf sounds a little far-fetched,” Kamir said doubtfully.

Tomas shook his head. “No, sire. I’m talking creatures such as the yakish. Serpents and the like.” Tomas looked revolted. “Something to do with babies being given such an animal’s blood along with their mother’s milk.” He shuddered. “Sorry, I did say it was probably a tall tale.”

But then Kamir remembered something in one of the ancient scrolls he’d read. That the sand people were originally referred to as Serpents of the Sand. It had been shortened to just sand people for hundreds of summers, but he knew that sometimes truth hid in superstition. He looked at Mansala. “The sand people were once called the Serpents of the Sand. I assumed it was a slur, as they aren’t liked, but maybe there is some truth in it?”

No one answered Kamir, but then no one needed to. 

Another two bells dragged on. “Highness.” One of Damatrious’s sergeants hurried into the throne room. “I have no news, but the men are expanding the search. They will send birds to notify us of each area cleared.”

Kamir focused on Damatrious. “Do you think it’s worth asking your father about Elainore?”

Damatrious ground his jaw. “I had the same thought before we even knew about this latest development. He’s not in his rooms. I have servants and palace guards searching.”

There was a commotion at the door and a youth accompanied by three guards scurried in. Head down, it was hard to tell his age, but by height alone Kamir guessed no more than seven or eight summers, so in some circles he would be considered a man. Something else Kamir hoped to change if he got the chance.

The guards bowed but addressed Damatrious as their commander. “My lord, we have witness testimony.”

Kamir watched as the boy shuffled nervously, and Kamir walked over, bending down and extending his hand. “You are not in any trouble.” The boy looked up and Kamir gasped. “Jael? Jael? By all that’s holy, where on earth did you come from?”

Jael must have answered but Kamir’s heart was beating so loudly he barely heard what Tam repeated, but then Jael coughed and Kamir quickly poured some fruit juice from the tables and handed it to the boy, who downed it gratefully. Kamir desperately tried to rein in his impatience.

“The Eastside have visitors,” he said, like Kamir was supposed to understand what that meant. He looked helplessly at Tam, but Tam was concentrating on the boy. “Moxie’s scouts saw them a bell ago. Paying for protection overnight,” Jael added.

“Moxie,” Kamir repeated, struggling to understand how a boy they’d left in Cadmeera managed to get here on his own.

“Highness,” Tam interrupted and focused on Jael. “Do you know how many visitors?”

“Moxie thinks at least twenty, but the female leading them is wrapped.”

“Wrapped?” Kamir blurted out. Jael nodded.

“In chains.”

Kamir blinked in confusion, but Tam answered. “Gold, Highness.” And Kamir’s breath caught, remembering the gold Elainore wore.

“Moxie doesn’t know how long they’ll be there for, but if you send guards, they’ll know instantly and vanish down the tunnels. Safe to say Eastside wouldn’t risk outsiders knowing where they were unless it was for a lot of coin. She wants to know what to do and sent me because she knew you’d believe me.”

Kamir nodded, pretending everything Jael said was reasonable.

“She also said don’t come because they see anyone they don’t recognize, and they might hurt him.” Jael swallowed heavily and at that moment Kamir knew Jael understood exactly who they thought was trapped down there.

“Are you on your own?” Kamir asked, terrified for a moment that Flynn and Candy were here. “And how are you here?”

“I was in the passageways when Tsaria got out. Followed him to the kitchen as I thought the surprise would be funny, but then he got into the cart. I was gonna follow but Cookie came back.”

“But I saw you before I left,” Kamir protested. “And you never said a word.”

Jael shrugged. “I knew you’d be leaving.”

Kamir stared at him in shocked understanding. “You hid in my carriage? But that’s impossible.”

Jael shrugged. “Underneath. But I jumped off when it slowed for the inn, in case you were mad and might send me back if you saw me.”

“Blessed goddess,” Kamir choked out and wrapped his arms around Jael and pulled him in tight. “We’re gonna find him. I promise.”

“How did you find Moxie?” Tam asked.

Jael sighed. “I waited around the inn to see if I could see Tsaria, but the inn-keep thought I was trying to thieve so he chased me off. I went to the palace eventually when one of the chambermaids told me you’d left, but the guards just laughed at me. Said I would be hung as an example if I didn’t skedaddle. I lived rough for a few days, but I was starving. I tried to go for a purse, and someone called Pip saw me. Told me I had talent, but needed help, so they took me underground, fed me, and that’s when I met Moxie. The other rats were still talking about the body slave, and I quickly worked out it was Tsaria. I was just tellin’ Moxie when Catnip came and told her about the eastside gang and their visitors. I said I would try again with the guards.”

“Sergeant heard him mention the dragon,” the guard put in. “Thought he should be brought here.”

“But wouldn’t you have been told he was missing?” Damatrious asked.

Tam cleared his throat apologetically. “I received a missive from Ash, and I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled, but they’re searching for him in Cadmeera.”

“You didn’t think it was important to tell me?” Kamir asked incredulously. Tam remained silent and while Kamir understood, he was sick of other people making decisions for him.

Damatrious thanked and dismissed the guards, leaving everyone staring at Jael. “I can take a message,” Jael said hopefully, “but Moxie says we can’t hang about ‘cos if they get to the catacombs we’ve no chance.” Jael looked ready to bolt, and Kamir didn’t blame him. He wanted to bolt as well.

“Tam?” Kamir prompted.

“He’s correct in that if we send guards, the sand people be gone moments after we step into the sewers,” Tam confirmed. “I was blindfolded, and I know each gang has scouts on their territories, not just for outsiders, but from other gangs. Territory is hard-won and fiercely fought over.”

“Suggestions?” Mansala murmured.

Tam looked at Mansala. “I can get in since I’ve been seen about the city and in the sewers, but no one else. I’ll get to Moxie and her rats. She can tell us which direction they are using and work out their exit.” Kamir wrinkled his nose in disgust at children being called vermin but kept silent. It was his fault, the emir’s fault, that they were there in the first place.

“Tam, go prepare what you need. Mansala, can you work out where Damatrious needs to position the guards so you can get Tsaria free? We need a meeting place. She can’t be allowed to do this a second time.” Kamir turned to Jael. “Come and eat.” He turned to Mansala. “I’m taking him to my private salon for food.”

Kamir led Jael out of the throne room and stayed silent as four imperial guards fell in to escort them. But once they were in his private salon, he dismissed them and led Jael to the refreshments always laid out, and Jael fell upon the food.

Kamir watched and felt just as useless even with the new information. He wanted to go find his beloved himself, and he heard an almost deafening roar in his head.

At least someone agreed with him.

Chapter twenty-seven

The smell hit him even before Tsaria woke and it made him gag, both thanks to the stench of the sewers and the knowledge of where he was, and he struggled to withhold the groan. He knew why he’d been taken, but not why he was in the sewers. He was alone, but as he tried to lift his arm, he realized he was bound.

Had Moxie rescued him from the sand people? But that made no sense. He wouldn’t be tied up and alone if so, and they would have sent word to Tam. It had to be Elainore that still had him, even down here, because he could be used to gain leverage with Kamir. It was hard to acknowledge that his ability to bring forth the dragon was the only measure of his worth. That he’d never once been valued for himself, simply what he could do for others. Even with his father. Stepfather? It made a sick kind of sense, he supposed, that he’d never had any value to him. In fact, Alain’s betrayal had been worse. His father had never pretended any kind of affection and while he had been a baby, he was still the catalyst for his ma’s death.

Bitterness coated his tongue, tasting like regret. Had he ever meant anything to anyone just because of who he was, not what he could do? The sand people assumed he was valuable to Kamir, so—

Tsaria’s heart hurt with the memory of Kamir’s terror-filled face when he realized Tsaria wasn’t an image his desperate mind had conjured. He’d been terrified for Tsaria.

He was valuable to Kamir, and not because of the dragon. Because he was loved. And in that moment, captured, chained, and so very alone, he finally felt free for the first time in his life.

Because he was loved.

Kamir hadn’t wanted him there even to save his own life. He wanted Tsaria safe. He’d put Tsaria first. No one had ever done that.

No, that wasn’t true. One person had. His ma, and she had died for it. And whatever happened, he was absolutely determined Kamir wouldn’t have to do the same.

“You’re awake.”

Tsaria turned his head, recognizing Elainore’s voice, but doing his best to school his features against the vision in front of him, one his mind was having difficulty comprehending.

An old woman stood in front of him, flanked by guards. Her words, her voice, he knew were Elainore’s, even as he had only heard her briefly, but her appearance was anything but. He must be mistaken. Elainore had looked twenty-five summers, he would guess, but this woman was at least sixty, and not a kind sixty. Open sores decorated her cracked lips. Her eyes were red-rimmed and blood-shot. She leaned over, her back hunched. Pock marks warred for dominance in the harsh lines of her face, and she smelled like a dead thing, even over the stench of the sewers.

She smiled again, and he held back his revulsion. “Apologies, my name is Elainore, and I am queen of the sand people. We met briefly at the palace as my lord Gabar tried to save your life.”

No, he hadn’t. He could almost smell the lie. And for some reason just at that moment, he remembered the lady Sophia, not that Elainore and she were alike. He’d been a terrified boy and Sophia an older lady, but one without either male or female companionship, other than what she had to pay for. He had no idea how old she was, other than that she occasionally mentioned her grandson. She’d been visiting the pleasure house for some time, according to Ishmael, and was to be treated with the utmost care.

She had sat amongst the silk cushions sipping wine as Tsaria had been brought to her. Ishmael introduced him as their newest acquisition and after studying him for what seemed an endless time, she glanced at Ishmael and ordered food and more wine to be brought. Ishmael’s servants rushed to fulfil her needs, and Tsaria remained standing awkwardly, shaking in utter terror. Technically, she hadn’t been his first because Ishmael used the older boys to train the younger ones, and some were very eager. According to Edger, who was one of Ishmael’s older ones, most male customers wanted a satisfying time and bloodying a boy for the first time wasn’t something most could afford, or even were interested in.

The women wanted those with experience. Sophia was a favorite customer amongst them, but just that weekend, a group of visiting priests had gone too far with seven of Ishmael’s boys and none could so much as stand. It was rumored among the boys that one was even dead.

So yes, Ishmael was forced to use Tsaria, and yes, Tsaria was convinced he was going to die. Maddia, a pleasure slave of sixteen summers, had whispered to him that often the women could be crueler than the men.

The slaves and Ishmael had been dismissed, and Tsaria had been unable to hold back the tears that had tracked silently down his cheeks.

“How old are you?” Sophia asked and put down the goblet she had just drunk from.

Tsaria’s breath caught. Was this a trick question? Would he be punished for the wrong answer? He watched as her features softened, but he was still wary, knowing it could easily be a trick.

“Come, it matters not, child.” She patted the cushion next to her. “Sit.”

And within half a bell, Tsaria was telling her his life story and stuffing as much food into his mouth as he could fit. She had lost her husband and two sons to the last war. She still visited the older men Ishmael had, but had never visited a child. She had money and Tsaria was requested every other seventh day for two lunar months, until finally she asked him if he would like to come and be a slave in her household. Maybe start in the kitchens. Her cook was wonderful.

Because apparently there were certain things she would never allow children to be used for.

He’d cried a second time over her for that because not once had she asked anything of him except companionship. The next week he had been almost incandescent with excitement knowing he would be leaving with her, but she hadn’t arrived, and four days later Ishmael had informed them all that the great lady Sophia Dashanne had died following a fall from her horse.

That day had been the last day he had cried in Ishmael’s house.

“Nothing to say?” Elainore’s voice came from the body he didn’t recognize.

He stared at her as a man—around twenty summers—moved alongside her between the stoic guards. “My queen. The rats are just about ready to move.”

She turned and her lips cracked in a smile. Tsaria watched in horror as her lip split and a trickle of blood ran down her chin. “Choi, you are one of my most dependable warriors.” He glanced at the man and gaped. It was as if the man—Choi—was seeing a different Elainore than the one he was. Elainore touched a finger to his bare chest and slid it down to his leather breeches. Tsaria watched as Choi’s breath hitched and the bulge in his groin expanded in what couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than lust. He had seen it often enough to know.

Tsaria’s mind whirled. Was it possible that in all the illusions Elainore had promised, the greatest one was herself? But he’d seen her before. Why was he seeing her in her true form—if that’s what it was—now?

Goddess, but he missed Kamir. He would give much to see him one last time, because he knew even though Kamir would be desperate to get to him, he’d never been in the sewers in his life and Mansala would never let him out of his sight.

Then he felt the love that enveloped him. A warmth rushed over him that he couldn’t describe with any other word. He felt like he’d been found. Rescued. If you overlooked being tied and in the sewers. That almost made him smile, which was ridiculous, and made him want to smile even more. He closed his eyes and basked in the feeling that surrounded him, urging him to hold on. They were coming for him; he just had to hold on.

He heard Elainore murmur something to the man and something told him not to reveal he could see Elainore’s true form. “We leave as soon as our visitor arrives.”

Who? Tsaria thought and tried again. “I’m a simple pleasure slave. I have no value—"

Elainore laughed. “You don’t think the emir is just going to let you go?” She leaned forward. “My people have waited over ten generations to be set free. You think we like living in dirt? Do you think for one second that if he doesn’t give up his crown, I won’t slit his throat while he sleeps?”

Tsaria gazed at her in horror, thankful that between Mansala and Damatrious she would never get her hands on Kamir. “But you have Gabar. Why do you need Kamir?”

Elainore’s jaw worked. “It is better for all peoples if we have a swift transition.”

“A transition to what?” Tsaria asked, genuinely puzzled, but with an awful thought. She’d said she wanted a home for her people, but what if that home wasn’t a stretch of land with water access? What if it was a palace?

He was right. He knew he was.

She turned to one of the other men. “Let me know the second Nana Bex arrives.”

Tsaria had even more trouble keeping his face straight that time. Nana Bex? The bitch that Jael had told them conned mothers into prostituting themselves so their kids could share a ratty old mattress, then turned around and did the same to the kids so their mothers were allowed the same?

Why wasn’t he surprised? Did she run this part of the sewers? Like Moxie? Tam had told him there were various gangs down here, and then he heard the frightened cries of what sounded like a child and opened his eyes. The cry was cut off rather abruptly before a woman shuffled into sight. They stared at each other. She spat what looked like a glob of chewing tobacco on the floor, and Tsaria did his best not to let his revulsion show. He was supposed to be good at this. He’d spent the last nine summers behind a mask, and he’d seen worse, so much worse. Why was he having so much trouble now?

“This Kamir’s fancy piece?” Nana Bex looked at him with avarice gleaming in her bloodshot eyes.

“I’m a slave,” Tsaria bit out, even knowing it was useless. “I have zero value to—”

“To ‘im?” Nana Bex finished for him, just as two large boys dragged another man into sight. He was unconscious. Tsaria stilled. His lungs seemed to freeze. He knew who it was before Nana Bex grabbed Kamir by the hair and raised his head. Elainore let out a startled cry and then threw her head back and shrieked, bloody spittle flying. “You fool!” she spat.

Tsaria wanted to scream, curse. If he had a blade, both women would be bleeding out on the stone floor.

Nana Bex looked over at Elainore. “Calm down. Found him a mile from the palace. Stuck out like a sore thumb, and my boys clocked him right away. We made sure he’s unconscious so he can’t grow scales. Wonder how much they’ll pay now?”

Chapter twenty-eight

“Is there anything else you can remember?” Kamir asked hopefully. Jael needed a bath and rest, but he was worried Jael might be intimidated in front of them all and worry any information he wasn’t sure about might be dismissed.

Jael paused, shaking his head, cramming a hunk of spiced lamb into his mouth, then chewed and swallowed. Kamir stared at the little boy who had been forced to grow up way too soon. He watched him eat, then led Jael to the bathing room and began to draw a bath, but Jael shook his head. “I need to go back.”

Kamir looked up, startled. “Go back?”

“I have to make sure Moxie understands in case Tam can’t get to her. It’s too risky.”

Kamir had no words for such an overwhelming offer. He wanted to say something, anything, to Jael, but he didn’t know what. And he was so ashamed. He had a dragon, and yet a child was going to war for him. He helped get some of the grime off him, but Jael refused the clothes. “I’ll stick out,” he mumbled around another spiced hunk of lamb he’d grabbed as soon as Kamir took him back into the salon feeling at a complete loss of what to say. But Kamir couldn’t allow this. Jael was a child. He just didn’t know how to tell him that.

Jael looked up at him warily. “I wanna stay with you. Flynn said I could be like him. That if I worked hard, it wouldn’t matter what I was born to.”

Kamir threw away his caution and hugged Jael tight, vowing Jael would always stay with them. That he had a bright future. “You will always live with us,” he promised. He wanted them to become a family. “But you don’t have to bargain with this. Tsaria and I both need you here safe. I want to spend many evenings playing Shyann.”

“So do I,” Jael mumbled into Kamir’s shirt. Kamir let him go but dropped his voice.

“I want to go myself,” he admitted, hoping if Jael understood he shared the same frustration, the boy would accept it when Kamir refused to allow him to go. “But I don’t know how to get into the sewers,” Kamir blurted out before he could let the subject go. His dragon was telling him they were needed. He was sure of it. And maybe if Kamir went himself, Jael would be appeased.

Jael glanced at the still-closed door, just as Kamir had done a moment ago. “But you’re the emir. You don’t belong there.”

And Kamir could have cried at Jael’s defeated tone. “We’ll get Tsaria back. I promise. Tam and Mansala are working on a plan now.”

Jael didn’t say anything, and Kamir studied his face in concern. “You don’t think their plan will work, do you?”

Jael shrugged, but he might as well have screamed his doubt.

“Tell me,” Kamir urged.

Jael sighed. “Me and Ma were in the cells for weeks before Tsaria came, and there was another boy, Mouse, there for a time. It was a joke ‘cos he was a sewer rat, but he was little. Had a bum foot, and he walked kind of funny. Me and ma only ever worked above ground, but Mouse told us what the sewers were like. The exits change all the time. One day, one gang has control, then it changes. They each have their own secret entrances as well. They’ll send rats to the wrong entrances to fool people.” Jael paused. “Tam’s thinking Moxie will be there, but what if she ain’t? There’s a dozen places she could be in, and he wouldn’t know. By the time Eastside gets outside with Tsaria it could be too late.”

Kamir thought furiously. “You think we need to take him in the sewers before they get outside?”

“But Tam is half-right,” Jael said. “No one can get in there.”

Kamir felt the roar inside him, and he tensed. His dragon didn’t like the idea of defeat, or possibly being told he couldn’t do something. His dragon made it clear he had to be there to rescue their mate. “I have a better idea. I need to be caught.” He needed to be captured. It was the only way to guarantee he could get in there.

Jael looked at him like he was deranged. “You want to be caught? Why?”

Kamir smiled. “Because I have a surprise for them.” And Kamir let Jael look into his eyes and knew when the boy’s eyes widened that he had seen the flames reflected in them, and Kamir felt the strength inside him grow. Kamir blinked and let the fire damp down. “Which entrance?”

“Easy,” Jael whispered. “Back of the palace kitchens. There’s a small black door about a half-mile away for the scourers to get in.”

Kamir grimaced. Those were the slaves that cleaned the human waste from under the palace, and it had to stop. He’d seen the Cadmeeran system and wanted that for Rajpur. He wanted a lot for Rajpur, and it was going to start with orphanages, proper beds and good food. And getting the children out of the hell they lived in.

“I need to go ahead of you,” Jael said.

Kamir shook his head. Jael was a child. “Tsaria would never forgive me if I let you be hurt.” He would never forgive himself but thought that argument might sway Jael.

“I promise not to go near the Eastside. Just go find Pip or get a message to Moxie. I’m the only one that can as Tam is too big for the littlest spaces. You can be caught, but Moxie might not know if Eastside gets to you first.”

Kamir damned himself to hell for even considering allowing Jael to go.

“If you don’t let me I’ll just escape,” he said. “This is a palace. Secret passages. Not hard if you know what to look for. No one can keep me in here,” Jael said confidently, “and we know if you tell them, you won’t be going anywhere either.”

Kamir damned himself to seven hells some more. “You promise you’ll just get Moxie? Give her the message then come back here?”

Jael grinned. “Sure will. I’m going to beat you at Shyann.”

Kamir didn’t doubt it. Now he just had to work out how to get rid of Mansala long enough to get out of the palace, which would probably be the hardest thing he’d ever done, and send a bird to his sister. He had a feeling he was going to need her skills.

Elainore ordered Tsaria to be gagged immediately, lest he cry out and wake the emir. The slave struggled but he was silenced before he got the chance to say a word. She watched dispassionately and tried to calm her fury at the addle-brained woman. Bex was simply a means to an end and would suffer a slit throat when Elainore became queen. Not that Bex knew her plans, of course. Her own people didn’t even know all her plans. They believed in the fight for justice. It was so much easier to sell than the thought of power, but then those fools wouldn’t live long either. Soon, Elainore would be able to buy her protection.

She wouldn’t need her for long though. Bex had simply provided a hiding place so the guards wouldn’t find them, and she had been paid very generously for it. Seemed Bex didn’t much like her chosen career and expected to buy her way out of it. She would be disappointed.

But what had she been thinking? She was simply meeting them to guide them out of the sewers not kidnap the emir. Taking Tsaria was to ensure Kamir’s compliance. Kamir being gone was a boon to Gabar, and probably Damatrious. She hadn’t hung around to see what happened after Kamir had changed into his beast, leaving her men to secure Tsaria, but they told her Damatrious had sworn fealty to Kamir since he had survived the cleansing. Who knew for how long that fealty would last if Kamir disappeared?

And she had been so careless. How had she allowed Tsaria to get anywhere near Kamir?

She needed to come up with a different plan. They needed to get out of this goddess-forsaken place and back to the desert to regroup. Her illusions seemed harder work down here. As if the desperation of the sewers drained her. She could maintain her looks permanently in her sand-baked home aided by the secret mix of herbs she took, but here she might be called on to create a second illusion so they could escape. Not impossible, but hard when she was so drained. Controlling people cost her and her beast too much energy, and Elainore wasn’t stupid; she knew the day was soon approaching when all she could manage was her own appearance, but by then it wouldn’t matter.

In her mind she heard the hiss of temper and mentally soothed her creature, then focused on the immediate problem. Once they were free of Bex, she could easily blame the kidnapping on Gabar. Many had seen he was besotted with her, and she could claim she had rejected him. It would be easy for someone with Gabar’s resources to dress his agents up to blame it on her and her people as revenge. They could return to the palace with the emir and be lauded as rescuers. Save the kingdom. Of course, Tsaria would have to die now. But she’d known that the second Kamir had changed into his dragon.

At least he didn’t have to demonstrate his provenance anymore.

It couldn’t ever be allowed to happen again. Tsaria was clearly the catalyst, and without him, Kamir was simply a wannabe king. But he would never need to prove it again, as his people accepted him. Easy. She could do this. There was only her and some of her people that knew Kamir hadn’t murdered the assembly members or the guards. But it was useful to let him think so, or it would have been if Damatrious had been present to lose his head as well. Everything was supposed to be handled in one. She’d worked too hard for this to get out of control.

Not that she had any problem killing those that outlived their usefulness. Ibrahim had been her most useful conquest. They’d had eyes in the palace for six lunar months and he had been easy to seduce both with her niece’s body and the coin they’d been generous with. Ibrahim had told them all about Kamir and Gabar. He’d even managed to get them word when Kamir had first changed into a dragon so she could time her arrival just as Gabar was getting desperate and put everything into action.

She didn’t suppose he expected to play such an important role in her deception, but it was an excellent way of tying up loose ends.

“We need to move the emir,” Elainore decreed. Tsaria could be left to rot as far as she was concerned, and she jerked her chin at the two guards holding him up and they shuffled out. Bex directed two of her rats to show them where to take him.

“I can guarantee your safety in here. Why not let things die down a little?”

Elainore didn’t bother telling her that the decision was now out of her hands because the imbecile had brought Kamir here and she didn’t doubt with enough coin offered that someone would talk. “Because they will be searching for the emir. I need to get him secure, and away from his slut before the emir wakes. Have you decided on a route out to the sands?”

Bex grunted. “Of course. You have my gold?”

Elainore waved a hand at one of her chosen men and the man dropped a heavy leather purse into Bex’s open, grasping palm. Her eyes lit up in glee and she started barking out orders.

Elainore turned to see the gagged slut staring at her with such hate and she smiled. She recognized defeat when she saw it.

Good, he knew he would die. It was a pity as he was a pretty thing and she could have had some fun with him. She strode out, only to be met by her men. One of Bex’s rats shadowed them closely, suspicion evident in the way he lifted his chin, and Elainore nearly laughed. When she was queen, no factions would work against her. One of her first tasks would be to seal these tunnels with the vermin still in them.

She listened as her man shared his news and wanted to crow in glee. She had assumed she would have to use Gabar as a scapegoat, but perhaps not. Her men had caught him asking questions as to the direction the sand people traveled in, and easily overpowered him.

She changed her course and headed in the direction of Gabar. Maybe he might be of some use after all.

Kamir reached down inside himself as his captors dragged him along. There, a flicker. His dragon was beginning to wake. He tried to send a thought to Tsaria, but Kamir’s brain was still like sludge after the heavy blow. He needed time. Time they didn’t have.

He carefully remained limp since he wasn’t tied, but then they turned into some sort of small cavern carved out of limestone rock by the once clean waters before the waste of Rajpur had polluted it.

The guards dumped him, and he was careful to remain limp and focused on the fire slowly building inside him. The sharp slap to his cheek took him too much by surprise to withhold the flinch. “Highness,” she purred.

Kamir opened his eyes, knowing exactly who he would see, but shock held him still. It was Elainore, but not.  Not even an old woman stood in front of him, but something he could only describe as warped. Gabar stood next to her, and he couldn’t have held back the snarl that left his lips if his freedom had depended on it.

“My love,” Gabar murmured, ignoring him. “Let me slit him from arse to throat in front of the rats so they know who their true queen is. All this nonsense will soon stop.”

Kamir stared in shock, then realized that for some reason his uncle must not be able to see her true appearance. His eyes roved over her ravaged face. The peeling, rotten skin. The bloodied lip, and the open sores everywhere. And the smell. The stench down here was brutal, but Elainore was worse than that.

Gabar frowned. “He is untied.”

She smiled and Kamir struggled to hide his revulsion at her blood-stained, rotting teeth.

Elainore stepped forward and hooked a clawed hand under Kamir’s chin. “Before you even think of it, know I have your slut safely hidden away. Behave and when I am finished, you two will be put on a ship to Marston Keys and I care not what you do then. But if I see so much as a scale, Tsaria will be killed. He is hidden in the desert catacombs so deep not even the sewer rats could find him, and unless they hear from me every day, he will be lost to you.”

She lied. Kamir knew this. There was no way once she had Damatrious under her control that Kamir would be allowed to live, which meant his darling Tsaria would also be slain.

He also thought she lied about where they held Tsaria. He doubted they would have had the time to get him to the catacombs. The endless desert was a long day’s ride away.

Bex hurried into the cavern just as Elainore heard shouts. “Stupid bitch from the other end thinks she can take over my territory, but don’t worry, my lads will sort her.”

Elainore frowned. This was all they needed.

“Stay here. Too risky to move while this gets taken care of.” Bex cackled. “Won’t take long.”

Kamir’s heart banged hard against his ribs. It had to be Moxie. Jael must have gotten the message to her, and he prayed Jael had kept his promise and gotten back out. He concentrated on the flames building inside him. He knew deep down that he could summon his dragon, he just needed a little more time.

Elainore turned to the tunnel they had come from as sounds of the fight started dying down. He met her gleeful gaze, and his stomach dropped. “Looks like Bex has delivered as she said she would. The Eastside gang is the most powerful.”

Gabar drew his brows together again, and as if giving up, he pulled a white kerchief out of his breast pocket and covered his nose against the smell. “Vile woman,” he muttered then looked at Kamir. “Why is he still breathing?” Gabar spat.

“Because we need him,” Elainore hissed. “Thanks to your incompetent son who has ideas he could be the emir.”

“My incompetent son?” Gabar hissed. “Might I remind you that I had Iskar killed—”

Kamir gasped and struggled to his feet. “You murdered your son?”

Gabar frowned. “Because he was a blithering idiot, and if Damatrious didn’t assume he was in charge I would have gotten them both.” Gabar waved a dismissive hand at Kamir. “Why isn’t he tied?”

Kamir almost wanted to laugh, and pitied Damatrious being born to Gabar, but then his own father hadn’t been much better. For the first time in his entire life, he might enjoy killing another being. Or his dragon would.

“So, your Highness,” Elainore drawled, ignoring Gabar, “Shall we discuss your amazing rescue by your loyal subjects from the endless desert?”

Kamir frowned, trying to shake the sluggishness from his brain. “Rescue?”

As if from a distance, they all heard a silent twang. Kamir barely had time to register the sound as Gabar turned to look in that direction and took a slight step in front of Elainore.

Kamir didn’t think for one moment it was to save her life.

But the fact of the matter was his uncle froze for a heartbeat, his eyes shocked as if he couldn’t believe that he had an arrow sticking out from his forehead. Kamir watched in sickened awe as Gabar’s eyes glazed over and his knees buckled.

Chapter twenty-nine

Kamir held his breath, and then the cavern was filled with warriors, Veda at the lead, and Tam following her. Tam quickly tied Elainore before she had a chance to move past them or create an illusion, and then stuffed a gag in her mouth to stop her screeching. Veda threw her arms around Kamir before he’d even registered what had happened. “I hate that you’re here, but you made the right decision.”

Had he? “Tsaria?” Everything else mattered not.

“We haven’t found him yet, but Moxie’s lot are scouring the tunnels. Eastside have given up. Penance aren’t involved and don’t want to be.”

What was penance? Not that it mattered right this second. “What about Jael?”

Tam shook his head. “We’ve him to thank for rousing Moxie. I wouldn’t have gotten this far. We don’t know if they’re together, but they’ll try to get Tsaria out, then take him to the desert catacombs unless they wait for Elainore to join them.” How fast could his heart beat before it stopped? Had he messed everything up? Should he have just stayed in the palace? “Jael promised me he would go back as soon as he talked to Moxie.”

Then he heard a laugh as a woman stepped around the corner and shoved a scrawny boy in front of them. “This ‘ere’s one of Eastside’s lads, but he’s not talking.” She eyed Kamir. “Thought you might singe his fingers.”

Tam nodded to her. “Moxie.”

Kamir looked at the child on the floor. He looked half-starved and Kamir’s heart went out to him. He bent down. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The boy looked up and scoffed. “Sure. Just like you never did when I was a guest in your fancy palace.”

Kamir glanced up at Moxie for some sort of explanation.

“He means the dungeons,” Veda said.

Kamir sighed and dropped his head. When would it end? And there was no point in apologizing. He wouldn’t be believed.

Tam spoke up. “We’re doing our best, but we still don’t know where they are, and she’s not going to say.” He gestured to Elainore. Tam turned to the child. “Like Moxie says, he will.”

Kamir glanced down and drew in a breath. “I know you won’t believe me, but I swear as soon as I am crowned, the first thing I’ll do is close the dungeons. There will still have to be some way to secure prisoners, but I have a friend called Draul Eryken who will advise me. He’s the leader of the human rebels, in case you haven’t heard of him.” He didn’t dare look at Veda. “I need to find Tsaria. He is innocent in all this and has been taken because he is important to me.”

The boy scoffed a second time, and Kamir reined in his frustration. Of course, the child wouldn’t believe him. Kamir was the very embodiment of a regime that made everyone suffer unimaginably. “Elainore has fooled everyone,” Kamir tried again.

“She just wants water for her people,” the boy practically shouted, pointing to her. “Clean water.”

“I don’t doubt she does,” Kamir agreed. “But she also wants to be the queen of Rajpur.”

He shook his head. “No, she just wants what’s right.”

It was impossible. He had no proof.

Kamir straightened and turned to Elainore, who was watching the discourse with utter glee. He turned to Tam. “We’ll take her with us, but we need to find Jael as well.” He looked at Moxie. “He hasn’t gone back to the palace, has he?”

“He told us what you were up to and went to find you.”

Kamir’s throat was tight. He could sense Tsaria, but he had no way of finding Jael. He looked at Veda. “I promised Jael would always have a home with us. Play Shyann every day if he liked.”

Veda put a hand on his shoulder. “And he will. I—”

“Did you say Jael?”

Kamir turned to stare at the boy, who had sat up. “Yes. If he agrees, he will be Tsaria’s and my adopted son.”

The boy chewed his lip. “How’d you meet?”

Kamir burned with shame, but it was his fault to own. “Tsaria met him when he was in my palace dungeon. His ma was attacked by the guards.” Kamir paused. She’d been raped, and he would make sure that never happened again to any prisoner. “Tsaria was in the next cell, and when my sister—” he gestured to Veda “—rescued Tsaria, he brought Jael with him.”

The child got to his feet, and no one stopped him. He hopped a little to straighten up because one foot was so twisted he could only walk on the edge of it, and understanding flooded Kamir. “You’re Mouse. Jael told me about you.” It had to be him.

“I suppose you could be lyin’ about him, but that’d be too clever for the likes of you,” Mouse said disdainfully, and Veda tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. “But yeah I know Jael, and if he’s gonna live with you, he might see we get fed better. I’ll show you where they’re gonna meet the rest of the sand people.”

Elainore screeched behind the gag, but no one took any notice as Mouse led the way. Kamir wanted to move faster and tried not to stare as children scurried out of their way as they hurried. Elainore dragged her feet so much trying to delay them that one of Veda’s men simply stopped and threw her over his shoulder.

The stench worsened initially, but then the tunnel grew wider, and Kamir realized it was also getting easier to see and another man blew out his torch, as they no longer needed them. They must be nearing the exit. Elainore started choking suddenly, and Veda’s man carrying Elainore set her down none too gently and she doubled over but stayed on her feet. The man loosened the gag a little so she could breathe. Kamir had a feeling he would need her to bargain with.

Kamir took in a breath of cleaner air and Tsaria seemed to almost slam into him. Not bodily, and he still couldn’t see him, but joy and relief surrounded him. Then a fire lit his insides, and he knew his dragon was ready. Another moment and he stepped outside onto a rocky outcrop and his heart dropped.

At least forty or more of the sand people faced them. Most were in traditional loose-fitting pants, some still wearing the uniforms they had used to imitate the guards in the palace. One was holding Tsaria with a sharply curved blade to his throat, and another had a struggling Jael.

Tam stepped forward, but Kamir shook his head. This was his to do. “I believe we are at an impasse,” Kamir addressed the one standing between the two holding Tsaria and Jael. “My name is Kamir, and I have the power to grant you land and water.”

“We know who you are, and what you’ve done,” the man spat and stared at Elainore, who was standing just behind Veda, the guard at her side. Kamir had a moment to realize that she was no longer gagged and tied, when the guard pounced and had Veda by the throat, his blade pinching her neck.

“Remy?” Veda managed to get out as his arm tightened. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Serving me,” Elainore replied for him, and Kamir took in the almost dazed expression on Remy’s face and swore, remembering how she had commanded Gabar. He had looked at her in the same manner. He should have blindfolded her.

“Elainore,” the man of the sand breathed out, almost worshipfully, and Kamir’s dragon roared. He wanted to end Elainore, but Kamir couldn’t risk it with a blade to Tsaria’s and Veda’s throats. Elainore moved quickly to join the man, and Kamir stilled as he saw an image in his mind of Elainore as she was with her illusion, as everyone else saw her, but then as he stared the illusion fell away and she looked as Kamir saw her now.

He knew his dragon was sending him the image, but he didn’t know how he knew that, or why the image mattered. Then he inhaled sharply as the image of Elainore morphed into a huge serpent, flashing slitted ruby eyes, saliva dripping from two fangs as it slithered toward Tsaria, and in that instant he knew she was going to kill him. Kamir’s vision bled away to black and white and his dragon roared in his head. He knew the change was coming and that he could do nothing to stop it, but then he heard the gasps of everyone as his vision returned to normal.

He knew he was still a man and felt immense satisfaction inside him. His dragon had done something, but he couldn’t see what—

But then he did as the man standing looking so adoringly at Elainore gasped sharply and recoiled. A murmur rose up amongst the rest of them and two or three next to her stepped back. They could see her. See what she was.

He heard the grunt from Veda as Remy dropped the blade he was holding and stepped back in horror. “Veda,” he whispered. “I—”

“No matter,” Veda clipped out and joined Kamir. She gazed in disgust at Elainore.

“She has created this illusion to entrap you,” Kamir said loudly. “She wants the throne of Rajpur, not land and water for you. You have been fooled.”

The man holding Tsaria lowered his blade, and almost as one, the sand people moved back. Elainore saw that her people believed Kamir and shrieked. She lunged for Tsaria in a move that could only come from her creature, and Kamir’s dragon roared. Red flames erupted from Kamir’s mouth and seemed to spear Elainore. Her illusion wavered again, the woman, then the serpent, but then the flames roared and took hold, her scream rising until the flames turned blue and she was engulfed. Her cry was cut off, and the flames vanished. When the smoke cleared, Elainore was nothing but a pile of ash.

Kamir ran. He met Tsaria in a tangle of arms and lips, and then a smaller body slammed into them and Kamir bent, lifting Jael with ease and bringing him into their hold. “I love you,” Tsaria vowed, tears in his eyes. “I knew you would come.”

Kamir pressed a kiss to his lips and chuckled as Jael squirmed between them. “I always will. I love you with all my heart.” He smiled down at Jael, who had stopped protesting at being held. “Well done, my son.”

Jael’s mouth fell open, but Tsaria laughed. “Our son needs a bath.”

Kamir sent a runner to the palace for as many carriages as he could get down here. He was ecstatic to have everyone safe, but he had no intention of leaving any of the children, many of whom had injuries, in this disgusting place. Many looked like Mouse, with birth deformities that often meant the children were rejected as some of the older people still believed it was a mark of a demon. He watched as Tam gently rounded up as many as possible and Kamir promised the local shopkeepers coin for clean water and bread. It would keep them going while he worked out what to do.

He spied Moxie talking to one of her older lads and, taking Tsaria by the hand, headed over there. He ignored the wide-eyed stares from the children and the shopkeepers that the emir himself was here. He waited while Tsaria hugged the woman, then Tsaria turned. “Highness,” Tsaria said formally, at which Kamir sent him a look that spoke of retribution later. “May I present Lady Maxella Legia Armonvellion, from the Duchy of Carlisle.”

Kamir stared in shock. He’d heard the story. Everyone had. The Duchy of Carlisle straddled land across Cadmeera and Rajpur and the titles were from Cadmeera. He also knew that at fifteen summers Lady Maxella had run from an arranged marriage to a man thirty summers her senior who had purportedly beaten his first wife to death. But her father wanted a land deal, so he had been willing to sacrifice his only daughter to get it.

“Please call me Moxie,” she said quietly.

Kamir took her hands and Moxie allowed it, a slight shimmer in her eyes. “I need help.”

Her eyebrow rose. “I think you and your dragon have things well in hand.”

He did smile then. “I need a child welfare magistrate. I need someone to undertake the mammoth task of getting all these children off the streets. I have plenty of coin to pay for it, but I need someone of your unique experience to make it happen and supervise it. I use the term magistrate because it enables you to have certain powers, since you might have to fight others who may disagree.” He looked at Tsaria and caught his approving gaze.

He turned back to Moxie and saw the shock on her face that she struggled to hide. “Please,” he added quietly.

Moxie met his gaze and then answered, “I would be honored, my caliph.”

And somehow that title felt good when spoken by her.

In all, they tallied seventy-nine children, and that wasn’t all of them. There were many that didn’t trust him, and he didn’t blame them. This wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight.

Mansala came with the carriages and barely rushed out a respectful greeting to Kamir before he took Tam in his arms and kissed him soundly while many of the children whooped and teased them.

The last carriage left without him, but they were sending another. Kamir had simply instructed the palace to find them accommodations, baths, and food. Apparently Cookie was still here and when she heard, she marched into his kitchens like an avenging angel, and by the time the children arrived at the palace they all had a good meal waiting.

The second problem was their medical facilities. Ramakesh, the head healer, refused to give aid to the children and walked out before Kamir could fire him. His two junior assistants had no such biases, but their skills were basic, so Kamir sent a begging letter via a bird to Attiker.

Attiker arrived at the end of the next day along with Laronne and a full medical team ready to help, but more importantly to train a team in Rajpur.

Laronne spent a lot of time with Mouse, who didn’t even have a birth name. Mouse decided he wanted to be called Axel after a market-trader he’d once met who’d shown him the entrance to the sewers. Axel had been three at the time, but Eastside had been the only family he had ever had.

“Highness, the problem is if he’d had the correct care—”Laronne realized what he was saying and closed his mouth.

“What can we do now?” Kamir asked, ignoring Laronne’s mistake.

“It will take three procedures to right his foot, and many weeks with it strapped. The boy will spend a lot of time in here.” Laronne waved his hand to indicate the medical center.

“Does he have to stay here?” Tsaria asked quietly.

Laronne shook his head. “No, he just needs to be somewhere with good supervision.”

Tsaria glanced back with a pleading look at Kamir, and he smiled back. The amount of time Mansala spent in his room in Kamir’s suite decreased every day, and Kamir knew they could get it set up as a convalescence area for Axel. Jael visited him all the time and would love him to be there with him.

In less than two days and with Kamir’s authority, Moxie had bedded all the children down in an empty wing of the palace, and was deep in talks to convert some empty warehouses in the trade district into orphanages.

Kamir hadn’t even seen a bed yet, but he was so happy he could cry.

Chapter thirty

Ten days later

Tsaria lit the candles around their suite and dimmed some of the sconces. The last ten days had been insane, and while he knew why, it was time he accepted his life. He needed to talk to Kamir, and he was dreading it.

Kamir looked worse than he had before they’d dispatched Elainore and rescued the children, because he was now skipping meals as he was so busy. But today, the first rush of responsibilities should be over. The sand people had been allocated an area to settle in, complete with access to clean water, and they were slowly moving there.

Moxie was moving the children into their new home. Kamir had tutors sent for some and was subtly convincing the shopkeepers and tradesman to look for new apprentices amongst them. Not only did the palace undertake to pay half their wages for the first year, but those tradesmen that kept apprentices after that would be prioritized for all projects needed for the crown, which of course included all the palace buildings, road projects, stables, transport, food, weapons, clothing. The list was endless.

Tsaria had to admit there was a huge feeling of hope sweeping through Rajpur that they hadn’t had before.

Jael and Axel were both asleep. With the number of times Tsaria had caught Jael snuggled up with his chosen brother, they had stopped trying to separate them into their own beds. Jael had become fiercely protective of Axel and Axel was finally letting his guard down. Even Laronne had said love was the best medicine, and Jael undertook to make sure Axel did his prescribed leg exercises religiously. They also shared the same tutor for reading and writing.

So much had happened in so short a time.

He glanced around the suite. It was luxurious, but it simply wasn’t him. But he was going to try to make it a home…that was assuming he could ever get Kamir in here in the first place.

And his thoughts—of course—went back to how he loved Kamir so much, but he still had the niggling doubt that Kamir only needed him for his dragon. He knew it was illogical. They were bonded. Kamir loved him.

He just wasn’t sure how much he needed him.

He’d accompanied Kamir to visit the city three days ago, and much to everyone’s amazement, Kamir had insisted on visiting the two new pleasure houses that had sprung up since Ishmael had died in the throne room when Kamir first shifted into his dragon. Kamir had walked into the first with no warning and heard the screams of a girl as her “guest” had beaten her. Kamir had thrown the “guest” plus the owner of that pleasure house into one of his new cells and announced that, going forward, all pleasure houses were to be licensed and inspected.

And that was when they had their first fight.

“You want me to do what?” Tsaria asked, after Kamir casually asked Tsaria if he wanted to organize said inspections and licenses.

“Well,” Kamir stammered. “I just thought—”

“You thought because I spent the last nine summers on my back, I would have the necessary experience?”

Which was mean of Tsaria. And if Tsaria hadn’t spent the previous seven days dining alone, going to bed on his own, and waking on his own, he would have reacted better. He sighed. In a lot of ways, Kamir was right, and it was a good idea. It seemed like everyone had a part to play except him, and inspecting buildings wasn’t what he imagined doing.

Moxie was thriving in her new role. Kamir was busy being the emir everyone wanted him to be, so that left Tsaria doing what? It was as if he didn’t have a role at all. When they’d visited the city three days ago, he’d even heard some of the children shouting Dragonara—keeper of dragons—which was fine, but it wasn’t all he was. He just hadn’t found out what else he was.

Then another thought made him want to curl up. Was Kamir ashamed of him? Was that why he had asked him to sort out the pleasure houses? Keep him busy so he wouldn’t expect to be by Kamir’s side?

A tiny part of him still wanted the idea of a small cottage and a family. A baby. But they had two sons now so surely Kamir’s schedule would ease soon. Or would it?

Tsaria stared out from the huge windows in Kamir’s suite. The view was incredible. He could see the lights of Rajpur below and knew thousands of people were living what now—thanks to Kamir—would be a better life. Something curled in his belly.

In that moment, he felt more shame than he ever had all those times he had lain on his back. He needed to grow the hell up. If his role was to be in their suite when Kamir arrived, then he would make it an oasis of peace. He had even spoken to Mansala today, as he was worried over Kamir, and Mansala had promised to have Kamir delivered to their suite by the eighth bell before he joined Tam in their rooms.

Everything was ready and Tsaria, dressed in his best silks, watched the sundial as the eighth bell approached. When the bell sounded, he even gave his beautiful man a few extra moments. But when another half bell had passed, Tsaria stood. This was his life. He would spend the next forty summers waiting for Kamir, and would do so because while he loved Kamir desperately, Kamir obviously didn’t love him back.

Or not enough.

He bent to blow out the candle nearest to him and crossed to the others when he heard the door to their suite open. His eyebrows lifted as he saw not only Kamir, but Mansala and Tam as well.

Kamir came right to him and took both his hands, then pulled him close and delivered a kiss like he hadn’t done in days. Tsaria melted into the lips that claimed his own, his arms wrapping around Kamir of their own accord.

It was Kamir who broke it, but he stayed close. Tsaria quickly remembered they had an audience, and tried to step back, but Kamir caught his hand and brought it to his lips. “Will you let me show you something?”

Tsaria stilled in surprise. Of everything Kamir could have said, can I show you something? had never entered his mind. But as Tsaria stared at the eager but wary face, he knew whatever it was must be important. Unsure, but knowing he could give no other answer, he nodded, and Kamir took his hand, smiling.

Kamir looked over at Mansala and Tam, who came fully into the room. Tam grinned. “I’m your babysitter.” He waved at them as Mansala opened the door to the suite to usher them out. Tsaria glanced down at his choice of clothing, because he’d covered himself up far more in public this week, but Kamir bent and gently bit his earlobe. “You look amazing, and you set my blood on fire.”

Tsaria shivered deliciously.

They had a full complement of eight guards, which was a little startling in the palace until Tsaria realized they were heading for what Kamir called the garden exit. Tsaria knew Kamir was expecting Gerry, the dragon lily expert, and the Cadmeeran gardeners next month, as Kamir wanted a full apothecary garden. Tam was excited to give his input, and the greenhouses would be built when Gerry gave his opinion on a suitable area. Tam had received Ash’s blessing to stay in Rajpur.

Kamir paused at the door of the palace and shrugged off his tunic, handing his sash carelessly to Mansala, then draped his tunic around Tsaria’s shoulders. “In my excitement, I forgot you might be chilled,” and Tsaria’s heart did that funny, melty thing. There was no one here, so he wasn’t covering Tsaria because he was ashamed. He truly wanted Tsaria to be comfortable. They carried on down the path. Tsaria hadn’t been out this door before, so he had no idea where they were going, but Kamir walked with purpose for what seemed a long time until they came to an old house. Tsaria glanced up. It was large and two stories but some of the roof had fallen in and there was a lean-to that had no roof at all.

Kamir stopped outside it and all the guards stepped away to a respectful distance. “This was originally the head gardener’s cottage until my grandfather moved him into the servant’s quarters, as he decided he was too far away to issue daily instructions to.”

Tsaria swallowed with difficulty, dread coiling inside him. “So you’re renovating it for him?”

“No,” Kamir said softly and took Tsaria’s hand. Mansala stepped back and talked to the guards but didn’t follow them. Kamir pushed open the door and Tsaria took in the scene. There was a roaring fire. A large bed had been assembled on the floor with cushions, blankets, and furs. There was a table laden with drink and food.

Kamir let Tsaria look and then took both his hands and pulled him close. “I was hoping…” Kamir hesitated, sounding nervous, “that you would arrange this to your liking.”

Tsaria blinked. Tried to speak and had to swallow first. “I don’t understand. You’re the emir. You have to live—”

But his words were cut off when Kamir took his lips with his own and then led him to the bed. “I love you, in case I haven’t told you that today, but I want to talk to you about our life together.”

Tsaria felt a sickening drop in his stomach. This was it. Kamir was going to banish him to this cottage. Hide his embarrassment, his shame, out of the way. Would he see Jael and Axel? Or would they live in the palace and grow up as princes and never see him because he would remind them of their old lives, best forgotten? Tsaria glanced over at the seduction scene, but it wasn’t necessary. Tsaria didn’t need to be seduced. He was a sure thing. He’d been a sure thing since he was ten summers old.

“I understand,” he murmured. Maybe Kamir would visit when he wasn’t busy. “I don’t need the guards.” He didn’t. They would accompany Kamir, of course, when he visited…if he visited.

Kamir frowned and seemed to study him. Tsaria drew back and pretended to look at the cottage.

“I need you to come outside,” Kamir said after a moment, and Tsaria agreed immediately. Did he expect Tsaria to move in right away? He could sleep on the floor. They walked through the double doors at the opposite end of the room that would look so sweet if they led to a garden. Maybe he would be granted the plants to make one?

Kamir led him until they cleared the house, then let his hand go and stepped away. In an instant, Tsaria was staring at Kamir’s dragon and, helpless to stop himself, Tsaria extended his arm, and the dragon nuzzled his palm. The same feeling of love swept over him and Tsaria’s eyes smarted. If this was the only thing he would ever get, he would be content.

Kamir changed back and Tsaria smiled at him being dressed. Apart from the first time, this was how he appeared. “I wanted to show you the ease of my change. You are present now, even though we weren’t touching, but I have done this three times this week.”

Tsaria gaped. Three times? Then that meant Kamir didn’t even need him for this. Tsaria bowed, more to hide his face than anything. “Highness. I am so pleased.” Could your heart actually break? It felt like he was being ripped in two.

Kamir didn’t reply right away, and when Tsaria glanced up behind his thick lashes, Kamir’s eyes were glittering, as if he was upset. But that didn’t make sense. Kamir crossed the space between them and Tsaria was helpless not to restrain the flinch. Not that he imagined Kamir would ever hurt him. Not physically, anyway.

“Beloved,” Kamir whispered, visibly distressed, and he very gently took Tsaria’s chin in his smooth hand, tipping it up so Tsaria was forced to look at Kamir properly. He knew what Kamir would see, but he couldn’t even summon the pride to stop silently weeping. “Let us get back to the fire and I will explain.”

Heart heavy, almost numb, Tsaria let Kamir lead him back inside. He settled on the cushions and drew Tsaria’s back against his chest. “I think we need to talk.”

Here it comes, Tsaria thought, and he tried to pull away, but Kamir didn’t let go. The dragon hadn’t only given Kamir his amber eyes, the purple in his hair Tsaria had found adorable, but his newfound strength as well. “I wanted to show you that I don’t need you touching me or even present to change into my dragon.” He brushed a kiss on Tsaria’s neck.

Tsaria couldn’t help the sob that escaped his throat at the tender gesture. He knew he wasn’t needed anymore.

“Beloved,” Kamir whispered, horrified. “Of course I need you.” Tsaria hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. “This is my fault. I didn’t mean I didn’t need you at all. I meant that I didn’t need you for my dragon. That’s so very important and I seem to be making a mess of this, but what I’m trying to say is that my dragon might not need you, but the man I am always will. I can’t breathe without you.” Another sob escaped Tsaria. “I can’t live without you,” Kamir’s voice cracked, and he tightened his arms even more as if afraid Tsaria would escape. “I can’t exist without you, but I don’t mean because of my dragon.” Kamir pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I know you were afraid of that, which is why I’ve spent so many extra hours perfecting my shift. You aren’t necessary for me to shift into my dragon. You’re necessary to keep my heart beating, because I adore you.”

Tsaria turned in Kamir’s arms and sobbed into his chest. “Beloved,” Kamir choked out.

“I’m sorry,” Tsaria wept. “I know you mean me to live here, but—”

“Tsaria,” Kamir almost shook him. “I mean for us both to live here.”

Tsaria was so shocked his tears nearly stopped. “Both? But you can’t. The emir must live in the palace.”

Kamir smiled and gently drew a lock of Tsaria’s hair away from his eyes. “You know I was stuck in an endless meeting with the assembly today?”

Tsaria tried to smile, because of course he did. He’d felt every quarter bell.

“Well, the reason it lasted so long was because I enacted an abdication rule so old, many of them had never heard of until I produced the scrolls to prove it.”

Tsaria glanced back. “A what rule?”

Kamir smiled. “As of two bells ago I am no longer emir, and my cousin Damatrious now holds that title and honor.”

Tsaria swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

Kamir pressed kisses on Tsaria’s neck. “I never wanted to be the emir. You know that, or I think you do. I’m a historian. Damatrious knows how to lead his armies into battle.” Kamir chuckled. “I’d likely fall off my horse.” Kamir tightened his hold. “I am going to be an advisor. We haven’t worked out my exact role yet, but I want to make the people’s lives better, and Damatrious agrees. He loves being in charge of the army and our borders, while I would like to do things like open a university based on merit and not the ability to pay. Things like that.”

Tsaria knew his face was awash with tears because Kamir was gently wiping them away with his thumb. “I will still be involved, as Damatrious was the first to admit he is inexperienced in the law and diplomacy, but I will be able to be a general advisor, not the figurehead.” Kamir continued in between kisses. “I brought you here because I was hoping we could make this our home. I want Jael and Axel to move in, and I want many more babies with you, a family. But the most important thing is you. I absolutely cannot live without—”

But Tsaria cut him off with his lips. His hands became urgent, and he stripped his beloved as his beloved stripped him. He peeled off every stitch of Kamir’s clothing as they basked in the heat from the fire and the surety that they were loved. Tsaria rolled Kamir on his belly, then sucked up a mark under his ear, and Kamir moaned and trembled under him. “Please.”

“What?” Tsaria murmured, loving the sounds Kamir made.

“I want…”

Tsaria smiled. “Tell me.” But he thought he knew, and Tsaria moved down, following the ridges of Kamir’s spine with his lips. But as he got lower, he felt Kamir’s smooth skin change and he eased up, staring at the crisscross of scars on Kamir’s lower back. He hadn’t noticed them before, but he knew what they were and could imagine they came from the same man who had denied his son food. “You’re beautiful,” Tsaria murmured. And mine. No one would ever hurt this man ever again. He bent and kissed the first scar and with a sigh, Kamir relaxed some more. Tsaria carried on, smoothing the white lines with his lips. “On your knees.” Kamir moved quickly and Tsaria reached under him and stroked Kamir’s rapidly hardening shaft. Kamir groaned and let his head fall. “Bunch the cushions under your chest so you don’t have to take both our weight.”

Kamir chuckled, but it soon became a gasp. “I’m a lot stronger now.”

“I know,” Tsaria said, “but I want you comfortable when I blow your mind.” Tsaria reached for the basket of oils that perhaps he should be embarrassed had been provided, but he was just glad now. “Has anyone ever done this to you?” Tsaria murmured, slicking his fingers with oil.

Kamir shook his head. “No, but I was hoping my alpha would.”

Tsaria stilled, his throat tightening, and knew what that word meant between them. He adored that Kamir trusted him. He slid a finger down his crease and reached back under, fondling his balls and tugging gently. At the same time, he circled Kamir’s hole with the tip of his slick finger. Kamir whimpered and Tsaria felt Kamir’s cock jerk. His own was hard as well, but this time was about Kamir.

He slid his slicked finger inside Kamir’s tight hole. “Yes,” Kamir rasped. “Oh please.” Tsaria kissed his back as a reward and pushed in a little more, angling his finger. “Gods,” Kamir cried out and jerked. Tsaria moved in and out, adding more oil, rubbing that special place inside that brought such a delicious reaction. “More,” Kamir groaned out. Tsaria inserted a second finger. “Gods, please more.” He pressed his slick fingers back inside and Kamir rocked back into his hand. Tsaria’s cock was leaking badly. He took his hand away from Kamir’s cock and lined himself up.

“You’re beautiful,” Tsaria whispered again and groaned as he pressed his leaking cock to Kamir’s hole. “Touch yourself,” Tsaria said, knowing it would help.

“Don’t stop,” Kamir pleaded, clumsily reaching under himself.

“Never,” Tsaria promised and pushed in a little before stilling. Kamir was hot and tight and everything Tsaria wanted, but he would never hurt him.

Kamir tried to push back. “Don’t stop,” he repeated, a catch in his voice.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” Tsaria gasped, struggling to stay still.

“I want you to take me, to keep me,” Kamir cried as Tsaria pushed in again, knowing he didn’t just mean when they enjoyed each other’s bodies. “So good,” Kamir added. “So good, don’t stop.” Over and over, he said the same until Tsaria was fully in. Tsaria stilled again, wanting to give Kamir a moment, but Kamir pushed back himself. Tsaria pressed his lips to Kamir’s back, then pulled out a little before plunging deep.

“Yes, yes,” Kamir chanted. “I can’t stop. I need to—”

“Let go, my beloved,” Tsaria ordered. “I have you and I’m not letting go.” Tsaria held Kamir’s hips and rocked into him faster and faster. Kamir cried out but pushed back into him, chanting not to stop until he stiffened and, with a loud shout, climaxed. His channel squeezed Tsaria’s length so tightly, he followed him right over the edge.

It took Tsaria a long moment before he could move, and he did so carefully, pulling Kamir back with him so he wasn’t lying in the wet spot.

Kamir murmured something unintelligible and relaxed in Tsaria’s arms. He let his breathing return to normal and knew he needed to get up and clean them both, but he just held his beautiful man, whispering his love, until with a sigh Kamir fell asleep.

Tsaria smiled and kissed Kamir’s neck. They had many mountains to climb. Tsaria would see to the pleasure houses. But more importantly, he was going to make a home so full of love Kamir would never want to leave. He wanted that with such passion it stole his breath. From the very beginning Tsaria had ached to look after his beautiful man, and he knew he would get to do exactly that every day. Tsaria loved the weight of Kamir in his arms and just held him tight, safe.

Exactly where he’d be for the rest of their lives.

Want to read an extra bonus scene set four years later? The Ruins of Caheer.

Victoria Sue

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