The Dragon’s Daughter and the Winter Mage by Jeffe Kennedy

~ 27 ~

Everything was moving too fast for Isyn to keep up. After decades of living in a frozen, nearly silent world, the barrage of scents and sounds was nearly overwhelming. And the people, all talking at once about a myriad of things he hadn’t thought about in years. Politics and land squabbles and trade routes with other nations. He’d never imagined he’d miss the starkness and scarcity of the Winter Isles, but as he tried to assimilate the sheer quantity of the outside world, he found himself longing for a small room and a few moments of quiet.

And Gendra there, too, cuddling close to him.

But she’d asked him not to touch her, and she’d been lying to him. She wasn’t all right at all. Something was very wrong, and she’d been avoiding him so deftly that he hadn’t been able to corner her long enough to find out what. They’d reached the palace, an astoundingly lovely work of architecture, all in white with red-tiled roofs. It rambled along a peaceful bay, protected from the harsher waters of the strait, with a wide sandy beach that stretched for leagues in both directions. Though it had a few towers topped with cone-shaped red roofs flying colorful pennants, the place looked more like a country house, with its many wings and balconies, than any kind of fortress. Nothing at all like the confines of Castle Marcellum.

He’d been taken to a suite of rooms on the top floor, with doors that opened onto a vast rooftop garden, verdant in the cool mist of the gathering evening, and no doubt vistas of the bay and surrounding forest when the sun shone. His people—so odd to think of them as his people—had assured him the sun typically banished the mist by mid-morning. They also promised that the crown prince and his fiancée had been given the best rooms other than his own, and his other traveling companions all housed according to their specific requests. Every effort had been made to accommodate the wishes of the heroic team that had brought the king of the Isles of Remus safely home.

Which meant that Gendra hadn’t expressed the wish to see him, much less share his rooms. And why should she? They’d been thrown together by circumstance, and she’d made it clear by her words and repeatedly avoiding him that she didn’t wish to renew their love affair.

Still, when she’d transformed back to human when they were fighting the tentacle monster, she’d kissed him. A real kiss that had set his loins on fire and turned his heart over. What had changed?

He wouldn’t know until he asked her, which was why he’d flexed his newfound authority and summoned her. It might be an unfair move, but his other option was to wait for the welcome reception and ball and chase her around it like a lovelorn puppy. Though, if that was what it took, he’d do that, too.

“Lady Gendra of Annfwn,” a stentorian voice announced. Isyn had no idea who the man was. So far he’d placed about ten names to faces and stations, and that much had made his head hurt.

“Plain Gendra is fine,” he heard her say from the other room. “I’m no lady.”

“The king is through there, my lady,” the voice replied.

Frozen in place, suddenly full of pure nerves at confronting her, Isyn stood where he was, waiting for her to find him. She did, after a few moments, stepping into the rooftop garden, her face composed in a serene mask that didn’t fool him for a moment. She was upset and trying to hide it from him. The question was, what was upsetting her—being summoned to face him or whatever was causing her to avoid him in the first place?

Possibly both.

“Your Highness,” she said smoothly, curtseying low so her silk skirts billowed around her like a flower blossom. She’d dressed for the upcoming ball, her gown a gorgeous indigo with a hint of violet sheen. When she lifted her gaze, she confirmed his guess that the color exactly matched her eyes. It also dipped low over her creamy bosom, leaving her arms bare and hugging her narrow waist, flattering her extraordinary beauty. His people had dressed him in deep blue velvet, the colors of the royal family of the Isles, and he wondered if Gendra had noticed they matched. He nearly commented on it, then noted that she wasn’t smiling.

He wanted to seize her in his arms and crush his lips to hers and make her smile at him as she used to, wanted to carry her to the bed so she’d gasp and moan his name, and tell him she loved him still. Though… maybe she didn’t.

“Don’t do that,” he snapped, far too harshly, and she raised one brow as she stood.

“Curtsey?”

“That. And calling me ‘Your Highness.’ I’m still Isyn.”

“King Isyn,” she corrected coolly. “King of all you survey.” She gestured to the twilit sea of fog shrouding the landscape below.

“A keen irony that that I can’t actually see any of it,” he observed wryly, rejoicing that he’d managed to tease a hint of a smile from her.

“I can promise it’s not the land of the blind,” she said, smiling a bit more.

It was almost like they’d been before, but it seemed a vast gulf divided them, and he didn’t know how to cross it.

“I have something for you,” she said, her smile fading. She withdrew something from her pocket and handed it to him. “I’m returning it to you. I had it in my cache all this time.”

He turned it over in his hands, feeling the disconnect of time and place as he studied the book and its title. Tales of the Fae, scrolled in gold leaf over a rose in full bloom. “Briar Rose,” he breathed in recognition, “I—”

“I don’t think you should call me that anymore,” she interrupted, color flushing her cheeks.

That gave him pause. “Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing,” she said, sounding defensive. “And silly.” Her gaze slid away, and she fidgeted with a fold of her silk skirts. Another lie.

“I didn’t make you for a coward,” he said, rather pleased to see her eyes flash indignant fire as they met his again. “Where is the white saber cat who scaled a giant to save me? Where is the fire-breathing dragon who fished me out of the sea?” He risked taking a step closer to her, and she inhaled sharply. Not fleeing, but a pulse beat frantically in the tender hollow under her jaw as she set her chin stubbornly.

“Isyn,” she breathed, an uneven hitch in it. “Please don’t do this to me. I’m trying to be brave, but doing the right thing is… It’s not easy.”

“What right thing?” he coaxed, coming close enough to her to take her hand and enclose it in both of his.

“Letting you go,” she said firmly, but her lips wobbled, eyes growing luminous with tears.

He caught his breath at the sudden pain. “Don’t you love me anymore? Was none of it real?”

She softened, gazing back at him with memories in her eyes of all they’d been to each other in those few short, intensely intimate days. “I’ll love you for the rest of my life,” she answered with her artless and earnest honesty. Then she rushed on before he could savor the joy of hearing those words. “But I can’t be with you. We both have to face that.”

“Why can’t you?” he asked, utterly bewildered, holding onto her hand when she tried to tug it away. “I don’t understand what I’m supposed to be facing.”

She took a ragged breath. “I don’t want you to pretend to love me out of obligation. You don’t owe me anything, Isyn. I don’t want your gratitude. We saved each other. We’re even.”

He’d have given a great deal to be having this conversation when he felt less overwhelmed by the sudden change in his life and world, but he’d summoned her to force this, and he wouldn’t give up now. “But I do love you,” he protested.

She shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

“I do,” he insisted, squeezing her hand as if that might somehow prove it.

“You said you wished I hadn’t come back for you,” she accused, not meeting his gaze but staring steadfastly at some point on his chest.

“Because I wanted you to live! I was terrified you’d die saving me. Or that you’d succeed and you’d be stuck with a doddering old man.”

“You are not old, Isyn! And I love you no matter how you look, aged or young, injured or whole. None of that matters to me.”

That did it. Releasing her hand, he took her face in his and kissed her. She stiffened, then melted, making a small despairing sound, then dug her fingers into the velvet of his coat, sagging against him as he drank of her sweet lips. Seaside sunshine and tropical flowers. This was right. Them, together. This was meant.

He broke the kiss, holding her close as she stared up at him, the careful mask of indifference finally shattered. Instead she looked tortured and furious, changing her grip to fists, she pounded them against his chest. “Stop doing that to me!”

“Doing what—kissing you?”

“Making me feel this way.” Her face crumpled, and she once again curled her fingers into his jacket. “You have to let me go.”

“If that’s what you truly want, I will,” he vowed, willing her to believe him. “But I love you, Gendra. Briar Rose. Hummingbird, orca, saber cat, penguin, or dragon—I see you no matter what form you wear, and I will love you for the rest of my life. I’ve got my life back, and I want nothing more than to spend it with you.”

She stilled, searching his face. “You truly mean that?”

“Of course I mean that! I know my own heart, Gendra—and I know yours.”

“But I…” She shook her head, as if trying to clear it. “I don’t understand,” she whispered almost to herself, then pierced him with a fierce and possessive gaze. “But I’m taking the gift as offered. Would you—would you wait for me a moment?”

“I’ll wait for you forever.”

She giggled—a love giggle, he was sure of it—and kissed him. “This should be somewhat less than forever.” Lifting her skirts so she could run, she dashed a short distance away. She folded her hands and bowed her head, seeming to be praying.

And, with a billow, a white dragon stood in her place, wreathed in the mists of the Isles, flames sparking as she breathed and extended her massive wings. He fell in love with her all over again.

When she shifted back to human form, she walked toward him, eyes shining. And when he opened his arms to her, she stepped into them, unhesitating, laying her cheek against his. “I have dragon form,” she whispered, as if telling him a secret.

“I know you do. Was this a surprise?”

“A gift unasked for.”

“Turns out your name is more prophetic than you made it out to be.”

“I wonder.” She pulled back just enough to kiss him. “What happens now?”

“You marry me, be my queen, and we live happily ever after,” he told her very seriously. “That’s how all romantic fairy tales end.”

“Isyn…” She searched his face. “I have to finish what we started. I can’t abandon my friends.”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “You found me in order to obtain my assistance, and my assistance you all shall have.”

Happiness lit her eyes, and she smiled, a sweet curve of her lovely mouth. “But what about being king?”

“They’ve waited this long,” he said, kissing her, lingering over it. “Also, I can’t abandon the folk. Your group is the key to liberating them from the alter-realm their world has become.”

“We have to find a way to defeat the intelligence,” she agreed.

“Besides, the final catastrophe is to happen here, yes?”

“We’ll have to ask Stella if that’s changed, but it hadn’t the last time she looked.”

“We’ll ask, but not tonight. All I want tonight,” he murmured, fitting her close against him, “is to dance with my faerie princess at the ball, and show her off in her beautiful gown. Would that be all right?”

She caught his teasing tone. “It would be more than all right. It would be wonderful.”

“And then afterward…” He kissed her, long and lingering, seeking the immediate and passionate reply before releasing her and offering his arm. “Afterward, I plan to strip you out of that beautiful gown and show you what a young man can accomplish in bed.”

“Just mind the claws,” she simpered, her nails on his arm surprising him by curving into actual long, curved, and very sharp claws.

He lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them. “I don’t mind at all. I’ve got you. I love you.”

“Yes,” she sighed happily. “You absolutely do.”

The story continues in

The Storm Princess and the Raven King

Coming February 22, 2022