War Bride by Ava Sinclair

“You are in mourning,” he says.

I don’t reply. Instead I strain my eyes to find a shape in the fog, a peak, a raven, anything.

“I will not pretend that you have not suffered great hurt, Isla of Branlock. I will not pretend that you will ever fully heal from your loss. But neither will I pretend that we can go on like this. Lady Lyla told you what would be expected of you here.”

“I know what is expected.” I peer into the swirling mist. “You and your mighty brothers will take me to your bed chambers and fuck me. I will endure it, because that is what I have been taught to do as a villager, isn’t it? To endure the rule of the great Drakoryans, or suffer the consequences?”

There’s a sigh in the fog. “What we did…”

“…was your right as rulers. I know.” I look over at him. “Lord Jayx, I will not pretend to want any of this if you will not pretend that your patience is kindness. In the end, you will get what you want. Dragons always get what they want, whether it is the daughters of villagers or the destruction of a village itself.” I pause. “Regardless of what the Lady of Fra’hir says, you are all the same.”

I can now make out enough of his features to see a spasm of hurt cross his face.“No.” His tone is still kind, but there’s steel in it now. “We are not all the same.” He pauses. “But you are right. We do get what we want.” He looks away. “Tomorrow, my brothers and I will battle in dragon form for first rights to your body. In the past, this battle decided which brother claimed a virgin from Altar Rock. No villager has ever witnessed this combat. We want you to see your lords fight with flame and tooth and claw, so that you may know what we risk for the privilege of taking one so precious. We consider lying with you to be an honor, Isla of Branlock, an honor so great as to temporarily turn brother against brother.”

The mist is starting to clear farther out. I can see the mountain peaks, the craggy depths of the ravine below. I try to imagine dragon fighting dragon over me, a woman pulled half dead from the depths of a well.

I can feel Jayx staring at me. His gaze caresses me like hands. He is close enough that I can feel the heat from his body warming me through the mist.

“And after that?” I ask, although I know what will happen. I shudder. It is easier to imagine these men warring as dragons than to imagine them taking me with anything other than roughness.

Jayx doesn’t immediately answer.

“Afterwards, the victor will take his ease in the healing pools of our castle long enough to mend his wounds and regain his strength. Then he will come to you, Isla of Branlock. He will lay you on the bed and fight a new battle, one that has him control his lust, which is stronger than any dragon. And he will, for it will be his duty to introduce you to the carnal mysteries, to show you how a masterful lord can play the strings of your body’s instrument to perfect pitch, to use his fingers and tongue and cock to draw you away — even for a moment — from the awful pain of your loss. You will drift on an ocean of sensation. You will rise and fall on waves of pleasure. And the only cry you utter will be for your lover to end the misery of your virginity and to fill you with his cock.”

His words have the strangest effect on me. My legs feel heavy, as if rooting me to the mountain under my feet. I gasp and realize that I had been holding my breath. Yet, it is the soft, curious throb between my thighs that is most unnerving. It as if Lord Jayx has stirred something in me that had died the day the dragon destroyed my village.

I know what it is. Desire.

Oh, yes, I have felt it. In my village, we were discouraged, from experiencing such feelings. We were to stay as untouched maidens for three years after the age of claiming, to give the Drakoryans time to take or pass us by. If we weren’t claimed in that time, we could mate with one of our own. There were village boys who would return from the fields, their sleek, ropy arms and lean torsos glistening with sweat. I would draw water for them, and when I handed them a cup they would fix me with slow, easy smiles and hungry eyes. I remember their faces. I remember the tingling pulses of budding need I felt in their presence.

Those boys are dead now. Only I have survived, along with a need that feels like a betrayal of their memory. It is a need as primal as the dragon lords who plucked me from the well where I used to draw water for hopeful village lads.