Once Bitten: A Dragon-Shifter Fantasy Romance Read online

  As Lidia was lacing the back of Eloisa’s gown, there was a knock at the door. A second later, a gaggle of female servants entered, all of them dressed in matching outfits of sable robes and pewter sashes. Their auras buzzed with nervous excitement and they chattered amongst one another in rapid Cal’derache as they flowed into the room.

  One of the servants, whom she recognized as Graja, stepped forward and gave a low bow.

  “Good you are wake, Miss Princess,” she said, overly enunciating in her broken Atolian. “Come us for to do your hair for battle.”

  “Battle?” Eloisa repeated.

  She looked to Lidia, who shrugged her shoulders. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say she’s referring to the tournament. I failed to mention that we’re headed to the arena once we depart here.”

  “We’re attending a tournament?”

  Lidia said, “The sovereign is quite fond of them, it seems. He has arranged for a tournament for your pleasure.”

  “What sort of tournament? Ow!”

  Maids had already begun to swarm Eloisa. On either side of her, a woman was raking combs through her hair, which had become matted in the night.

  “I will do hair for night to make better for next day,” Graja informed her as Eloisa tried swatting at the offending combs. “Vayt?”

  Eloisa asked, “How do you say no in Cal’derache?”

  “Nesh, Ma’am.”

  “Nesh!” Eloisa said, to no effect.

  Her head was sore by the time they’d finished, and when she was shown to a mirror, she thought she’d be sick. Her golden hair had been combed to shining and elegantly twisted so that it flowed down one side of her neck, leaving the other side of her neck scandalously bare. Coupled with the dress, which she now realized revealed the tops of her breasts, she looked downright obscene.

  Eloisa wanted her veil. It had been with her in the palanquin, but she didn’t remember leaving with it as she’d exited. She wondered if the palanquin was still there, or if it had been sent back to Atolia, taking with it the final remnant of her former life.

  The sun had already sunken by the time they were outside, but the courtyard was well-lit by blue light. Even the horse-drawn carriage was not enough to lift Eloisa’s miserable spirits. She spared the pale and unusually shaggy mares only a glance before allowing Lidia to help her into the cabin. Several of the maids were quick to pile in with them, until the rest had to be turned away for lack of room. Eloisa expressed her annoyance with them to Lidia, likening them to a swarm of persistent flies.

  “The meritocracy extends to all facets of Cal’derache culture,” Lidia said, her slender form compressed between two women who were chatting over her head. “No servant will be officially posted with you until you express a preference, so they are all eager to demonstrate their value. Apparently, the posting comes with a large bonus.”

  Eloisa directed her attention out the window and kept it there for the entirety of the ride, in spite of Graja’s attempts to converse with her.

  The arena was situated just outside the bounds of the fortress, a short enough distance that they could have walked there. Eloisa was glad that they hadn’t though, as she’d yet to inform anyone that she needed boots that fit her, and was still wearing her flimsy Atolian slippers.

  Once they exited the carriage, they were escorted into the arena through a back route. The passageway was musty and affixed with just enough spheres to light the way. From somewhere beyond it, she could hear what sounded like a thousand voices talking, laughing, and shouting.

  She had not realized that she was growing anxious until Lidia fought her way to the front and slipped her hand into Eloisa’s giving it a firm squeeze. Eloisa squeezed back, her nerves bolstered by the gesture.

  After several flights of stairs, they finally reached the royal booth which was sparse in comforts, but afforded a prime view of the arena’s floor. There were two men inside that she didn’t recognize, both of them dressed in fine leather outfits that were adorned with silver badges. Behind the men, seated on a raised level, were Jedora and Lord Caleth.

  All four occupants of the booth stood as they arrived. The two men in the front offered curt bows, and Lord Caleth inclined his head. The guards who had escorted Eloisa spoke to him, and the sovereign responded without taking his eyes from her.

  He was still staring at her when his aura shimmered with a shade of red that Eloisa almost didn’t recognize.

  Attraction.

  For her.

  Just as the night before, her mouth ran dry and her body warmed. She could feel her heart beating quickly inside her chest, but it wasn’t out of fear or panic.

  The spell was broken when Jedora clapped her hands together and bellowed, “Roashtas! Servants down below.”

  Eloisa’s retinue was quick to slink away. Lidia was the last to go, her hand slipping from Eloisa’s which had become damp with perspiration.

  “Eloisa,” the sovereign said. “Vysrshta ka fasyna.”

  She looked to Jedora for a translation, but his paladin appeared preoccupied with cleaning a smudge on her armor.

  “Jedoraja,” the sovereign said impatiently.

  Without looking up, Jedora said, “The sovereign would like you to know that you don’t look completely objectionable today.”

  Eloisa said a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening for the strength to endure Jedora and her translations.

  She could see how such a disagreeable woman might have earned a place of esteem amongst soldiers, but how was it that she’d been chosen to facilitate communication between the sovereign and his intended? Was there not a single person in his vast empire that possessed both a working knowledge of Atolian and a modicum of professionalism?

  Lord Caleth had continued talking, and Jedora continued her parody of a translation.

  “These are two of our generals, Aenek and Dhytr. Don’t try to pronounce their names, you’ll only embarrass yourself. You can ignore them. They’re only pretending to be interested in you, anyway.”

  The sovereign gestured towards the seat nearest to him and said, “Talsyr, hakshta ka eshtesruk.”

  “The sovereign would like you to quit standing around like and idiot and take a seat.”

  As she took her place beside Lord Caleth, Eloisa found that the proximity to him was enough to distract her from her agitation. Separated by only a hand’s length, she had to tilt her head back to look at him as he spoke to her. On the other side of her, Jedora droned her translations.

  “He wants to know if you like tournaments.”

  Eloisa did not want to put any more words than necessary through Jedora’s filter.

  “I haven’t seen one since I was young.”

  His dark brows lifted. “Cuest?”

  Jedora said, “Why?”

  Her nerves began to jitter as she realized her mistake. Thankfully, Lord Caleth asked another question, sparing Eloisa from having to reveal too much.

  “Yajdredshta?”

  “Did it upset you?”

  Eloisa responded, “Nesh. It bored me.”

  Before Jedora had even spoken the translation, a smile slanted across the sovereign’s face. Both his eyes and his aura sparked with delight at her small effort to communicate with him.

  If her heart had been beating quickly before, it was now banging like a drum.

  Vayt, nesh, cuest.

  Yes, no, and why.

  The three words felt like treasures, currencies she could exchange for his pleasure. Though she knew her reasons where impure, she suddenly yearned for more of his words and sorely wished that they could dispense with the need for Jedora.

  She must have been staring at him oddly, or perhaps for too long, because he cocked his head and asked, “Cues ka sol?”

  “What is it?” Jedora translated.

  Eloisa had been taught at length to feel no shame in speaking the truth, but for all her training she blushed as she gave her reply.

  “You’re very handsome. I find it
difficult not to look at you.”

  Lord Caleth continued to stare at her, his expression serene as he waited for Jedora to translate. When she said nothing, he glanced over Eloisa’s shoulder and frowned.

  Jedora let out an unladylike snort, and then said, “Cues? Metrushta ka cre halfashta cuen asana ketskta ka dresjkashta?”

  Whatever she said, it caused one of the men in front of them to laugh. The sound died in his throat when he saw the sovereign’s face. Eloisa was more preoccupied by his aura, which crackled with anger. Sparks of crimson darted up the empyrean rays, making it the strongest emotion she’d yet seen him display.

  Nothing in the calm manner in which he spoke gave this away, but Eloisa still found herself tensing.

  “Roashta, Jedora.”

  For a moment, they only stared at one another. The tension between the pair was so strong that Eloisa found herself shrinking back in her seat in an effort to make herself smaller.

  Jedora eventually backed down. Her aura still crackling with challenge, she stood and stalked off, her boots echoing even over the din of voices in nearby booths.

  Once she was gone, the sovereign’s aura returned to its usual, pale glow with only the barest hint of his earlier wrath. Eloisa was again impressed by how quickly he could marshal himself back to a state of equilibrium, and she guessed that it was a talent that came with age as well as temperament.

  “Revasojcre,” he said to Eloisa.

  She had no idea what it meant, but she gave him a weak smile. She continued smiling at him over the next few minutes, as he went on talking to her in Cal’derache. Though she couldn’t understand him, she enjoyed listening to the way he spoke and watching his subtle expressions. She could tell that he was talking about the arena by the things he pointed at. Each time, Eloisa would direct her attention at wherever he pointed, looking at it briefly, before her eyes would slide back to the sovereign.

  She found that being in his company without Jedora was far more pleasant than with, but she was surprised and delighted when Lidia showed up a few minutes after Jedora’s premature departure.

  After bowing deeply, Lidia addressed Lord Caleth, and then to Eloisa she said, “Lady Jedora had to step away. She sent me as her proxy.”

  Even when she’d been all but dragged away the night before, Lidia had seemed poised and self-assured, but today she kept her head low and her aura hummed with nervous energy. Instead of taking Jedora’s seat at the right of the sovereign, she stood at Eloisa’s side, her head bowed and her eyes focused on the floor.

  Though preoccupied with stealing glances at the sovereign, Eloisa did find the construction of the arena to be impressive. It was also a bit odd. She had seen arenas in depictions of architecture and had a fairly vivid memory of attending one with her father as a girl. All of the arenas she’d seen had been oval-shaped, with tiered rows of seating and a wide ground level where duels, jousts, and melees would take place.

  This arena had tiered seating, with twenty levels on either side stacked like steps. Evenly distributed throughout the rows were spheres of light that sat atop ornate stakes. They provided enough light so that the rows were visible and the patrons would be able to see their way around, but the real illumination came from four massive lenses at the base of the arena. Between what must have been a thousand glowing beetles and some ingenuity in craftsmanship, the lenses managed to illuminate the whole of the arena floor and the sky above it.

  While the giant lenses were quite impressive, the arena floor was small. In fact, it looked as if the arena had been cut in half. The floor was a semicircle and comprised of black sand. Where the arena should have continued, there was only a steep drop off into open air. Her first thought was that it had been constructed for the view, which was spectacular. She could see all of the capitol city below, and the outline of the frozen ocean beyond.

  Heavy drum beats signaled the start of the tournament. The raucous crowd grew quiet, and everywhere Eloisa looked, she could see the glow of anticipation.

  The fighters stepped out onto the arena, one coming from the chambers on either side. Despite the good lighting, Eloisa had tough time making out more than the colors of their blue armor, which were so similar that she was certain she wouldn’t be able to keep track of who was who once the duel began.

  When he noticed her squinting, Lord Caleth leaned down and said, “Yedrashta.”

  His breath tickled her ear, sending a tingling sensation down her neck. Swallowing, she looked to Lidia for a translation.

  “He says to be patient.”

  Another drumbeat sounded, and then the fighters surged forward. Just as it occurred to her that the men had no swords or lances, they began to phase, their bodies enlarging and elongating mid-stride. By the time they reached the center of the arena, they’d come fully into their dragon forms, a large blue frost dragon and a smaller black. They roared as they crashed into one another, and Eloisa seized the arms of her chair as the sounds caused the arena to tremble.

  The crowd erupted into cheers and shouts as the pair began to clash, repeatedly smashing into one another with claws drawn and jaws open wide. As they tore at one another, bits of scale and horn came flying off into the lower levels of the crowd. Far from being alarmed, the patrons practically attacked one another over the pieces, and guards had to come to break up the conflict.

  Eloisa took to biting her nails as the fight progressed. Not only was she unhabituated to such violence, but she felt particularly stressed for the black dragon, who was so much smaller than his opponent. Each time they clashed, he got only a few swipes in at the frost dragon’s wings before he would get muscled back and pinned to the ground. With every escape, he lost scales, broke horns, or sustained a bloody gouge. Though she knew that the injuries would heal, seeing them inflicted made her stomach turn.

  The few times she’d looked at Lord Caleth, he’d been engrossed in the fight. Though his reactions were muted compared to the crowd and even the generals in front of them, she noticed him grin during the particularly bloody exchanges.

  “Yajdredshta?”

  Eloisa was surprised when she looked over to see the sovereign staring down at her, his elegant brows drawn together. She remembered the Cal’derache phrase from one of their earlier conversations, but her mind drew a blank as she tried to translate it.

  “He’s asking if the fight frightens you,” Lidia said.

  Eloisa couldn’t say either way. It wasn’t her own safety that concerned her.

  “I’m worried that the black one might be killed,” she told him.

  Lidia translated for her, and then gave Eloisa his response, translating one sentence at a time. Whether from lack of understanding or difficulty hearing over the crowd, Lidia’s translations were stumbling.

  “The black is hoping…waiting in hope for time—biding, he’s biding his time. The frost is fighting very badly. He’ll lose in the second course when they take air.”

  “Take air?”

  “Um, fly, I think.” Lidia looked nervously at the sovereign. Seeing that he’d resumed viewing the fight, she mumbled, “Sorry. He speaks differently than the others.”

  Eloisa wanted to ask her to elaborate, but it felt rude to have a discussion about Lord Caleth in a foreign language while she was sitting beside him. Instead, she turned her attention back to the fight just as the drum sounded again, this time banging twice.

  She gasped as the dragons pulled away from one another and shot into the air. The arena’s strange construction now made sense to her. In Atolia, battles were always fought in human form, as the alternative would be too dangerous for the onlookers.

  Indeed, as soon as they took to the air, the black dragon pulled up ahead of his opponent, and then plunged down to smash into him. The frost dragon plummeted to the ground, falling just shy of one of the sides of the arena. If that wasn’t alarming enough, before he could get to his feet, the black dragon unleashed a torrent of fire onto him. It didn’t reach the crowd, but when the frost drag
on managed to get away, he was badly burned.

  Eloisa could see now what Caleth had been trying to convey. Though it had appeared that the frost dragon was winning with the way he bullied the black around, the black had been allowing the attacks so that he could get close enough to apply incremental damage to the frost dragon’s wings. As the match had proceeded into the aerial phase, the frost dragon had been able to fly as quickly as the black, and now that the black dragon had gotten in his attack, the frost dragon’s left wing was burned to the extent that it didn’t appear useable.

  The frost dragon spent the next few minutes evading the black dragon’s attacks. It was difficult for him to get in any attacks of his own, as his frost breath did not have the range of the black dragon’s fire. The odds had flipped, and now it was the frost dragon who seemed hopelessly outmatched.

  “Can he even win at this point?” Eloisa asked. She’d been asking Lidia, but the maid translated her question to Lord Caleth, who responded without taking his eyes from the fight.

  Lidia translated, “If he can get a…a breath? If he can breathe on the black’s wings, he will have the…the win.”

  In their own way, Lidia’s translations were almost as annoying as Jedora’s, but at least Eloisa didn’t have to contend with being insulted on top of everything else.

  The tides changed again several minutes later, when the black dragon swooped to deliver his scorching breath. Instead of evading the assault, the frost dragon stood up on his hind legs and delivered a powerful burst of ice just as the black was gearing up for his assault. The ice pelted the black dragon head on, sending him hurtling back and straight for the booth where Eloisa was sitting.

  It happened so quickly that there was no time to evade. Eloisa could barely let out a scream as the black dragon and the spray of ice crashed into them.

  The arena shuddered, but when Eloisa opened her eyes she saw that their booth was still intact. She watched in awe as his body and the ice encasing it remained suspended in the air in front of them, and then began to slide down and fall to the ground.