Page 87 of Ashborne Forged

And I felt the love and need and fear he scrambled to cover.

His control and intention in the face of that onslaught left me breathless.

But then the queen spoke up and we were all forced to face her. “It appears that an agreement has been reached. A reasonable arrangement,” she said, as if the words tasted sour. “I am loath to breach the guiding laws of another kingdom when they are only being applied to its citizens. However, the dragon’s claim also cannot be denied. I am delighted you see that, Breckon.”

He nodded tightly, but the queen continued as if it didn’t matter.

“If you will sign an equally bonding vow of returning her and her dragon to our herd as soon as her commitments are met, then I will allow her to leave.”

“Show me your papers, and my man will review them. We will send them back by messenger—”

“Oh, no, sir. For you see, your actions do impinge on the rights and conduct of men close to my influence. I am not making a request,” she said sweetly. “You will sign your agreement to these terms before my men will release Grace.”

He grabbed for my arm as if he were afraid someone would drag me away right then and there. “Show me. I’ll sign,” he snarled. “Provided the terms are that Grace returns by her choosing. I will not force her away from me if she wishes to stay.”

The queen nodded her acquiescence.

The glow of the candles in the room spread and blurred across my vision as Breckon dragged me to the corner where the queen’s desk was laid with papers her man magically produced—two copies. Breckon leaned over to sign them without releasing my arm and panic sang in my veins.

“There you are, wife,” he muttered as he signed the second with a flourish. “As soon as we have our heirs, you will be free to return to this hellhole—if you still wish to.”

I still have my knife. I can kill him.

The thought made me ill. But the thought of years stuck in his clutches, of being caged in his manor… of bearing his children—

A tiny choke broke in my throat, and I felt the rush through the bond.

‘Forgive me. It’s the only way forward.’ Voski’s voice was tight, dark with rage.

I turned to look at him—what was the only way? What was he doing?

But he still stood there, all weight on one leg, the other knee bent, his hands in his pockets. It wasn’t until Breckon turned for the door, dragging me with him, that Voski spoke quietly.

“How would you be certain the heir was actually yours?” he asked casually.

Breckon snapped to a halt, his eyes narrowing.

~ VOSKI ~

It was the act of my life. The deception supreme. And I threw myself into it with every ounce of strength and faith I possessed.

Smug smile.

Gleaming eyes.

A low, guttural voice that was heavy with innuendo, but casually indifferent.

I knew how these Fyrehold assholes worked. I’d been all wrong bringing him threats of violence. The only language these fucknuts understood was sheer power. And real power never came from a title. Whomever was most in control of their will held the reins.

So, the moment he halted, mid-step, to stare at me with suspicion, I smiled.

“What are you implying?” he growled.

“I’m implying nothing. I’m asking you quite frankly, before our queen and my commanders, how you might accurately measure that any heir you receive is yours. She’s my dragonbond mate. You’re a man of the world, I’m certain you take my meaning.”

His face turned red, and he actually spluttered, pretending pompous shock. “The Lady Grace Barnslow is a woman of noble birth, pure and undefiled—”

“I suppose it depends somewhat on how you define defiled. But it seems you didn’t listen to my squad captain when he described the dragon bond,” I said, keeping my tone low, and dark, and breathy.