“Your wings are amazing,” Corvis says softly, his voice filled with wonder that makes my heart skip. I can feel the reverence in his tone, and then I realize I did something I had never done for someone other than blood. I let him within my wings—I am so vulnerable like this, more exposed than if I were naked.
When I finally calm down, the predatory tension leaving my muscles like water draining from a cup, I open my wings and smile. “Thank you.” I offer him a small smile, then turn to head toward the stables again, though my steps are more cautious now. Honestly, I don’t know how I feel about how easy it was for him to soothe my dragoness, the way his presence alone could quiet the beast that lives beneath my skin.
As Corvis pulls the heavy wooden door open with a creak of old hinges, a man with long black hair and pink eyes looks up at us from where he’s grooming a massive chestnut mare. The horses seemsoothed by his presence, their earlier panic completely gone, replaced by a calm that feels almost supernatural.
“He’s one of the black unicorns. Unicorns are usually guardians of horses and other hoofed mammals,” Corvis whispers to me, his breath warm against my ear and sending shivers down my spine.
“Do you need a mount?” The male asks, his voice resonating with power that makes the air itself seem to vibrate. My dragoness perks up at the sound, recognizing something primal and ancient. Interesting reaction—I’ll catalogue that to study later.
“I’ve never ridden before, and I’m expected to ride in the procession.” I curve my wings tight to my body, feeling nervous and insecure about riding something that should be dinner, the instinctive response making my stomach clench with guilt.
“Warhorse or regular horse?” He moves closer, and he has the same feeling to him that Leander does—dark power wrapped in human form. He’s a creature of darkness, from the abyss, and my scales prickle with recognition of something dangerous and otherworldly.
“Mother said warhorse.” I glance over at Corvis, and he nods, his expression encouraging despite the concern lingering in his silver eyes.
“Hmm...” the male says, leading us further into the stables. The scent grows stronger here—hay and oats mixed with leather and the musky smell of horses, underlaid with something wilder that speaks of supernatural breeding. He stops at the stall at the far end, the largest one in the building. He steps into the stall and walks out with the biggest war horse I have ever seen, the animal’s hooves striking the stone floor like thunder.
His fur is blacker than pitch, so dark it seems to absorb light, and he snorts smoke that curls from his nostrils like dragon’s breath. “This is Titan—he is the leader of the herd.” He walks the massivebeast past me, and I can feel the heat radiating from the horse’s body and the raw power in every step. He hooks him to the cross ties with practiced efficiency and offers me a brush, the bristles worn smooth from years of use.
“To build a bond with a war horse, you need to care for it,” he explains, and I take the brush from him, feeling the weight of it in my palm.
I start with the horse’s neck, each stroke slow and in the direction of the hair, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the midnight coat. The texture is surprisingly soft, like velvet over steel, and Titan’s muscles ripple beneath my touch. I look to my right and see Corvis pulling a horse out of a stall—a smoke-colored war horse that’s almost a nod to his scales, the gray hide shimmering with an otherworldly sheen.
The male returns and offers me a step stool, the wood smooth and worn from countless hands. “I would suggest brushing where the saddle will go first, otherwise you’ll never get on him today.” He offers me a gloved hand, and I climb up high enough to reach Titan’s back, feeling the solid strength of the horse beneath me.
What feels like forever later, my arms aching from the unfamiliar work, the male returns with a saddle that smells of oiled leather and metal polish. I get out of his way, stepping back to watch as he gets the horse saddled and the bridle with bit in place. The metal jingles softly as Titan shakes his magnificent head, and then we’re leading him outside into the afternoon sunlight.
I remember what I read about war horses, the knowledge surfacing from hours of study, and I step in front of him. “May I please ride you?” I bow before him, spreading my wings wide in a display of respect, and wait. As insane as it seems—a dragon bowing to a horse—it needs to be done. They are one of the more intelligent breeds and will kill a rider in a heartbeat if not properly respected.
I feel him sniff the back of my head, his breath warm and sweet withthe scent of hay, before I stand up and tuck my wings back. The inspection feels oddly formal, like a ritual between equals.
I move to his side and look up at how high the stirrup is; the leather worn smooth from years of use. “How do I get up there?” As I ask the question, Titan bows, lowering himself to me with a grace that seems impossible for something so massive.
“He’s never done that,” the male says, his voice filled with surprise that borders on shock.
I take advantage of the horse’s kindness and climb up onto his back, feeling the warmth of his body through the saddle leather. Getting seated, I lean forward and pat his neck gently, feeling the powerful muscles beneath the midnight coat. “Thank you, Titan. Can we walk first? I just need to walk in the procession.” I hold his reins loosely, the leather supple in my hands, and he walks, heading to the riding ring with steps that barely jar me despite his size.
Once inside the ring, he walks slowly, making my first time riding not as scary as I thought it would be. The rhythm is soothing, like a rocking chair, and I find myself relaxing into the movement.
“Titan let you on him?” I hear Abraxis say as he walks to the edge of the ring, his voice carrying surprise and something that might be concern.
“He was very kind to grant me the honor.” I rub his neck again, feeling the warmth beneath my palm and the way his muscles respond to my touch.
“Hold his reins tighter—he can easily get away from you,” Abraxis instructs, his voice carrying the authority of long experience.
“Oh no, we have an understanding.” I lightly touch Titan’s neck, barely more than a whisper of contact. “Please stop.” Titan stops immediately, so smoothly I barely feel the transition. “I don’t need the reins. I just need to ask him.” I pat his neck again, feeling the contentmentradiating from the noble beast. “Let’s walk again, please.” As soon as I ask, he moves again, his gait as smooth as silk.
“She’s a natural,” the male says to Abraxis, admiration clear in his voice.
“What were you thinking, putting Thauglor’s daughter on Titan? Hemlocke, I thought you of all beings would know this is a terrible idea.” Abraxis scolds him, and Titan turns to walk toward them with purposeful steps. Titan blows smoke in Abraxis’s face, the gesture clearly deliberate and mildly insulting.
“He asked to be let out to walk for her,” Hemlocke says, and Titan makes several more noises—deep rumbles and soft whickers that sound almost like conversation. Hemlocke nods as if understanding perfectly. “He likes her—she’s gentle and respectful. He will be her mount for the processional and any other time she needs him.” I rub Titan’s neck before leaning forward to hug him, feeling his warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
“How is this possible! He’s an unbroken stallion,” Abraxis almost screams, his voice sharp with disbelief, before Titan snorts more smoke in his face with what seems like deliberate aim.
“Unbroken?” I get nervous and look around quickly, suddenly aware that I might be in more danger than I realized.
“He’s a stud horse used only for breeding more war horses,” Abraxis says, sounding almost proud despite his earlier concern.
