The lightest hint of disuse cracked his soft voice, while the almost-noble inflection of Kalish hinted an accent long practiced away.
“Good afternoon. I am Ghreiden, third prince of Sauria, acting regent.” Ghreid gave a short bow to the male who halted mid-step, his legs so graceful, poised on the balls of his feet in a near deer-like way, so slender and toned in a gentle swell. Ghreid had to bury the desire to kiss the male’s flesh and lick the salt from his skin, starting at his smooth ankles, following his fine flesh higher—
“I am Varis.” And the way he said it made Ghreid’s flesh ripple with sensation, the accent putting an inflection into his name.
Avarice.Just like his dream.
He was made for Ghreid.
Chapter Seven
Varis
Another day, another boring nap, another listless passing of hours waiting for—Varis wasn’t certain anymore.
Certainly he could swim better than his shipmates, and watching them die or flee one by one into the lacemaker-beast-laden waters had been hard, but the superstitions of sailors was such that if they saw how the creatures reacted to him—he’d be called a witch. And witches were thrown overboard, murdered, held captive, burned, or worse. Being sold piece by piece as alchemy ingredients—likely what his homeland had planned for him, or being used to power unknown machinations wasn’t his plan in life.
But nothing was the plan, was it? He didn’t plan on landing there. He didn’t plan on waiting as long as he had; he just wanted to escape, and on his private island of wreckage—he could do just that.
In the heat of the late morning, he lay about in the captain’s old quarters, snuggled up in the mildewed bed to avoid the rain he could swear was coming. His skin prickled like it did before a storm. And with the frequent rains that time of year, getting clean water was a priority. He unfurled the sails, angled the bottom, and placed barrels in a ring with another barrel on top to fill and overflow to fill the others. But he’d always wait an hour or so into the rain before collecting. It was important to clean the sails. Even still, he boiled the water before drinking it.
But rain hadn’t come.
That prickling anxious sensation made for storms made his entire body shudder at times, and he did what he could to restlessly toss about and sleep. So, when the flap of beating wings distinguished itself from his dry sails fluttering, he flailedand snorted himself awake at the cry of a rather distinguished voice, fluent in the Eland tongue, called out to him in trader’s pidgin.
“Get out here and jab with me!” he’d said, and Varis wondered if, since his diction was so sweet, if he knew what it was he’d said so informally—not that pidgin had formality. Varis squinted out of the captain’s window and drew back at the sight of gold, bright and beautiful, obscuring his vision—but amid it all, he was certain of one thing. Before him stood a dragon.
Varis decided that he’d best speak the male’s Elander to ensure their conversation went smoothly. After all, Varis was educated. And so he stepped into the sun’s brightness to greet the male. “I speak common Elander.”
“Good afternoon. I am Ghreiden, a prince of Sauria, acting regent.” Noble softness coiled in his voice. A depth that Varis was unfamiliar with, a voice obtained only from growing up in high altitudes, thin air and cold. Gold horns, chained with glorious strands, tinkled as a head canted. Equally golden hair fluttered about his neck in a light breeze, bringing with it the scent of raw, powerful male.
Varis could only announce his name. A soft thing that made the dragon stare with dark eyes lit from bottomless pits, gold glittering like pools of molten wealth. “I am Varis.”
“Varis…” Ghreiden stepped forward.
The dreams that Varis had. Prophethetic. “Was it you?”
He dared not say the subject of the dream lest it wasn’t reciprocated, but he’d heard of twin souls meeting in dreams, a fairy tale, a myth. Gods had ordained love in certain ways, and while his country was accepting, as the Monsmountians weren’t known to be, they spoke little of true love. Varis’s father had two wives and took his fair share of male lovers. It was not an uncommon thing or anything to bear shame for.
“The dream called to you, too.” Not a question, a statement, certainty deep in his throat. He took a step forward, golden warm skin calling to him, soft and somehow strong in a way that he never would be. Varis was not built for that breadth, to hold that kind of muscle. It was why he was selected to climb the rigging more often than not.
Another step, and this time, Varis didn’t know whose it was. Varis or Ghreid? They were closer.
“Why are you here?” Ghreid extended a hand, fingers uncurling as if to beckon him closer. Varis took the bait and did; another step pulling him in as a moth to a flame.
“I cannot come ashore.” The words fell lamely from his lips. “I do not wish to be conscripted, trafficked, or sent back to my home country.”
“I will do no such thing. You will stay with me.” Incense caught in the breeze, a hint of perfume, woody and dark, came from Ghreid. A soap rich with oils. Fragrant herbs.
Their fingers laced, and Varis’s heart thundered in his chest. “Why would a dragon seek me?”
Ghreid tilted his head and extended his other hand, gesturing toward Varis’s shoulders, closing the distance to touch them when the smaller male leaned in. His fingertips traversed the patterned freckles, studying them one by one as he had in their dream. “This marks you as the consort of a dragon.”
“What?” Varis froze, fawning at the new information. His heart doubled over itself. “These are… I am cursed.”
“What lies have you been told? These are the marks of an ashen one.” Varis traced the freckles once more. “It means that upon my lips, in my bed, and under the light of a full moon, you will be a dragon.”
Varis blinked at the information. “I am human. You are saying I will be treated as a dragon?”
