Wilderness, Celenore

Bedelth spotted their camp as he began descending. King Talon flew at the front of their wing, and today, he'd opted for second position, breaking wind behind him. It was more strenuous than other positions in the formation, but he didn't mind. It gave his wings the challenge they craved, helped build muscle and strength.

On his back, Saffra's body leaned forward. The press of her face against his scales sent a shiver down his neck, straight to his chest. Such an intimate thing, flying with one's mate. Everyone knew the Drengr didn't fly with anyone but, and yet, he wasn't sure she understood what it did to him. The severity of it. Just the feel of her tiny body pressed against his massive draconic one, sent his mind wild. The first time they'd flown together, there'd been too much worry, too many emotions, namely shock, to enjoy a single moment of it.

Not so, this time. Not so when they'd left the ground behind, turning for home. That first day in the sky, it had been impossible to calm his heart. It beat double pace, tiring him quickly. He'd been glad for his position in the rear, then. It was all he could do to keep his wings moving, his breathing controlled, and keep up with the rest.

The second day had been easier, even if it still started with a thrill. He'd hardly slept, counting down the moments before they'd return to the sky. Counting down the moments when he could feel her against him. And each day thereafter had been a gift. It was a precious thing, to have her here with him, even if they weren't melded as they ought to be.

There was no meeting of minds. No shared thoughts. No passage of time lost in one another.

And yet, his mind was still lost. Lost in thoughts of her, thoughts of what it might be like if they were mated. He even allowed himself to pretend, in some moments, that they were. That this was their life, flying together, being together. He imagined what he'd find in her mind, the thoughts they'd share.

It was a dangerous passtime.

Two days remained before they reached the capital. With the distance covered, a new panic rose. A new, piercing pain. What if this was it? What if this thing she'd given him, this small gift, was the last of it? What if, once they returned, she put space between them again? What if this journey was the first and only they'd ever take together. What if, two days from now, it was the last time they'd ever fly together?

His throat closed up. The ground rose to meet him. The others were already transforming, landing on two feet. He landed on four, his sharp talons digging deep furrows into the earth, doing his best to be smooth. There came a sharp intake of breath from Saffra, a physical reaction. He'd grown attuned to those little tells, without the ability to see into her mind.

He waited until she slid down his side, dismounting. The moment her feet met the ground, he transformed. It was a fast process, shedding his scales for skin. Turning to her, his eyes darted over her figure, assessing. She watched him, lips parted. He'd never grow tired of that expression, but he didn't call attention it.

"Are you all right?" he asked, taking several steps towards her.

Her mouth closed. She nodded. "Yes...I...thank you. Just getting my feet beneath me, is all."

He nodded. "Good. I'll track down some food."

"Bedelth..." She sighed. "You don't have to fuss over me. I am capable—"

"I'm aware, Lady Saffra. You are capable, in every sense of the word. But, you are also flying with me, as my guest, at my invitation. There comes a certain level of pride, in seeing you cared for. Let me do this, hm?"

Her mouth opened, then closed. "Of course. All right. I'll just..."

"I'll come and find you once you've settled," he said.

"Thank you."

He went to gather with the others. They stood mingling, the king's Shields with Claire's guards. "Aha! Just the male I wanted to see." A firm hand landed his shoulder. He spun to face the Spriten prince. "Care for some sparring? I'm stiff as a tree, and Jeanine is off...gossiping somewhere with Elyon and Filvro, gods save me."

He chuckled. He and Feowen had spent a few nights sparring. It was an excellent way to loosen up after a day of traveling. It also offered the chance to face a worthy opponent, always capable of sending him to the ground with a level of enviable grace.

"You're asking if I want my pride handed to me on a silver platter?"

"As always," Feowen said, raising his brows in a challenge. The Sprite had thousands of years on him. Even still, he saw the opportunity as a chance to grow, to improve. That notion was deeply engrained, the need to always be better, thanks to his oppressive parents.

"You're on," he said. "I need to track down some food first, and then I'll join you."

"Ah, yes, of course." There burned something in Feowen's eyes. A knowing. But the Sprite didn't push him.

He did as intended, gathering bread, salted meat, and a hunk of cheese. He bundled it together in a clean cloth and searched her out. She sat off to the side of the camp, alone. Claire was off with Talon, and though Saffra and Claire spent time together, he often found that she preferred the quiet of her own mind.

"Here you are," he said, crouching, offering her the bundle. She looked at him. Her expression, soft initially, melted to guarded indifference. He'd learned to search for it, those initial moments when she beheld him. She always found the strength to master her expression.

"Thank you, Bedelth. Would you...do you want to join me?"

He hesitated. It was the first time she'd asked. He quickly recovered and said, "Actually, I was going to ask you the same, if you'd like to come over and enjoy some entertainment while you eat."

"Entertainment?" Her head tilted, brows pulling together.

"Oh, yes." He stood. "Prince Feowen is about to grind me into a pulp. What could be more enjoyable as a dinner passtime, than watching me meet my match?"

A small, unguarded laugh burst from her lips. The sound sent wings fluttering in his stomach. She stood, dusting off her pants. "Yes, all right. Lead the way, then."

Without meaning to, he placed a hand at the base of her back and guided her forward, seeking out Feowen. His chest flapped, when he realized that she didn't move out of his reach. He wanted to count it a small victory, but he knew better.

"Ah! An audience. Excellent. I doubt it will lend you any added skill against me."

"No, certainly not," he growled, dropping his arm, moving away from Saffra.

"Let's make it fun, shall we?" Feowen removed his blade and used a bit of magic to smooth the grass around them, pressing it down, before creating a large circle. "We stay within the bounds, or we loose. Think of it as a way to get one up on me, if you can manage to press me outside the circle. Best three out of five wins?"

"All right." He liked the sound of that, removing his own blade. The Sverak sat heavy in his hand. It wasn't the first time he found his eyes darting to the empty place where a pommel stone ought to rest. He didn't let his mind linger.

They got into position. He evened his breathing. Feeling Saffra's gaze upon him was nothing new. In the past nights, she'd watched from afar, by the fire. But tonight felt...different. She was here beside him, by choice.

Lifting his blade at the read, he and Feowen circled. The Sprite was the first to lunge, cutting through the air. He dodged. It was a move meant to intimidate, to goad him into attacking. Instead, he simply waited. Feowen tried again, and again, always taking an offensive approach. The Sprite was skilled enough to get away with it. Bedelth had learned that the first time they'd sparred.

Still, when Feowen dropped his arm, dropped his guard—a feigned movement, of course—he accepted the invitation. Feowen met his blade, the sound of the Spriten weapon singing. And then they began to move in earnest. Their blades clashed over and over, spinning and darting, feet nimbly moving back and forth across the circle.

He managed a surprise punch to Feowen's side as their blades caught—

"Yes! Get him!"

Gods! That voice.

His Sverak faltered. Feowen used the moment of surprise to sweep his blade around. An explosion of pain lit up along his side. He grunted, stepping back, out of range. "That's one," Feowen taunted.

He growled, a warning.

Saffra's cry had completely unarmed him. That she would cheer for him sent warmth exploding in his sternum. He didn't care that he'd suffered a blow on account of it. She was cheering for him.

A newfound determination burst through him. He jumped forward, taking the offensive this time. Feowen met him, arm rising to match his downward blow. Again, they fell into sparring, blades singing. Theirs wasn't the only song. Several others did the same. A couple of the Queen's Guard members were enjoying the same activity.

He pressed Feown back, landing blow after blow against the upturned Spriten blade, until the Sprite came dangerously close to the line. A low, feral laugh bubbled up Feowen's chest. "I see what you're about, Drengr," the male growled. "Don't think for a minute you'll trick—" Feowen hissed, eyes darting downward.

Bedelth had used the boundary line as a distraction, to swipe his blade along the prince's leg. "Yes!" Saffra hissed. He grinned, unable to help it.

A surprised laugh burst from Feowen's chest. "Well, well, well. Impressive. Well played. Who knew you simply needed a pretty female watching?"

That brought a low, rumbling growl to his chest. A warning. Feowen's words were meant as a taunt, but his use of the word pretty, the way he'd said it, gave the intended effect.

They burst into action, falling into round three. Still, he was acutely aware of Saffra's gaze on him. He felt her eyes like a hot brand. Feowen managed to disarm him. The fourth round lasted much longer, but in the end, he earned a blow to the face and a stab to the hip. And finally, by the fifth, he was panting, sweat beading his forehead. "I'm already three in," Feowen pointed out, smug. "Even if you get this one, I win."

He snorted.

When next he lifted his arm to block, it felt heavier. Against a human, he could have gone hours and hours. All day even. But against a forest Sprite? A true immortal? He couldn't even last a single one.

His arm shook from the effort of holding the Spriten blade at bay. The last thing he saw was a wicked grin on the Prince's lips. Feowen landed a heavy punch to his chin before planting a foot in his stomach. He went flying, grunting as his back struck the ground. "And that's four, my friend," came the prince's arrogant reply.

"You couldn't even give me my dignity?" he huffed, staring up at the stars.

"Bedelth?" Saffra crawled over to him, until her face filled his field of vision. Her lip pulled between her teeth. "You're okay, right?"

"I'm not so sure, my lady," came Feowen's wicked response. "He looks rather injured. You should tend to him, make sure I didn't do anything...permanent." At this, Feowen threw him a wink and walked off. He could only snort.

"He can't do anything permanent. You're a Drengr." It was a statement, and yet, her heard a measure of question in her voice.

"Oh, I assure you, he can. But only to my pride."

"Right." Saffra sat back, muscles relaxing.

"But, by all means, do follow his advice. I wouldn't mind your fussing. Your hands, in particular." It was a brave move. One that paid off. Even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the flush that spread across her cheeks.

"I'm only teasing, Saff." He sighed, sitting up, nudging her foot with his. He lifted his Severak, regarding it a moment. Saffra's eyes darted to it, as well. He didn't miss the way she too lingered over the missing pommel stone. He steeled himself and rose to his feet, sheathing it. Then he held out a hand. "Walk with me, my lady?"

Saffra's brow furrowed. "Walk...with you?"

"Sure, why not?" He did his best to sound casual about it. This was a risk. He feared pushing too hard. Feared he would send her scuttling away. He needed to tread very, very carefully.

"Okay..." Her voice squeaked, but she lifted her bare hand. The feel of her skin—only briefly—sent longing through him. He dropped it immediately.

They moved away from the camp. He tucked his hands behind his back, adopting a casual air. He'd thought long and hard about his next moves, what he'd do in the coming days, coming weeks, to keep her from pulling away. It was a calculated, tactical approach, one that would take time.

"So," he said, still casual. "What do you think of flying thus far?"

"Oh..."

He dared a glance. The question caught her off guard. Good.

"Well, it's rather wonderful, actually."

"I think so, too. It's freeing."

"Yes. Exactly."

"The sky is the only place I don't feel constrained," he admitted.

A small huff fell from her lips. "I can see that, yes."

He kept his face forward. "I was fourteen when my form came. Drengr children don't gain the ability to transform until puberty, you know."

"Yes, I'm aware." Her eyes were on him, even if he didn't dare look to meet them.

"It was...gods, it felt good. My parents—well, I've told you a little of them. Perhaps you can imagine, for a young male, the kind of stifling that comes with overprotective parents. And then, suddenly gaining the ability to sprout wings? To fly?"

"You must have felt freer than ever."

"I did," he managed. He didn't hide the small smile playing with his lips. "Whenever I felt trapped, or frustrated, or angry, I could simply grow wings and take off into the sky. Leave the world behind."

"What of the actual process? Learning to fly? You didn't just grow wings and jump into the sky, did you?"

He huffed, almost a laugh. This was a tiny victory—her question. Showing a desire to know more of his deepest secrets. Hopefully, it was the first of many.

"No, indeed. I'm embarrassed to tell you what happened."

While they'd known each other a decade, had been friends in a loose sense of the word, there had never been a deep exchange. They'd spent time on inconsequential things, discussions on day to day life in the capital, her adjustment to being prophetess. Nothing serious. Nothing overly meaningful.

A long silence stretched between them. Those moments from his childhood felt so long ago, now. The years had slipped away. One century into the next, bringing him to this moment.

"Well?" she said. "You can tell me. I promise not to judge you."

Another victory.

"All right, then. The day I gained my form, my parents were beside themselves with pride. My father insisted I learn to fly immediately. I wasn't one to argue. I'd yearned for this moment for years. But as you say, you don't simply sprout wings and jump into the air. You must learn. Or rather, be taught.

"Ever Drengr feels they are the sole authority on first flights. One of my father's friends, Tahan, joined my father and I out on the fields. Everything went well, initially. A fledgling's wings are weak, to start. The muscles must be strengthened. That first afternoon, I couldn't get more than a few flaps of altitude. Tahan was certain, decided on the matter, that gliding would be easier. My father was easily convinced.

"He was always pushing me to be the best—my father. I was one of the youngest to fledge, you see? Fourteen is on the younger side."

Saffra made a humming noise, but she listened intently.

"Anyway, we went to the battlements. I was to glide off the wall and onto the grass below. I did it, perfectly, of course."

She scoffed. "How is that embarrassing?"

"Oh, but that comes later." She hesitated, then nodded for him to continue. "Intent on proving that I could master flight, I struck out on my own, later that night. Since gliding was the best, fastest way to get into the sky, I figured starting from the tallest tower would give me the best start. And, admittedly, I really wanted to fly. At that age, a person can be impatient. It takes years to develop the wings for proper flight."

"Years? Really?"

"Indeed. Anyway, the tallest tower also happens to be just across the way from the fort leaders' chambers. As soon as I took off—mind you, I'd been practicing with my father and Tahan for hours already, throughly exhausted—my wing got a godsdamned cramp. A spasm, really. My whole body seized up, stopped working, and I slammed right into a large glass window, shattered it, went rough through. Fledgelings aren't as big as fully mature dragons. And...it was a rather large window."

Saffra sucked in a sharp breath, hands coming to cover her cheeks. "The fort leaders' chambers?"

"The very same."

His stomach fluttered, but not at the memory. Not at the fear of what he'd done in those moments. Not even the utter shame and embarrassment of it at the time. No, it was at her expression. "Right into their sleeping chamber, actually. While they were—not sleeping."

"Oh, my gods!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head fall back. A huff of a laugh fell from his lips. "I was fourteen. I had little experience with such things, but I knew enough about what they were doing. Gods, the shame of it. I'll never forget the screech of shock that followed my intrusion."

"But...your parents?"

"My father was furious. So ashamed. My mother just walked around with her lips pressed into a firm line. It was barbed remarks for weeks. Not just from my parents. Gods, the whole fort. 'Careful, Bedelth, wouldn't want you flying through another window.'"

"But..." Her expression changed. "Didn't that bother you?" she asked. He took in her expression. It wasn't one of mirth, but anger. For him? His chest lurched.

"I pretended it didn't." He sighed. "It's funny now, as a mature male. It wasn't, then. I didn't tell this story to garner your anger or sympathy, Saffra. But to make you laugh. It really is funny, thinking back to the way I smashed through the window, their expressions."

She huffed, gaze lingering on his face a few moments more before she resumed their lazy walk. "I take it you were extra motivated to master flying after that?"

"Oh, yes. And look at me now. Excellent in the air. Excellent with a blade. A King's Shield." He didn't mean to say it with a scoff. He loved his brothers, his king. But there were times...times he hated that his father's expectations had forced him down a path he might not otherwise have taken.

"You're..." Saffra trailed off. "You've always been forced to prove yourself, haven't you?"

He shrugged. "Most of us are, at some point or another. Anyway, it's nothing."

She hummed, but fell silent. He struggled to regain control. He'd wanted this conversation to be fun, to put her at ease, to make her more comfortable around him. And it seemed to do the opposite—

A laugh burst up from her chest. "Gods, the more I think about it..." She shook her head. "How many fledglings smash through their fort leaders' window while they're...you know? Gods."

His shoulders relaxed. "You can't tell anyone..." he growled, not because he cared if she did, but because he liked having secrets with her. "It would be utterly humiliating. Very few people know that story. I'd like to keep it that way. It would shatter my image. Ruin me. The king might even have to force my resignation. Send me away in shame."

She bit her lip, and he could see the laughter she struggled with. Her expression was worth all his efforts in planning. It sent warmth, hope even, radiating straight from his chest to all his extremities, until even his fingertips tingled.

"Your secret is safe with me, Bedelth." She forced her expression into seriousness. "My lips are sealed. I won't even tell our queen."

He huffed. "You are most considerate, lady."

"But now you are forever at my mercy," she teased, lifting an eyebrow. This. This was what he'd tried to bring out in her. This playful side. The way she'd often been with him growing up, even when she'd been in love with someone else.

"Indeed. I had better be on my best behavior from now on." Lording this mundane secret over him was nothing. It changed nothing. The truth was, he'd always been at her mercy, even if he hadn't realized it. But he realized it now. Oh, yes. And he knew, because of what they were—he knew he always would be. Forevermore. 

⭐🌟 DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!!🌟⭐

Happy Friday, Bookdragons!

I'm currently one week in on a new writing sprint; I'm writing The Blood Ruby, the second book in the Arcane Artifacts series. So...I'm struggling to keep up with comments, messages, etc. It's a lot to juggle, writing, posting to Wattpad , my career, my free time, etc. So, thank you for being patient with me :)

I actually wrote this chapter two weeks ago. Most have been written a month (or so) in advance, so that I can sit on them. This one was very last minute. I realized that I needed one more chapter during the journey home, with Bedelth and Saffra. I'm so glad I decided to add this one. It established a little more connection between our budding love birds. But it also forced me to dig a little deeper into Bedelth's past, and his rocky relationship with his parents. 

Actually, that's something I'm really enjoying about his character. Considering the Drengr are semi-immortal with their healing abilities, longer than human lifespans, I hadn't really shown any parent/children relationships with them. Getting to do this with Bedelth, even though it's a rocky relationship, is different in a good way.

For those of you celebrating, Happy Easter! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend. See you next week!

-Mel