Xandrie watched with a wince as the nurses dressed Demelza’s wound, wishing that Talia was there again. The combination of goldenseal and comfrey crushed into the healing poultice they used reminded her of her sister. They could have used a healer with Talia’s powers right about now. The gash Saskia had carved in Demelza’s arm was deep. She wanted to be sure it didn’t get infected. They’d both been green-lighted into the quarter-finals of The Claiming and she knew Demelza would rather chop her own arm off at the joint than throw in the towel and let the women of the Court lord it over her. Dragons were apparently very proud, and perhaps a little stupid, too.

“We only have a month to get you fighting fit.”

“I’ll have one of our mages look at it; they’ll speed the healing along.”

Xandrie turned away, the better to hide her misgivings. She was almost as worried for her own performance as she was for Demelza’s. There were only ten contestants left in The Claiming – herself, Saskia, and Demelza included – but they were fearsome women with serious battle skills.

The celebrations following the first tournaments did manage to entertain her and keep her mind from everything else for a few hours, but in her state, Demelza wasn’t in attendance, and Xandrie felt awkward in the middle of a melee of strangers.

Once the singing began in earnest, she and Claws slipped away from the festivities. She needed some time to think. They made their way to the hanging gardens, on the south side of the palace grounds. No one would be there this late and there was a fragrant peace about the place that she found calming.

She sat under a lilac bush so large it resembled tree, her hands running over Claws’ fur. She searched herself for a reaction and found her newfound pride was tinged with sadness.

She smelled him before she saw him, his scent unmistakable. The King was close by, for crying out loud. She scrabbled but only managed to get to her knees.

“I don’t mean to disturb you,” he said.

Xandrie found her feet and stood. “I was just leaving.” She didn’t want to interrupt what small private time the man might have.

“I came to thank you, personally,” he said. “Elza is a good friend of mine and it wouldn’t have done to see her fight in her state. Taking her place was incredibly brave of you.” After a small pause, he smiled and said, “Can’t be saying all that in public without Nathos going off half-cocked about protocol and procedure, but you showed both skill and guts out there.”

Xandrie smiled but she knew it wasn’t quite reaching her eyes; he caught it right away.

“You’ll forgive the presumption, but you seem, I don’t know, sad?” he said.

The man was unfortunately perceptive. She took a deep breath. She might as well befriend him. She lived here now, and as she had no inclination of ever returning to Malek, and belonged anywhere else, she needed to be able to talk to the man without falling over her own damned tongue.

“I come from a family of mages,” she said.

“Elza said as much.”

“I was the family embarrassment.”

Rhey raised his eyebrows, inviting her to go on.

“I had no powers, no magics, nothing they could add to their arsenal of offerings. So, I was little more than their maid.” She looked away, determined not to tear up. “And now, I have magics, and I don’t know what to think of it. Perhaps I resent it for not having it before?”

Rhey was silent, so she thought she might have bored him to death, but just when she was about to make her excuses and leave him in peace, he told her, “Sorry, I’m rather useless when it comes to making people feel better. I can distract you, though.”

Rhey stepped towards her, and her blood bloomed through her entire body, threatening to undo her. She’d be a puddle at his feet if he so much as laid a finger on her. She wanted to launch herself into his arms and mash her mouth into his, but she had better sense.

He reached, grinning, for her shoulder, and everything inside her just died, but Rhey only grabbed the sword strapped to her back and presented it to her with a ceremonial flourish. “Come at me,” he said.

Xandrie was flush with relief. He meant to fight her, not touch her.

Well, she could certainly use the practice, and the distraction. She didn’t need to be told twice. She came at Rhey with all she had.

There was no doubt that the king was more powerful than she, Demelza, Vincent, and anyone else she’d ever fought. The way he moved was nothing short of art, a lethal dance. Each of his moves could have killed.

“Wait please,” she begged, holding her hand up, and the man stopped, tilting his head.

Xandrie retraced his steps, trying to make her muscles remember the way he moved, learn his magical steps. It was awkward. He refused to acknowledge that the natural course was to walk forward - instead, he seemed to follow a certain, chaotic pattern.

Then, it hit her. It was a dance, meant to confuse his adversary. She was pretty certain it worked.

“You follow certain steps.”

“Very good. You may be the first to have worked that out. I might have to kill you so you don’t share my secret,” he whispered, standing so close she could feel his warmth.

“Or, mister, you could just show me how to do it, too. Right, left, left, behind, right, forward, forward, left…” she tried, but he stopped her, his hand on her hips as he stood close behind her.

Then, he really danced with her.

“Follow me.”

And she did. All night, she danced. It was dawn when he took her to her room.

“Alexandria?”

“Xandrie,” she corrected automatically.

“You have a real chance at winning this, if you follow Vincent’s tutelage.”

She opened her mouth, and closed it. Her goal until then had been attempting to stay alive while fighting dragonesses, but the King spoke of her winning?

Did that mean he wanted her to?

* * *

Wishing to calm her nerves, she snuck into the eastern wing of the palace the next day, tracking them to their training grounds, only to freak herself out when she saw what they were capable of. She wasn’t just outmuscled, they had moves she’d never even read about, let alone seen in person.

“Chill,” Vincent told her, appearing out of nowhere by her side. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“Vincent, they’re dragons. As in real dragons. The kind that have scales and can breathe fire. What if one of them shifts in the middle of a bout and sneezes on me? I’ll be toast.” She wanted it to sound light, because she didn’t want to offend her friends, but hell, it was seriously scary.

Vincent shook his head in response, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Two things: first up, they’re not going to shift in the middle of battle. It’s bad form and they’d be vulnerable for close to a minute while they were shifting. You can knock that off your worry list. Secondly, you already faced the fiercest amongst them, and won. You ain’t all that puny, you know.”

Xandrie punched him, playfully, on the arm. It was great that he could make her laugh at herself.

“That being said,” he added when she was almost reassured, “Saskia did underestimate you - she didn’t use the extent of her skills because, not unlike Demelza, she isn’t one to want to humiliate her opponents. She won’t do it again. You’ll need more training, more endurance, and more understanding of dragon magic, so that you may use your strengths adequately.”

Xandrie nodded, determined to do whatever it took to keep her head on her shoulders.

“You’re going to trail me for a month. Everywhere I go, you go, and you fight alongside me.”

“But,” Xandrie was frowning, “aren’t you one of the King’s personal guards?”

She knew he’d been allotted two hours a day to train Demelza, but giving her all of his attention would surely call him away from his duties.

Vincent laughed. “Trust me when I say the King won’t be an issue.”