The Dragon's Match

VII

VII

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

The first time Lillian felt the burn of pain at the top of her arm was when the footman was handing her the reins to her horse. A vehement pulse began to thrum through her flesh and she stumbled briefly with the shock and suddenness of it, the gravel under her boots skittering beneath her.

The servant handling her stallion hesitated, his face reflecting his concern, and Lillian hastily composed herself. The pain was almost unbearable, her vision swimming with stars and blackening about the edges, yet she gritted her teeth and somehow hoisted herself into the saddle without fault. Heeling her mount into a swift canter, she progressed down the tree-lined drive, snow blanketing the road before them in a thin layer of white, and once she believed she was far enough from the estate house, she released a seething breath and swayed slightly in the saddle.

Her flesh was on fire, burning from within, and the warmth of her blood was seeping through the fabrics of her clothes. The suddenness of the affliction made her wary, fearful even, and her immediate reaction was to act as if nothing was amiss.

Often, in the realm of the fae, she had been taunted with enchantments that either annoyed, humiliated, or pained her- testing the limits of her endurance until breaking point. The fae longed for her reactions, revelled when her composure finally splintered and cracked, and Lillian had often found that no reaction to their devious ways was better than any at all. Sometimes, the fae had grown bored quickly of her if she was non-responsive and sought other entertainment. Sometimes, she wasn't quite so lucky.

Wind and snow buffeted the locks of her hair, pushing them over her face as she slowed her mount to a milder pace, her mind struggling to form coherent thoughts as she teetered to one side in order to favour her left.

It became clear however that she needed a moment to assess whatever had occurred on her flesh to cause such agony. Far enough from the estate that her movements wouldn't be tracked, Lillian veered off the gravel drive and made into the looming trees of the forest.

She didn't quite comprehend how far she ambled before she was sliding from her mount and crumbling to her knees in the mulch below her. Surrounded by bracken and the more curious fae creatures that now inhabited the estate, Lillian clumsily lurched her arms from her coat sleeves and tossed the garment to the side, and then awkwardly pulled down the neck of her shirt, over her shoulder, and yanked her paining arm from its bloodied and soiled sleeve.

A steady stream of bright red blood continued to ooze from a blacked welt that banded about her upper arm and made her heart convulse with horror.

"It appears you've been marked, my lady."

Her head snapped to the direction that sinfully masculine voice originated. She hadn't expected to see the Dravolese again, sure that her sister had implemented the utmost protection against him to assure it, but Aëghan loped casually towards her with his hands embedded within the deep pockets of his dark blue coat.

Through the pain, her skin pulsated with awareness of him and the throbbing of her band seemed to burn with a vehemence at her reaction to his nearness. Swatches of inky hair lay haphazardly across his brow, errant snowflakes littering the glossy strands with playful abandon. His eyes were glinting with their usual starlight as he surveyed her and there was a concern in them that belied the cavalier manner in which his lips were tilted up at the corners.

Regardless of his unusual effect on her person, she hadn't wanted anyone to witness this- least of all the fated mark of a god that was not even hers. "Damn you!" she hissed. "Did you follow me?"