Mated to The Dragon Lord

　　Sylvin stood on the highest point of the hill, his eyes scanning across the carnage of the battlefield below. The wind picked up strands of hair that had worked its way free of his braid during battle, its silver catching the setting sun. There were dents in his chest plate from battle, and blood dried in a rust-coloured crust where the spray had struck him, droplets caught in the silver stubble on his jaw.　　He was a big man, towering half a head over even the tallest Fae, and years as a knight had moulded shoulders, arms, and legs with muscle. Months of battle and war-camp food had hollowed his cheeks and tightened his waistline.　　Absently he rolled his shoulder, judging its injury and the impact it would have when battle resumed, as his eyes travelled over the ruins of the last melee. Bodies laid scattered like leaves in autumn, amongst the litter of dropped weaponry, armour, and amputated limbs.　　Fae soldiers and camp followers picked through the bodies, collecting weapons and

　　Memory　　The day was bright with spring and the air heavy with the scent of the wildflowers that nodded their heads amongst the grasses. Yelena’s mother Cerise held out her hand and a winging butterfly hovered uncertainly over her fingertip. She laughed down at her young daughter, her face radiant with her enjoyment, as the butterfly decided that she was not a flower and continued on its way.　　“There must be balance with magic,” Cerise told Yelena. “The bees and butterflies eat from the flowers, but they also carry with them the pollen from one species to another which the flowers need in order to grow. They take, but they also give. Ah, dandelion,” she carefully plucked a stem, before handing it to Yelena. “Blow.”　　Yelena blew against the white fluffy head and watched the seeds drift away.　　Cerise watched with her. “You just gave the chance of life for those dandelion seeds,” she told her daughter as she stooped to pull the plant from the soil. “To balance our taking of this plan

　　What man would choose a half-breed back-water provincial Lady over a Royal Princess indeed, she wondered. But then, Sylvin was no ordinary man.　　“We shall see,” she retorted with more bravado than she felt. “Was there anything else, My Lord?” She inhaled sharply, the scent of him a bitter bite that clung to the back of her throat with lingering flavour. She recognised the chemical nature of it. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your posey pipe, Lord Rithelwen,” she added, her lip curling up from her canines.　　Lord Rithelwen’s nostrils flared with displeasure. “Careful, Yelena,” he cautioned his voice quiet and dangerous. “Such observations might be taken for human magic, and we all know your heritage…”　　“I am Fae,” she told him. “As much as most of the nobility of this land, our Kings included. No family tree is untouched by humans.”　　“Perhaps,” his concession wasn’t one. “But not many so closely.”　　“Are we done?” She held his eyes. “I believe I have a missive from my husband th

　　Present Time　　In the kitchen, she moved between the women and children that worked at the table. Their household had been torn apart between the warring Fae and humans, the men folk and older boys being taken to the armies, leaving behind only the young, the old and the women.　　The workload of a keep did not diminish with their inhabitants, however. The people within it still needed to be fed, the animals tended to, the gardens watered, linen laundered… Everyone turned their hands to whatever task needed to be done, and mealtimes more so than anything, the large, heavy wooden table framed with people hip-to-hip and elbow to elbow as they washed, peeled, chopped…　　“I hope you washed your hands,” Yelena said to the children. “Playing knuckles in the courtyard amongst the animals and bringing the dirt into our food. Tsk. Go on, now, and scrub your nails,” she scolded them. The women laughed as the children retreated complaining about the unfairness of needing clean hands.　　“We have

　　Present Time　　Yelena grinned as she tucked her skirts into her girdle and twisted her braids back behind her head. She blew a stray hair out of her face and rested the basket against her hip as she surveyed the courtyard. She dropped her eyes to the children that gathered around her, with their own baskets held ready and their faces bright and eager.　　“Are you ready?” She asked them and waited for their chorus of agreement. “You know the rules. Anyone who smashes an egg is disqualified. The person with the most whole eggs wins. Today’s prize is a cake baked by Arithen which contains the last of the keep’s berries. Yes,” she nodded when their eyes jerked up to her. “It smells wonderful.　　“She has also been generous with the honey,” she continued. “It’s big enough to share with whomsoever that you choose, or to keep and make yourself sick eating all to yourself. Your choice entirely. And all you have to do to be the winner is to collect the most eggs. Now, I’m sure that I’m going to