Chapter Text
They came on the tail of a storm. First came the sound: the thundering hooves of an army, pounding closer and closer. Then the smell of wet earth, churned from the ground by their black steeds. At last came the shadow that swooped overhead, looming like an omen. It covered the village in dreadful darkness before the creature that cast it dropped to the ground, shrinking as it landed gracefully on two long legs. It revealed itself to be a man, dressed in gleaming silken clothing, the wind swirling his silver hair.
The crowd that had gathered at the first sign of their approach huddled together, silent and wary, eyeing the army that stood just outside the village perimeter, and their leader. It was the first time for many of them to see a dragon, let alone be so close to one. The army along their border stood in perfect formation, not a single line crooked, not a single foot out of place. Their well-dressed leader stepped forward and addressed the gathered villagers.
“I am in search of a healer,” he said, his voice pleasant and smooth as he scanned the crowd, “I was told the best healer in the land would be found in this village.” But aside from nervous glances and shuffling, the crowd offered no information. The man tapped his foot in impatience and let the silence grow until finally, a young girl, messy-haired and defiant, stepped forward, ignoring the hands trying to hold her back.
“He’s not here,” she said, loud and indignant, “Leave us alone.”
The man narrowed his eyes, glaring at the girl until she looked away, knowing she’d been caught in a lie. Then he turned and strolled off, as if he believed her.
“Raze it to the ground,” he said casually as he passed his troops, his order drawing gasps from the crowd behind him, “Then fetch the healer.” The villagers’ panicked cries were drowned out by the ringing sound of metal sliding against metal as the troops unsheathed their swords in unison. With the first step of their horses’ hooves, the ground shook and the villagers turned as one to flee.
“Leave them alone!” a man cried out, his clear tone echoing through the air. The retreating troop leader stopped and turned, his hand raised to halt the army’s progress, his eyes drawn to the approaching figure. The speaker was dressed in blue, the hem of his tunic fluttering as he hurried to the front of the crowd, placing himself between the invading army and the village people.
“I stand for the village leader,” he said, lifting his chin, “You must go through me if you want to destroy our village.” Under the harsh light of the noonday sun, his large dark eyes flashed red, the color high on his cheeks. Wind tousled his black hair, blowing it back to reveal a finely sculpted face with pleasing features that frowned sternly at the invaders. Awareness sharpened among the troops, their leader’s bright blue gaze focusing on this new figure.
“Who are you?”
“I am Yuuri Katsuki, son of Toshiya, head of the village,” he said, his hand hovering over the short sword strapped to his belt, “What do you want with us?”
“I am—”
“I know who you are,” Yuuri said, cutting off the troop leader as he started to speak, “You’re Victor Nikiforov, the—”
Mila, Victor’s lieutenant, whipped her blade from its scabbard, her indignation barely contained as she swung it upwards and rested its sharp edge against the pristine skin of Yuuri’s throat. Victor dragged his gaze away from Yuuri’s lips—though set in a firm line, they still managed to look soft and plush—just in time to see a thin red line appear on Yuuri’s throat where the blade just kissed it. He mourned the necessity of marring such fine skin in order to establish their positions.
“It’s Lord Nikiforov to you,” Mila hissed. Yuuri pressed his lips tightly together, refusing to address Victor with his title. Under normal circumstances, Victor would have allowed Mila to force Yuuri into submission, but this time, he was distracted by the angry, crimson blade wound on the impudent man’s throat. He watched, amazed, as it slowly disappeared, leaving behind smooth, unmarked skin. Though his men were too well-trained to react, Victor knew they had seen it by the way the atmosphere around the contingent shifted.
“You’re a Healer,” Victor said in awe, “A true Healer.” And a beautiful one at that. Mila drew away her blade in hesitation, nonplussed at the revelation. Yuuri winced and an uncomfortable grimace flitted across his face. Victor could see that he was suspicious, guarded, as he should be. Victor had never met a Healer in his lifetime, considerable though it was. They were even rarer than dragonkin who could fully transform, rarer than Victor himself. And after long days and nights of searching, after countless disappointments, he had almost given up hope of finding any sort of healer, let alone one with Yuuri’s powers.
Could Yuuri be the solution he’d been looking for? Unbidden, the thought that Yuuri could be the answer to his own personal prayers invaded his mind. Greed clawed at Victor, desire for Yuuri’s unique abilities, and beneath it—darker, burning, powerful—a desire for Yuuri himself. Though they were not often in sync, Victor could feel his dragon-half sit up and, after a lightning-quick appraisal of Yuuri’s lone form, nudge him impatiently in his mind, signifying its approval.
They were both eager to lay claim to the man standing before them, though Victor repeated to himself that he only wanted Yuuri’s healing powers. He wasn’t tempted by Yuuri’s long, slim legs, his tight boots molded to his shapely calves. Nor was he tempted by the sweet curve of his lips and the way they pursed so invitingly. His dragon-half growled at him, impatiently demanding that Victor cease his staring and act.
He gave in without protest, half-formed strategies already darting through his mind.
“I am in need of your—”
“I am sorry but I must decline,” Yuuri said at once, not sounding at all sorry.
Victor sighed inwardly. If Yuuri’s constant interruptions were any indication, he had started off on the wrong foot and it was too late to change the impression he had given. Time was running out and he couldn’t waste it trying to talk his way into Yuuri’s good graces. He had no other choice but to force Yuuri to do his bidding. His dragon-half nodded vigorously, so close to its goal that it didn’t care how it would be achieved.
“The time has come for me to find a mate,” Victor said casually, forcing himself to sound relaxed, conversational. Yuuri blinked rapidly, thrown by the sudden change in topic. He looked flustered as he recovered and Victor wanted nothing more than to kiss him.
“I-is that so?”
“Yes,” Victor said, nodding affably, “and I want it to be you.”
“Me?” Yuuri squeaked, “But I am a man.”
“I am well aware of that.” Victor let his gaze wander slowly, suggestively, upwards from the soles of Yuuri’s boots, lingering in the folds of his trousers, on the open collar of his tunic, until he was staring straight into Yuuri’s large brown eyes. Yuuri had turned an intriguing shade of pink, and Victor wondered if that color would spread elsewhere.
He smiled, letting the heat that simmered in the pit of his belly rise into his eyes, his dragon-half purring with anticipation when Yuuri’s lips parted in shock. Victor admired their rosy shade, imagined them open and soft beneath his own. Yuuri, as if aware of the direction Victor’s thoughts had taken, snapped his mouth closed again, his brows furrowing.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sputtered, “Don’t you need a woman to bear you heirs? I, as a man, cannot have children.”
“I have no need of a woman,” Victor said smoothly, dismissing Yuuri’s protest, “The succession for my position has already been taken care of. However, if you are so opposed, then I will gladly select a member of your village as my mate.”
Victor pretended to study the gathered villagers with deep concentration while Yuuri floundered. He pointed at a young woman standing near the front. Though she couldn’t hear what they were saying, she immediately looked panicked, turning in fear to the man standing next to her, clutching at his arm with her hands.
“That one,” Victor said, as Yuuri turned to see whom he had selected. The woman’s daughters had started to cry, clinging to her skirts. One of them was the girl who had spoken up first, telling Victor to leave. “With her looks, she will do nicely.”
Yuuri whipped his head back around. “She has a family!”
Victor grinned, the smile not reaching his eyes. “That can be easily taken care of.”
The emotions that flashed across Yuuri’s face were fascinating to watch: shock, horror, disgust, fear, and finally, determination. When he glared at Victor, their eyes connecting, Victor felt the heat, the power of it, shoot like a bolt straight to his groin. He was glad then that his tunic was long and covered the front of his trousers.
But Yuuri didn’t give in, not yet. Victor played his last card, wincing inwardly as he did so.
“All of your villagers can be easily taken care of,” he said meaningfully, tilting his head ever so slightly towards his waiting troops. He watched the color drain from Yuuri’s face.
“You would go that far?” Yuuri asked, almost in a whisper.
“Yes.” Lives were at stake and if he didn't do this, many would die. Though he was already regretting his cruel facade, Victor was desperate enough to give the only answer he could.
Yuuri shook his head. “Don’t,” he said shortly, reluctantly, “I will be your mate.”
“And my healer?”
Yuuri grimaced, fighting the pressure to acquiesce, then swallowed, giving up. Greedily, Victor tracked the movement of his throat, admiring the way it bobbed, imagining the feel of it against his lips.
“And your healer.”
Victor smiled.
Victor knew Yuuri was expecting their engagement to last longer than the few minutes it took to signal for Mila to fetch a rope. From the bag that hung off the side of her horse, she took out the sorriest excuse for a rope that he had ever seen. It was thick and uneven, caked in dirt and grime, the ends beginning to fray. But it would have to do.
Victor held out both hands to Yuuri and for a brief instance, a rebellious gleam in Yuuri’s eyes had him braced to fight. But it passed as quickly as it came and Yuuri reluctantly placed his hands in Victor’s. They were cold and trembling, but Victor could see how hard Yuuri was trying to hide it. At Victor’s nod, Mila gingerly looped the rope around their clasped hands.
“I’m sorry for the rush,” Victor said apologetically. Yuuri’s face remained impassive but his eyes were alert, darting between Victor’s face, Mila’s progress, and back. “I am afraid I don’t have the time to woo you properly.”
Yuuri scoffed. “There is no need for the pretense,” he said, “You have your healer, like you wanted.” His face was stony but Victor could see the pulse beating in his throat. It wasn’t a good start to their bond, but he had no choice.
“I’m sorry,” Victor said again, unable to find the right words to explain himself, or the time to do it. He wasn’t sure how much the outside world had seen of the current conflict between the dragon clans, but he didn’t want Yuuri bolting before they were bonded. His dislike was strong enough already. Throwing him face-first into a war would destroy all hope of a strong bond.
Yuuri opened his mouth to reply right as Mila stepped back, her task done, and he snapped it shut again. He stared at their bound hands as if the rope were alive and would strike at any moment. Had Victor not felt the immense pressure of his short time, he would have apologized a third time.
Victor could feel Yuuri’s erratic pulse through the thin skin of his wrist. Panic was setting in, which he understood all too well. For a wild moment, he wanted to throw off the ropes, to give up on this venture. If he begged on his knees for Yuuri’s help, if he apologized for his rash proposal and promised to bring him back to his village after the war was over, would Yuuri accept him? Already, the dragon inside him was protesting. It had claimed Yuuri and it wouldn’t give him up for anything, not even to soothe the turmoil in Victor’s mind.
His clan came first, Victor told himself sternly. If they survived, he would do everything in his power to make Yuuri glad of their bonding. And if they didn’t, well…the point was moot. Victor could feel Yuuri tensing, could see his face blanching of color. If he didn’t calm down, their binding ceremony wouldn’t succeed. Victor thought quickly.
“Can you feel my heart beating, Yuuri?” Victor asked, his voice soft. Yuuri’s eyes snapped to his and after a few quick breaths, he nodded, his hands clenching tightly, fingers digging into Victor’s.
“Good,” Victor said, keeping his voice low and soothing, “Focus on that. Try to match your breathing with mine.” Victor stared deeply into Yuuri’s eyes, using every ounce of will he had to send calming thoughts. Slowly, Yuuri followed his directions, his hands relaxing, his breaths slowing, his eyes losing their panicked sheen.
Then, in a single instant, Victor felt their pulses sync and it was all he could hear: a great rushing, pounding sound that reverberated through his body. He knew Yuuri felt it too, by the way his eyes widened, and by the look of shock on his face.
From the ground rose a great wind that shot up through their bound hands, sending the trailing ends of the rope flying. Immediately, Yuuri closed his eyes, his hair flowing upwards, his grip tightening on Victor’s until his knuckles turned white. He looked so vulnerable, so small against the force of the binding wind that Victor wanted only to protect him. His own eyes watered with the strain of keeping them open until he shut them as well.
He knew from watching binding ceremonies before that by now, the rope would have started to glow, the light from it blindingly bright to the onlookers. It was tight and only grew tighter, heating up until it burned into Victor’s hands like a brand. He wanted to shake the rope loose—knew Yuuri felt the same desire—but he held fast to Yuuri’s hands. He couldn’t lose him now, not when he was so close to achieving his goal.
Just as suddenly as it had started, the wind died and the rope went back to being just an ordinary rope, albeit old and dirty. The heat from the binding dissipated in an instant as a breeze blew over their hands, bringing them cool, soothing relief. Victor watched as Mila stepped forward to untie them, avidly curious about the results.
Each new undone loop revealed more and more of the effects of the binding ceremony. Stripes of icy blue patterned Yuuri’s hands and wrists, sparkling like diamonds under the sun. On Victor’s were lines of soft, velvety brown that gleamed quietly as flexed his hands. Slowly, the bondmarks faded in color until their hands were back to normal, but Victor could still feel them there—clear indicators that he was bound to Yuuri, and Yuuri to him.
Yuuri had barely looked up to speak when he gasped and stepped back—the movement so sudden that Victor nearly lost his hold on him—his gaze locked behind Victor. Once he was sure Yuuri wouldn’t run away, Victor turned his head and caught a glimpse of his own wings, which had—unbeknownst to him—erupted from his back during the binding ceremony. Victor frowned in confusion.
This had never happened to him before and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Though Victor was capable of transforming fully into a dragon, he had never been able to partially shift. Perplexed, Victor flexed his wings—testing their response to his human form—and found that they moved just as they did when he was in full dragon form. Sunlight bounced off their impressive span, the many facets of his silver-white hide throwing rainbows all over the ground.
Cautiously, Victor folded his wings tightly against himself until he felt them shrink and meld with his back, returning him to full human form. He looked carefully back at Yuuri, bracing himself for fear or disgust; but Yuuri looked positively delighted, almost brimming over with excitement, his hostility temporarily forgotten.
“How does that work?” Yuuri asked—almost demanded—emphatically, his predicament slipping his mind, “Where do they go when you put them away?”
Victor chuckled, half relieved, half delighted.
“I’ll show them to you sometime,” he said. Yuuri smiled, his eyes softening, and for a moment, Victor was dazzled. What had he gotten himself into, bonding with a creature as lovely as this? Even his dragon-half was silent and still, unable to do anything except admire. Then awareness seeped back into Yuuri’s eyes and the smile slipped from his face. He pulled his hands out of Victor’s grasp and turned away.
Icy shards entered Victor’s chest, and he knew then how his enemies felt when he breathed on them. The piercing cold pricked at Victor’s heart, chasing away the visions of a bright future that had flooded his mind.
“I’ll go pack my things,” Yuuri said quietly as he headed towards the village, the gathered people already rushing forward to offer words of support and helping hands. Victor stopped himself from following, letting the coldness in his chest spread over him until he was numb, until he couldn’t feel the heat of the sun shining down on him.
The trip back to Victor’s castle was slower than he was used to. Victor knew Yuuri wouldn’t be accustomed to the bruising pace his troops usually rode at, so he slowed them all down to a brisk trot. Yuuri didn’t seem to notice, however. His hands fidgeted endlessly with the reins of his horse, but it was well-trained enough to trot along placidly with the rest of the group.
Yuuri was silent the entire trip, his face downcast and unreadable. Victor tried a few times to start a conversation but his efforts earned him no more than a perfunctory nod in return. So he stopped and let himself drift into silence as well.
It was for the good of his people, he reminded himself. Yes, he felt entirely too drawn Yuuri, but that was secondary to his need for Yuuri’s skills. At least, that was what he was trying to make himself believe. His dragon-half snorted, reminding him that they were bonded now, and all that was left to complete the ceremony was to lay claim to Yuuri’s body, a thought that made Victor shiver. Sternly, he pushed away the tingling in his fingers, the anticipation in the back of his throat. The clan came first, he repeated to himself, they always would. He had made the right decision for his people. If it was also the best decision for himself, then so be it.
A horn sounded in the distance, it’s deep tone echoing across the plains. The castle guards on duty had spotted their returning party. Victor raised a hand in greeting, too far away to be heard.
Immediately after his bonding ceremony with Yuuri, while he went to pack, Victor had sent three riders ahead to inform the castle of the new development and to ask that preparations be made. They galloped out to him now to give him their own news as he rode in.
“My lord,” the first began, “the castle sends its regards.” Victor waved it away.
“Have Georgi and his men returned?” he asked.
“No, my lord, but the scout has.” The rider hesitated and Victor’s eyes narrowed. He was suddenly aware that Yuuri’s attention had been caught and he was listening along.
“He says Georgi’s party is badly injured,” the rider continued, “They don’t know how long it will take to get back.”
Victor cursed. He had miscalculated the reconnaissance mission he’d given Georgi and his men. It was a miracle they had managed to escape the defending army when they did. But with their current condition and the precarious situation they were in, if they didn’t make it back to the safety of the castle soon, they might not make it at all.
“Prepare supplies and my gear,” Victor said, “and gather our fastest riders. We need to bring them home as soon as possible.”
“Yes, my lord.” The first rider saluted, then pivoted on his horse and headed back to the castle at full gallop. Victor watched him go until he was hidden by the dust clouds in his wake.
The second rider took his place.
“Sara has a feast underway,” she said shortly, without preamble. Victor sighed. Trust Sara to decide to celebrate his bonding in full style, regardless of the circumstances. He only hoped Yuuri wouldn’t see it in poor taste.
“She would also like you to know that she has prepared everything you’ll need for…this evening.” Victor clenched his jaw with such force that he almost cracked his teeth. His groin tightened involuntarily at the thought of that evening and he didn’t dare glance at Yuuri, knowing he was still listening. He nodded stiffly and hastily waved away the rider.
The third rider took her place.
“Yakov would like to see you when you arrive back at the castle.” Victor nodded again and dismissed them. The two remaining riders rode ahead of the troops back to the castle.
Victor let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to dispel the small niggling headache that had started to gather in his temples.
Warm fingers brushed lightly against the knuckles of his other hand, exposed through the window of his gloves and instantly, the headache dissipated. Surprised, Victor’s head shot up and he caught Yuuri’s wary brown gaze. A sliver of heat weaved its way into his chest at the small gesture.
“Thank you,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile. Yuuri nodded and looked away, the crests of his cheeks turning an interesting shade of pink. Victor peered closer, enchanted by the color.
“I am simply performing my duties as a healer,” Yuuri mumbled. Victor eyed the soft color spreading to the tips of his ears and decided not to comment, taking it as a good sign. Suddenly the rest of the day didn’t seem so daunting.
Right outside the castle gates, Victor’s clan had gathered. Their excitement was palpable and once he knew they could see him, he raised an arm and waved. The crowd cheered and headed towards him, chattering and yelling congratulations. They left a wide berth around Yuuri, unsure of how to approach such an unusual being. But with Victor, they pressed right up against his horse and eager hands tugged him down off of it.
Handfuls of flower petals and rice pilfered from the kitchens were tossed into the air, amidst more cheers.
“Many felicitations, my lord!”
“Congratulations, Your Lordship!”
The well wishes came quickly and Victor barely had time to smile his thanks before the next one took its place. He spotted Sara, head maid at the castle, hovering a few paces behind the crowd. Victor made pleading eyes at her and tilted his head towards where Yuuri had dismounted, the circle around him wider still as the crowd noticed his lack of enthusiasm.
Sara nodded and hurried over. Effortlessly, she bridged the gap between Yuuri and the clansmen, and set about introducing herself while untying Yuuri’s bags from his horse. Victor could tell that though Yuuri was overwhelmed by Sara’s ebullient manners, he was grateful for someone to guide him.
A loud bark sounded in the air and Yuuri’s head whipped to the side, his eyes searching eagerly for the source. Victor’s dog, Makkachin, pushed through the crowds and stood up on her hind legs, pressing paws and a damp nose into Victor’s chest. Her tail wagged furiously, churning the dust from the ground in curlicues in the air.
Victor knelt and greeted her with coos and kisses. She was his best friend and he’d missed her terribly in the time he had been gone.
A soft clearing of a throat and Victor looked up to see that Yuuri had joined him, his eyes trained on Makkachin. Victor stood hastily, brushing the dust from his knees. Makkachin sniffed curiously around Yuuri’s legs, then experimentally licked the hand he held out to her. With a huff and a whine, she decided Yuuri was worthy of her attentions, and she sat on his foot, leaning against his leg as she stared up at him adoringly. Yuuri knelt and lavished her with pets.
“This is my dog, Makkachin,” Victor said, feeling rather unnecessary when Yuuri didn’t even glance at him, all of his attention focused on how much Makkachin needed to be scratched. Victor felt a twinge of jealousy at how easily Makkachin had won his affections. Why wasn’t he cuddly and covered in fur? “She seems rather taken with you.”
“She’s beautiful,” Yuuri said, the smile evident in his voice. Victor felt unreasonably glad at the praise, even though he knew it wasn’t for him.
“Oy!” A jarring shout echoed from behind the crowd. Yuuri looked up curiously, searching for the source, until Makkachin boofed softly at him and he turned his attentions back to petting her.
Victor sighed. “And this is Yuri Plisetsky. Though we have different names, he is heir to the clan.” Victor eyed the slight boy stomping towards them, his very gait suggesting impatience and anger at the world.
“How did he become heir?” Yuuri was looking at him fully and Victor wasn’t ready for the impact those big brown eyes would have on him. It took him a second to recover enough to answer.
“In our society, only those who can fully transform into dragons are eligible to rule. Yuri is the first in over a century to have that skill.” Victor thought he sounded rather calm, even though his heart was pattering away. Yuuri pressed his hand to his chest, a confused expression on his face, and Victor remembered that now that they were bound, Yuuri could feel exactly how erratically his heart was beating.
When Yuuri glanced up at him, concern written on his expression, Victor feigned nonchalance and looked hastily away at Yuri, conscious the entire time of his traitorous pulse.
“Yakov wants to see you,” Yuri said without preamble once he had reached them, crossing his arms on his chest. Victor nodded.
“Yuuri, meet Yuri, my heir.” Yuuri stood, dusting his hands off before offering one to Yuri.
“Yuri, this is my mate. He’s a Healer.” Yuri sneered, then grasped Yuuri’s hand with what Victor perceived to be unnecessary force, though Yuuri didn’t flinch.
“And a human,” Yuri said, letting go after a single hard shake.
“That’s right,” Yuuri said, amused. Victor was relieved his tone wasn’t one of fear or of pain. Yuri’s constant hostility was certainly entertaining, once one was used to it, Victor mused.
Yuri sent him a pointed look and Victor snapped to attention.
“I am afraid I must leave you,” Victor said with a short bow towards Yuuri, “My advisor wishes to speak to me. But Sara is here to cater to your every wish.” Sara, who had been standing silently behind Yuuri the entire time, nodded enthusiastically.
“Leave it to me, my lord!” She said eagerly, her eyes, like those of most of the clan, fixated on Yuuri. Victor hoped she wouldn’t scare him off with her excitement.
Victor walked off towards the castle entrance, graciously accepting more congratulations from the clansmen he passed. Behind him, he heard Sara ask Yuuri if he wanted to wash up and change, and a sudden image of Yuuri in a darkened room, unclothed and lit by firelight, appeared in his mind. His heart thudded rather painfully, and he had to step into a corner to adjust his belt.
This was no time to be aroused, he told himself sternly. He was about to speak to Yakov, whose opinion he valued most in the world. Cursing his fair skin and praying the flush had faded from his cheeks, he walked uncomfortably the rest of the way to his study in the castle library.
Yakov, his lined face pinched and stern, gray hair slicked severely back from his forehead, took one look at him, and sat down heavily on a chair, sighing in defeat.
“I can see there is nothing I could say to change your mind, Vitya.” His use of Victor’s childhood pet name made him feel rather guilty.
“What do you mean?” Victor asked, stepping to a sideboard and unstoppering a bottle of mead, pouring the golden liquid into two glasses. He handed one to Yakov and sat in his chair behind the enormous, polished wooden desk where he worked and planned.
Yakov harrumphed and downed half his glass in a single gulp. “That look on your face tells me that this wasn’t a strategic move at all. You were reckless and foolish and you let your dragon-self take over. And look what it got you? A human for a mate.”
“He’s a Healer, Yakov. A real Healer.”
“And you can’t breed with him,” Yakov countered, “What good is he if your children can’t inherit his powers?”
Victor frowned into his glass. “I have told you before that I will not be siring children.”
Yakov continued, unheeded. “You have no idea if he can heal dragons, Victor! No idea how weak he might be or how he will hinder you on the battlefield. He won’t be enough to turn the tide.”
Victor shook his head. “He’s strong, Yakov. I can tell. He’ll be a great help to the clan.”
Yakov sighed again. “Victor…do you know the Baranovskaya clan was ready to ally with us?”
Victor looked up. “In exchange for…?”
“They wanted you bonded to their queen.” Victor grimaced. The Baranovskaya queen was beautiful, of course, tall and graceful, as a true dragon queen would be. Even her dragon form was a sight to behold. Then Victor remembered how Yuuri had run towards him in the village, how his eyes had flashed and the wind had pushed the hair from his face. How mesmerizing he had been. And he was fiercely glad of the decision he’d made. Inside, his dragon nodded and huffed in agreement.
“No,” Victor said, rolling up a sleeve and twisting his arm so that Yakov could see the bondmarks he called upon. Gently, they flashed and gleamed against his skin. “I have my mate now and I know I made the right choice.”
“For yourself?” Yakov asked, his gravelly voice surprisingly sympathetic, “Or for the clan?”
Victor didn’t reply as he shook his sleeve back into place. He drained the glass of mead in his hand and they sat in silence as the muted sounds of the castle filtered through the door to his study.
Victor watched, fascinated, out of the corner of his eye as Yuuri carefully cut into the slab of mutton that had been placed on his plate. He seemed to be enjoying the food, though Victor knew it was much richer and heartier than he was used to.
Over and over in his mind, Yakov’s words from their earlier talk chased each other in circles.
Reckless…foolish…He won’t be enough to turn the tide… Was Yakov right? Victor pondered the question as he snuck a bite of meat under the table where Makkachin was leaning against his leg. She licked it from his fingers in an instant.
An indiscriminate cheer began at the foot of the table. Automatically, Victor smiled and raised his goblet. The cheer grew louder as his men, who dined with him every night, responded to his acknowledgment. On his right, Yakov harrumphed and grumbled about discipline among troops, but Victor ignored him and leaned towards Yuuri.
“Is the food to your liking?” He gestured vaguely at Yuuri’s plate, still overflowing with select morsels. Yuuri gamely cut another bite. The meat was bright red under the light of the candelabras placed around the hall.
“It’s fine,” Yuuri said, “Very…juicy.” He placed the bite of meat in his mouth and Victor watched as he winced, so slight that he never would have noticed had he not been paying attention. Then he understood.
“Are you unused to meat cooked so rare?”
Yuuri laughed, a soft husky sound that sent a wash of heat over Victor’s cheeks. He found himself instantly breathless, clinging to that sound like a drowning man.
“This is considered rare?” Yuuri asked, “I don’t believe this sheep ever even saw a fire.” Victor huffed an amused breath when Yuuri’s words finally filtered through his awestruck mind.
“Lean back,” he said and Yuuri did, watching wide-eyed as Victor scooted forward and pursed his lips. Carefully, he focused, and instead of his usual ice, blew a stream of blue fire towards the mutton. When the color of the surface deepened and turned a richer brown and the fat around the edges started to crackle and pop, he took Yuuri’s cutlery from his astonished fingers. With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the meat, and repeated the process.
When he finished, he didn’t move away. He was at the perfect vantage point to stare into Yuuri’s eyes and he couldn’t find it in himself to leave. Yuuri looked amazed, his eyes darting back and forth between Victor’s face and his now sizzling dinner.
“That was incredible,” Yuuri breathed, his eyes shining under the flickering lights. Victor smiled and leaned closer. He couldn’t help but notice how soft Yuuri’s lips looked under candlelight, their rosy color so beckoning and rich. Their noses almost brushed together.
“I can show you more incredible things,” Victor murmured, his voice husky with want. Yuuri’s face had turned a light shade of pink and Victor was fascinated to see it spread over his neck and collarbones. It must go further than that, he thought idly. Lurid images filled his mind, of undressing Yuuri, of making him blush everywhere.
A loud, noisy clearing of a throat—Yakov’s—made Victor blink and move away.
“Your dinner awaits,” Victor said, after a brief moment when they both came back to themselves. Piercing whistles erupted throughout the hall. Victor had forgotten that his table of troops, not to mention the castle staff, had all borne witness to their private moment, prominent as they were, at the head of the table.
So he indulged the room with a wink and sat back in his chair amid cheers and yells, and tucked into his own dinner. He was happy to see Yuuri eating with more gusto, his face as red as the mutton had been. Though he bristled every time Victor tried to talk to him after that, his hostility more pronounced, Victor was certain it wasn’t entirely from dislike. He had seen the way Yuuri’s pupils has dilated, heard the slight hitch in his breathing.
Even after the next four courses and all through the dessert wine, Yuuri’s face did not return to its normal color. Victor was rather worried when he saw the amount of wine Yuuri consumed but when he finally rose to leave, to follow Sara, who would lead him to his new bedroom, he didn’t seem the least bit unsteady.
“I will…take my leave now,” Yuuri said softly. Victor sat up straight, tried and failed twice to clear his throat, before nodding lamely. Yuuri walked the length of the hall and Victor admired the way his clothing clung to him, and the shadows being thrown in the crevices of his body by the burning candles. Right at the doorway, Yuuri hesitated. Ever so slightly, he turned his head back and their eyes met. Victor felt a bolt of heat shoot through him before he even registered the blush on the crests of Yuuri’s cheeks.
Then Yuuri stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him, and Victor almost snapped the wineglass he was holding in half.
His men were starting to stand and approach him, to offer congratulations and words of advice. Impatiently, he put the wineglass down and tapped his fingers against his leg. He couldn’t wait to be done.