The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(69)

I cannot stop my smile as I ask, “Tell you what is real?”

He steps closer and gestures to my clothes. “You. Here. Betrothed to me. Wearing the clothing of my people and looking at me in a way that makes my heart start pounding like I’ve just fought a battle.” He leans close and takes a deep breath. “Tell me it is real,” he whispers.

I grip the front of his dark blue tunic and pull his body flush against mine. Standing on my toes, I kiss him and am filled with a slew of emotions. I name each one as it fires through my body: joy, desire, pleasure, disbelief—followed immediately by belief, amazement, peace, and then an overwhelming sense of acceptance and belonging.

I pull my mouth from Golmarr’s but keep holding him close to me. “It is real,” I say.

“Yes,” he agrees, and his eyes turn roguish a moment before he starts nuzzling my neck. “And you smell way too good for me to be expected to keep my hands off of you. Will you feed the horses with me?”

I laugh and gently push him away. “I smell good, and that makes you want to feed the horses?”

He shakes his head. “No, it makes me want to feed other things, namely my all-consuming desire for you, which is why we would be wise to go somewhere where there aren’t twelve bedrooms with very comfortable beds in each.”

“Your father’s home has twelve bedrooms?” I ask.

He nods and twines his fingers with mine, pulling me down the hall. “Twelve bedrooms, and we are the only two people in this house.”

“Where are your father and Enzio?”

“They are with Ingvar, making preparations for a feast. Remember, I told you, when we were in the cave, that if we made it to Anthar, my brother would have a feast for me?”

I nod.

“Well, I was right.”

We exit through a door at the back of the house and cross a wide yard with several goats cropping the lush green grass. “That is where I learned the basics of sword fighting before I was sent to our western fortress when I was eight to train with a weapons master,” Golmarr says, pointing to a flat area of dirt. “That is where my brothers and I still spar and condition when we are here. Speaking of conditioning, we need to get you stronger. Starting tomorrow, you are going to train six days a week. You have the knowledge of how to move and fight, but your physical strength is…lacking.”

I swat his arm. “Are you saying I am weak?”

He glances at the spot I swatted. “Did you touch me, or was that a gentle breeze ruffling my shirt?”

“You are lucky I left my staff in the house, because you are asking for a beating!”

We pass King Marrkul’s stables; they are bigger than his house, and at least three times as large as the royal Faodarian stables. And then we stop at a fence separating the yard from a field of knee-high green grass. Dozens of horses are cropping the grass. Beyond them, the sun is glinting on the gray ocean, and I instantly know how the ocean sounds, feels, tastes, moves, and smells. It is as if I am the one remembering the briny water sliding through my fingertips, though I have never seen the ocean up close. I shove the memory aside.

Golmarr hops over the fence in one swift, graceful move. I gather my skirt in my hands and follow. When we are on the other side, he puts his fingers to his lips and whistles, and the ground starts to vibrate beneath my feet as horses gallop toward us. Placing his hand on the small of my back, Golmarr pulls me close as dozens of horses press against us, nipping at him, whinnying, and pawing the ground.

“You missed me,” Golmarr says, taking a moment to touch every single horse that is within his reach. “I missed you, too. I thought I might never see you again.” He examines the horses and frowns. “Where is Dewdrop?” he calls. A pale gray horse with a white diamond on its forehead presses its way past the others and nuzzles Golmarr’s shoulder. “There you are, Dewdrop.”

“Dewdrop?” I ask. “You are an Antharian warrior, and you named your horse Dewdrop? Is it battle trained?”

Golmarr nods. “She is. She’s the best horse I have ever trained—gentle, yet fierce and strong, smarter than most, and incredibly swift. But she is not mine.”

“Whose horse is she?”

He puts his finger under my chin and tilts my face up. “She is yours. My betrothal gift to you.”

I stare at him, and my heart feels so full that I cannot speak. Instead, I give him the Anthar hand signal for I love you.

He smiles and shakes his head in wonderment. “You’re going to fit right in here with me and my family. Do you want to try riding Dewdrop?”

I nod, and he kneels at my feet and cups his hands. “I don’t know how to ride bareback, Golmarr.”

He peers up at me, squinting against the sun. “Surely there is at least one memory in your head of someone riding bareback.”

I smile and put my foot into his hands and mount Dewdrop. The ample fabric of my skirt spreads over the horse’s back and stays modestly around my ankles.

Golmarr mounts a black horse, and I know it is the same horse he rode to stop me from stealing his father’s stallion back in Faodara. “This is Tanyani,” he says. “That is the ancient Antharian word for the energy that vibrates the air when two armies collide on the battlefield.” He pats Tanyani’s neck. “Remember, Antharian horses are trained to respond to your movements. Lean forward to make Dewdrop run; lean back to slow down or stop. If you press against her with your right leg and lean to the right, she turns right. Same with the left. There are other things I will teach you about riding her, but not today.” With that, Golmarr leans forward and Tanyani breaks into a gallop, the pound of his hooves sounding like the low rumble of thunder.