Master of Storms: Dragon Shifter Romance (Legends of the Storm Book 5) Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Bec McMaster

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Damonza.com

  Editing by Hot Tree Edits

  To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at www.becmcmaster.com

  Created with Vellum

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  The Company Of Rogues

  Master of Storms

  Bec McMaster

  Contents

  Master of Storms

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Promise of Darkness

  Also by Bec McMaster

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  “There once was a princess, her heart so fierce,

  That true love’s arrow, should never pierce.

  Her kiss, so cold. Her heart, so cruel,

  That she made of this prince a terrible fool….”

  —Opening stanza of Marduk the Fool

  Prologue

  Then

  Norway, 1870

  “The prince is here!”

  Princess Solveig of the Sadu clan looked up as her youngest sister burst through the doors to her bedchamber, squealing in delight.

  Aslaug jumped on the bed and fell in a flurry of pink skirts and golden hair. “I saw him arrive with his guards. He was so handsome. So ridiculously handsome. And when he smiled, I swear half the ladies of the court fainted!”

  Solveig rolled her eyes. “They should have had something to eat before he arrived then.”

  “You have no romance in your soul,” Aslaug accused.

  “I eat cynicism for breakfast, along with the crushed hearts of vapid suitors.” Dreki princesses, she was learning, could be dramatic, and someone had to keep them in line.

  “No arguing.” Siv spoke up. As the middle sister, she was frequently caught between the two of them. “Not today. Father said we had to be on our best behavior with this foreign court of dreki nobles. We need an alliance with the Zini court if we’re going to be able to withstand the Zilittu clan in the north.”

  Dreki were mythical creatures born of Fire and Air. They were smaller than the larger, lumbering cousins they shared a shape with—dragons—and far more powerful, with the ability to shift into mortal form and walk among humans.

  But if there was one thing Solveig had learned over the years, it was that Tiamat, the goddess who had gifted them with life, had also gifted them with the lion’s share of arrogance.

  And the Zilittu clan were the proudest and most ambitious of all.

  “The Zilittu die like any other dreki,” Solveig said. “If father gives me full command of the warband, then I could ensure there are no more problems from the north faster than one can say ‘who’s a pretty little princeling?’ We don’t need an alliance with the Zini.”

  “Who cares about alliances? There is a prince here!” Aslaug’s voice grew hot with emotion. “And he is the most beautiful male I have ever seen.” She cuddled a cushion to her chest. “Prince Marduk. Marduk. Is that not the most amazing name you’ve ever heard?”

  “It sounds like something the cat spat on the rug.”

  Aslaug threw the pillow at her. “He was named after an ancient Sumerian god. It’s a powerful name.”

  Solveig tried to work her way through the mess of braid she was creating in Siv’s red hair. “Are we related to her? I swear she looks like Mother, but this is embarrassing. The princesses of the Sadu clan don’t squeal over foreign-born princes, and especially not one who comes to eat all our food and drink our wine.”

  Aslaug rolled onto her stomach in the mess of furs. “Well, ha. For once I know something you don’t know.”

  “Do tell.” Was it over? Or under? Solveig held up a handful of Siv’s red-gold hair.

  “Under,” Siv said with a sigh. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Solveig’s hands paused. “I want to do this.”

  It was a lie.

  She was terrible at braiding hair, but this was something their mother had always done for the younger girls for important occasions, and while Solveig didn’t give a damn about making a good first impression, she knew it was important to both Aslaug and Siv.

  And if someone had to fill their mother’s shoes, then it was most likely going to have to be her.

  “Are either of you listening to me? The prince is here and I have important news!”

  “I heard you.” I just don’t care. Dreki princes were all alike. Arrogant, puffed-shirt peacocks who thought she ought to be grateful they noticed her. “This Marduk will sign the treaty and we shall practice our prettiest smiles; Father will offer him wine and fine meats, and then hopefully, he’ll be winging out of here within the week and that’s the last we shall—"

  “Yes, well….” Aslaug looked smug. “That’s the bit you didn’t know. Apparently, the prince is not merely here for the treaty. Father has promised him the hand of one of his daughters as a means of wedding both clans together. Prince Marduk is going to mate with one of us!”

  Several threads of hair winnowed through her fingers as Solveig lost control of the entire braid she was mangling. Mating? “Father promised what?”

  He couldn’t have.

  He wouldn’t have.

  “Oh, I knew that would capture your attention! Prince Marduk has been offered the choice of one of Father’s three daughters.” Shoving to her feet, Aslaug spun in a little circle. “I’m going to mate with a prince!”

  A fair assumption, but ice slithered down Solveig’s spine. “You’re sure Father said ‘the hand of one of his daughters’?”

  “Certain.”

  There was no reason to believe it wouldn’t be Aslaug. Her sister was stunningly, heart-stoppingly beautiful. And kind. And regal. Usually.

  The color drained out of Siv’s face. “What was he thinking?”

  Aslaug’s joy faded. “I know you don’t want to mate with him. Either of you. So I am more than happy to make such a sacrifice—”

  “Hardly a sacrifice for you,” Solveig spluttered, but as she paced, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why did
Father not offer you directly? He knows you’d be more than willing.”

  Just as he knew that both she and Siv would not be.

  Siv had been there with her when their mother was killed. She’d stayed there on that mountain and protected the queen’s body from predators all night while Solveig fetched help, even though she’d been but twelve. The court whispered that her broken heart had never healed, but Solveig knew her kind, shy sister suffered from nightmares and terrors. She needed to feel safe.

  And home was safe.

  What was their father thinking?

  Clearly, he was not, she seethed.

  As for herself, if this prince thought she was going to kiss his boots like some prospective bride aflutter at the hope of stealing his heart, he could think again.

  “Apparently, Prince Marduk can be… contrary,” Aslaug replied. “He has to be made to think such an arrangement is his choice. Lead him by the halter, so to speak.”

  Contrary. There were other ways to describe such a male. “So he is against the mating.”

  “He is not against the mating,” Aslaug corrected. “He merely wishes to meet us all. I’m fairly certain I can lure him somewhere private and encourage his attention to focus on me.”

  Solveig lowered a steady look upon her youngest sister.

  “Stop being a prude,” Aslaug snapped. “You don’t want him. Siv doesn’t want him. I do.”

  “I’m not being a prude. But he is a foreign prince. We know nothing about him. You know nothing about him. He might be dangerous. He might be the sort to break a dozen hearts before breakfast. He might ply you with false words, enjoy your bounty, and then vanish into the winds as if he’d never been here. I don’t want to see your heart broken.”

  “Well, I’m fairly certain he’ll take one look at you,” Aslaug said, “and realize that if he dared break my heart you’d make him regret it.”

  “If he breaks your heart I will rip it from his chest and send it home to his clan in a box.”

  Siv laid a restraining hand on her forearm. “No, you won’t, because that would start a war.”

  “Fine. I won’t kill him. I’ll castrate him.”

  Aslaug clapped a hand to her face. “This is why you’re unmated.”

  “I am unmated because I have yet to meet a male I would consider my equal,” Solveig snapped. “And because my life does not revolve around a potential future mating.”

  “Well, this is why both of us are unmated.” Aslaug’s voice rose. “I know you don’t want us to… to suffer the way Mother suffered. But this is all I’ve ever wanted, and every time a male dreki ventures to this court, he takes one look at you and decides courting me is not in his best interest.”

  “I don’t do anything to them!”

  “You don’t have to,” Aslaug said in exasperation. “Everyone at court can see the murder in your eyes.”

  “I don’t see what the problem is? If he’s such a powerful male,” she said, “then he should be able to endure my withering stares. If he’s so enamored of you, then he would not hesitate to stand up to me. He would risk everything to steal your heart, and I won’t allow any male to court you who doesn’t deserve you. Don’t lower your standards just because he’s a pretty face. You deserve to be loved. Both of you. And I will not tolerate anything less.”

  Aslaug threw her hands in the air. “At this point, I just want a chance to meet a male without you frightening him off. Can you do that? Can you not glower at Prince Marduk for all of a day? Smile, just once.”

  Solveig ground her teeth together. This was utter fucking foolishness, and it was going to end badly for all involved.

  But she managed to lift the corners of her mouth in a smile. “Like this?”

  Aslaug winced. “Well, it’s a start. Are we agreed? The prince is mine. He just needs to be made aware of that fact.”

  “Have at,” Siv offered. “I don’t want him.”

  Solveig snorted when Aslaug turned that hard-eyed stare upon her. “I’m fairly certain he’s not going to look at me twice. And if he does, then I will disabuse him of any foolish notions. Firmly. He will not choose me. This, I promise.”

  One must start as they meant to end, their father had once said, and Solveig smiled to herself as she strode toward the throne room where the prince awaited, because she was fairly certain her father did not mean this.

  Aslaug and Siv had already made their appearances, and as the doors swung shut behind them, Solveig slammed both hands upon them and thrust them open.

  They hit the walls of the throne room with a bang.

  Several guards startled.

  Her father’s head jerked toward her.

  Aslaug shot a censorious look over her shoulder, where she stood clasping hands with some vapid blond.

  And Solveig smiled as she rested her left hand on the hilt of her sword and strode toward the dais.

  Clearly the prince was the one her sister was trying to manacle with both hands. All she could see was his back, but he was tall, broad of shoulder, and lean through the hips.

  He was also wearing a red velvet coat like some storybook prince. If he turned around and there were golden tassels or epaulets on his shoulders, she was going to snort with laughter.

  “Father,” she said in the sweetest voice she could possibly manage as she paused to kiss the king’s cheek—and completely ignore the foreign prince.

  King Harald caught her arms reflexively, but there was a hint of humor in his gaze as he raked an eye over her attire. “Eldest daughter. I believe I said ‘a dress.’”

  “It is a dress, is it not?”

  She even gave a little twirl.

  Voluminous black velvet skirts whirled around her ankles and then hugged her calves with a wicked little shiver when she drew to a halt. The bodice had been cut and molded to sculpt to her lean figure, a single slit of black lace hinting at cleavage, though the mess of antique gold necklaces hid anything she might have wished to show. A circlet made of twisted gold thorns sat nestled in her loose black hair, and the cape was made of black leather “feathers”, painstakingly pieced together to resemble Solveig’s dreki wings.

  The entire ensemble said “evil queen in the making,” and Solveig adored it. Especially the slit down the center of the skirts that showed her leather leggings and the gorgeous boots that encased her calves.

  “I should have expected no less.” Her father said, taking her hand and gesturing her toward the other end of the dais. “Prince Marduk, this is my eldest daughter, Solveig.”

  There was gold frogging on the coat. Oh goddess, how was she going to hide her sneer?

  She couldn’t help examining him from toe to chin, so it wasn’t until their gazes met that she realized there was a faintly amused look in his amber eyes.

  And he was… gorgeous. Perhaps shockingly so, for even her breath caught a little before she took herself well in hand. He looked like trouble wrapped up in a fairy tale prince’s handsome charm—the kind of trouble that would bow politely to her father, wink at one of her sister’s, and then try to seduce her in the gardens.

  No. Not seduce. Seduce was too polite a word. There was just enough edge in his wicked amber eyes to hint that he’d like to throw her over his shoulder and spank her ass instead, and—

  There’d be none of that.

  Marduk was young—perhaps of an age with her—and though they’d polished his boots and tamed that wild golden hair, there was something about the rakish way he wore it and the curve of his mouth that told her he was a devilish rogue.

  And then he returned the insult with full, slow detail, pausing at her lean hips and then her lack-of-breasts before returning to her face.

  Solveig’s cheeks heated. Definitely a skirt chaser. Despite her promise to Aslaug, she was going to make him grovel like a worm.

  “Charmed,” Prince Marduk drawled. “I’m sure.”

  “As am I,” Solveig purred. “I’m so ecstatic I can barely breathe.”

  “Perhaps you s
hould loosen your corset,” he murmured as he took her hand. “It might help… with the breathing.”

  Her jaw dropped. Was he saying he thought her cold and stiff?

  Or was that meant to be a suggestion?

  Prince Marduk unleashed a smile upon her, and it felt as though the heavens finally opened after years of cloudy skies as he captured her free hand and lifted it to his lips, their eyes meeting.

  Solveig’s feet ground to a halt the second he laid his lips upon her.

  Her heart stopped dead in her chest.

  And her dreki suddenly screamed within her, unfurling tight wings within the cage of her ribs and fighting to break free.

  “Are you all right?” Siv whispered on a thought-thread, mind-to-mind, because she alone among others, always noticed the little things.

  Solveig slammed a fist to her chest, fighting to contain the rage and fear. It was breathtaking. Blinding. She was left pinwheeling through stormy skies the way she had been when her mother had died right in front of her.

  “Solveig?” This time, Siv sounded worried, but she merely slid her fingers through Solveig’s other hand so as not to be noticed, lacing them tightly together.

  She would not be defeated by this foreign prince.

  She would not be undone by a single smile.

  She could control the dreki inside her. And whatever had set it off, she would deal with it later.

  “I’m fine,” she sent back, then turned to the prince. “Are you quite… done?”