A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.
ESTENARVEN WAS NERVOUS. It was an exceedingly rare occurrence and he didn’t like it one bit. He couldn’t imagine how Mastekh managed to survive constantly being in such a state. Estenarven found himself pacing and sweating and fidgeting as he roamed the empty suite, wondering where Mastekh was and when he would return.
By the Family, this was awful. He would never go out and forget to tell Mastekh where he was going again. He couldn’t bear the suspense – nor the thought that his Puddle went through such things on an almost daily basis. His heart was pounding at such a rate it left him breathless and light headed. It made him wonder how Mastekh had managed to survive as long as he had.
Clearly his Puddle had a stronger heart than many would have suggested. Except Estenarven had always known Mastekh was great hearted. It was partly why he was being so selfish as to hope he could claim such greatness for himself.
A rattle of the doorknob had him wiping his sweaty hands against his robe as he strode across the room and opened the door, full of anticipation.
Wide eyes blinked up at him and Estenarven’s shoulders slumped. “What do you want, Jessie?” he sighed, unable to feel anything but disappointment at finding Jesral kin Lightstorm Clan Thunderwing, aide to Elder Leasang, outside the door.
“Well, there’s a fine welcome,” she said airily, stepping forward and no doubt intending to stride straight into the suite.
Except Estenarven didn’t move, so she just bounced off his chest instead.
“Esten!” she protested, laughing. “Why so unfriendly? With all the elders off to dinner, I thought we might catch up. I feel like I haven’t seen you in a season, and I’ve heard the most delicious gossip that I simply have to share with you. You’ll find it ever so funny, I promise.”
In the past Estenarven would have been delighted to sit down and gossip with Jesral. She was light and fun and rather flirtatious, and he found her good company. But he wasn’t looking for good company tonight: he wanted the best. Only Mastekh would do.
“I’m busy, Jessie.”
She wrinkled her nose and smoothed her hand over the white stripe that made her otherwise dark hair so striking. “What, with Mastekh?” she scoffed. “Don’t be silly, Esten. At least with me you can have a proper conversation, and besides, I must share this most ridiculous rumour with you. I know you’ll laugh. It’s so silly that it can’t possibly true. A Rainstorm and a Boulderforce? How in the Overworld would that work?”
Her chatter dissolved into laughter, but Estenarven had long ceased listening. Because they were no longer the only two dragons in the corridor. At some point during the exchange, Mastekh had appeared from the stairwell, tray piled high with treats clenched between his hands.
Eyes wide, the Rainstorm stared at the way Jesral clung to Estenarven’s chest, laughing so hard she could hardly stand.
It’s so silly that it can’t possibly true. A Rainstorm and a Boulderforce?
Her mocking words echoed inside his head and Estenarven’s own eyes widened.
How in the Overworld would that work?
“Puddle,” he whispered, frozen with horror as Mastekh’s bottom lip began to wobble.
The tray rattled between the Rainstorm’s trembling hands. Then, with a great crash, he dropped the lot.
Food smashed against the stone floor, bowls cracked and cups bounced, the wine bottles and teapot breaking open to spill their contents across the hallway.
Still clinging to him, Jesral stopped laughing long enough to realise they had an audience, but Mastekh was already gone, fleeing in a slap of wet feet and soggy puddles.
“Mastekh!” Paralysis broken, Estenarven shoved Jesral aside and ran. “Mastekh, wait!”
“It’s true? Esten? Estenarven!” Jesral’s incredulous shouts followed him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about her laughing, her disbelief, her gossip or anything else.
All that mattered was Mastekh.
But as Estenarven reached the door to the stairwell where his beloved Puddle had gone, he hit a dead end. No more puddles, no more slapping feet, only darkness and a spiral of stairs leading both up and down.
“Mastekh!” he shouted, listening hard as his echoes returned to him.
Nothing else. No reply, no footsteps, no indication where the Rainstorm had gone.
Growling with frustration, Estenarven turned and slapped his hand hard against the doorframe.
The stone door frame that was part of the stone stairwell in a tower also made of stone.
And there he was, a Boulderforce, throwing a tantrum like an idiot because he couldn’t hear where Mastekh had gone.
Snorting derisively at himself, he flattened both hands against the wall. “Wretched fool,” he growled, sinking all his senses into the rock under his palms and coaxing the stone to reveal all of its secrets.
More next week!
Take care, my lovelies.