Rise of the Dragons by Morgan Rice

warrior’s clothes. Go to your chamber and change
into a woman’s fineries, like every other woman at the table.”
    She flushed, infuriated—and he leaned in
close and raised a finger.
    “And don’t let me see you on the field
with my men again,” he seethed.
    He turned abruptly, as servants opened
the huge doors for him, and a wave of noise came tumbling out to greet them,
along with the smell of roasting meat, unwashed hounds and roaring fires. Music
carried in the air, and the din of activity from inside the hall was
all-consuming. Kyra watched her father turn and enter, attendants following.
    Several servants stood there, holding
open the doors, waiting as Kyra stood there, fuming, debating what to do. She
had never been so angry in her life.
    She finally turned and stormed off with
Leo, away from the hall, back for her chamber. For the first time in her life,
she hated her father at that moment. She had thought he was different, above all
this; yet now she realized he was a smaller man than she had thought—and that,
more than anything, hurt her. His taking away from her what she loved most—the
training grounds—was a knife in her heart. The thought of living her life
confined to silks and dresses left her feeling a greater sense of despair than
she had ever known.
    She wanted to leave Volis—and never come
back.
    *
    Commander Duncan sat at the head of the
banquet table, in the massive feasting hall of fort Volis, and he looked out
over his family, warriors, subjects, counselors, advisors and visitors—more
than a hundred people, all stretched along the table for the holiday—with a
heavy heart. Of all these people before him, the one most on his mind was the
one he tried not to look at on principle: his daughter. Kyra. Duncan had always
had a special relationship with her, had always felt the need to be both father
and mother to her, to make up for the loss of her mother. But he was failing,
he knew, at being her father—much less a mother, too.
    Duncan had always made a point of
watching over her, the only girl in a family of boys, and in a fort full of
warriors—especially given that she was a girl unlike the other girls, a girl,
he had to admit, who was too much like him. She was very much alone in a man’s
world, and he went out of his way for her, not only out of obligation, but also
because he loved her dearly, more than he could say, perhaps even more, he
hated to admit, than his boys. Because of all his children, he had to admit
that he, oddly, even though she was a girl, saw himself most in her. Her
willfulness; her fierce determination; her warrior’s spirit; her refusal to
back down; her fearlessness; and her compassion. She always stood up for the
weak, especially her younger brother, and always stood up for what was
just—whatever the cost.
    Which was another reason why their
conversation had irked him so badly, had left him in such a mood. As he had
watched her on the training ground this evening, wielding her staff against
those men with a remarkable, dazzling skill, his heart had leapt with pride and
joy. He hated Maltren, a braggart and a thorn in his side, and he was elated
that his daughter, of all people, had put him in his place. He was beyond proud
that she, a girl of just fifteen, could hold her own with his men—and even beat
them. He had wanted so badly to embrace her, to shower her with praise in front
of all the others.
    But as her father, he could not. Duncan
wanted what was best for her and deep down, he felt she was going down a dangerous
road, a road of violence in a man’s world. She would be the only woman in a
field of dangerous men, men with carnal desires, men who, when their blood was
up, would fight to the death. She did not realize what true battle meant, what
bloodshed, pain, death was like, up close. It was not the life he wanted for
her—even if it were allowed. He wanted her safe and secure here in the fort,
living a domestic life of peace and comfort. But