The Dragonrider (A Shalma's Destruction Legend): Part IV (Patreon)

by DoctorKowalski

Part III

The steam rose in lazy coils from the natural hot springs nestled into the mountainside behind the High Aerie. Carved stone steps led down to a series of interconnected pools, some naturally formed and others carefully shaped by generations of stonemasons. Copper sconces held enchanted flames that wouldn't extinguish in the mist, casting a warm glow over the bathers.

Beth reclined against the smooth stone edge of the middle pool, her slender arms stretched along the rim. Rose and Lily sat across from her, their hair piled high on their heads to keep it dry.

"I still can't believe Captain Thorne paired me with that arrogant third-year for tomorrow's drill," Lily grumbled, sinking deeper into the water.

"Consider yourself lucky," Rose replied. "At least Juniper's dragon knows how to fly in formation. I got stuck with -"

Her words faltered as a burst of laughter echoed down the stone steps. A group of second-year girls appeared, led by Hazel and Dahlia, with Ilyse following behind them. They were all wrapped in thin linen bathing sheets, heading toward the largest pool on the far side.

Beth's posture stiffened slightly. "Look who's made new friends," she murmured.

Rose observed Ilyse as she chatted animatedly with the older girls. There was something different about her former classmate -a subtle softening around her jawline, a slight fullness to her cheeks that hadn't been there before. Nothing dramatic, hardly worth mentioning really, but Rose had spent years studying Ilyse with the keen eye of a childhood friend turned rival.

When Ilyse dropped her bathing sheet to step into the water, Rose noticed her hips seemed a touch wider, her once-flat stomach showing the barest hint of a curve. If Rose hadn't known Ilyse's body so well from years of swimming in the valley river together, she might not have noticed at all.

"Enjoying the view?" Lily whispered, catching Rose's glance.

Rose's lips curved into a small, private smile. "Just observing."

"What?" Lily asked, looking confused.

Beth gave a subtle shake of her head, silencing further discussion. "I heard Soren's been quite attentive to her," she said, changing the subject with practiced ease.

"For now," Rose replied, her petty observation remaining unspoken as she sank deeper into the healing waters.

Across the springs, Ilyse laughed as she submerged herself to her shoulders, completely oblivious to the scrutiny. Her new circle of admirers gathered around her, hanging on her every word as she regaled them with some tale of her bonding with Raptor.

"The feast next week should be interesting," Beth commented idly. "I hear they're bringing in specialties from the coastal provinces."

Rose nodded, though her thoughts lingered on that almost imperceptible softening of Ilyse's body. Such a small thing, really. A change that most wouldn't even register. But to Rose, who remembered the skinny, plain girl from the valley farms, it felt like the first crack in a perfect facade.

"I can't wait," Rose replied, finally turning back to her friends. "Should be delicious."

***

The corridor leading to the third-year quarters was dimly lit by copper lanterns that cast long shadows against the stone walls. Ilyse navigated the familiar path with deliberate steps, one hand trailing along the cool stone to steady herself. The spiced wine from dinner still hummed in her veins, mingling with the more potent effects of the dragonroot she'd chewed afterward.

The substance had become a regular indulgence -a little before flights for focus, a bit more in the evenings for pleasure. Tonight she'd taken more than usual, seeking to quiet the vague discomfort that had been shadowing her thoughts lately. The root worked its magic, transforming unease into a pleasant tingling that spread from her core to her fingertips.

She paused before Soren's door, smoothing the silken fabric of her robe. Beneath it, she wore only a thin shift that clung to her substantial curves. Her body felt heavy and warm, her skin hypersensitive where the fabric brushed against her full breasts and rounded belly.

Checking that the corridor was empty, she knocked three times -their established signal.

The wait seemed eternal, though it couldn't have been more than seconds. When the door finally opened, Soren stood before her in loose sleeping trousers, his chest bare in the low light. His eyes widened briefly before darkening with recognition of her purpose.

"Ilyse," he said, her name half greeting, half question.

She didn't answer with words. Instead, she moved forward, pressing her body against his, feeling the solid warmth of his chest against her softer curves. Her mouth found his with practiced urgency, her hands already exploring the familiar terrain of his shoulders and back.

Soren pulled her inside, kicking the door closed behind them. His quarters were sparse but comfortable: a large bed with rumpled sheets, a desk strewn with maps and flight plans, a small hearth where embers glowed red in the darkness.

"I wasn't expecting you tonight," he murmured against her neck, his hands already working at the tie of her robe. "Training tomorrow..."

"I don't care," Ilyse replied, her words slightly slurred from the wine and dragonroot. "I needed this. Needed you."

The robe fell open, revealing her shift and the body beneath. In the firelight, her olive skin glowed golden, shadows accentuating the generous curves of her hips, the roundness of her belly, the fullness of her breasts. Soren's hands traced these contours with appreciative hunger, finding new abundance where once there had been slender planes.

Ilyse was beyond noticing his momentary adjustment, too lost in sensation to register anything but desire. The dragonroot heightened every touch to near-unbearable intensity, making her gasp as his fingers discovered sensitive places that seemed to grow more responsive with each encounter.

She pulled him toward the bed with unsteady steps, her body moving with a heaviness that felt like power rather than limitation. The mattress received her substantial form with a creak, Soren's weight following as he covered her body with his own.

Time became fluid, measured only in waves of sensation. Their bodies moved together with practiced familiarity yet fresh urgency, each finding what they sought in the other's flesh. For Ilyse, these moments were pure escape: from thoughts, from awareness, from the vague unease that lurked at the edges of her consciousness when the dragonroot began to fade.

Later, as they lay tangled in the sheets, Soren's fingers traced idle patterns across the soft expanse of her belly. Ilyse floated in the pleasant aftermath, her mind hazy with satisfaction and chemical bliss.

"You've been taking more of it lately," Soren observed, his tone carefully neutral.

"More of what?" Ilyse asked, though she knew.

"Dragonroot. I can taste it on you."

She rolled toward him, pressing her generous curves against his side. "It helps me focus. Enhances everything." Her hand moved suggestively down his chest. "You don't seem to mind the effects."

He caught her wrist, his expression serious in the dying firelight. "The older riders talk about how it can change people if they take too much, too often."

"Old wives' tales," she dismissed, freeing her hand to continue its exploration. "The Academy instructors use it in ceremonies all the time."

"Ceremonial root is different from what's passed around at parties," he pointed out, though his body was already responding to her touch despite his concerns.

"Are you going to lecture me," Ilyse murmured, her lips finding his neck, "or are you going to enjoy what's right in front of you?"

The question hung in the air for only a moment before Soren surrendered, turning to capture her mouth with renewed hunger. Conversation slipped away, replaced by more primal communication as their bodies came together once more.

In the shadowed room, with pleasure coursing through her veins, Ilyse could forget everything -the subtle changes in her body, the increasing frequency of her visits to the Academy tailor, the knowing looks that sometimes passed between Paige and Talia when they thought she wasn't watching. Here, in this bed, with dragonroot dulling her awareness of anything beyond immediate sensation, she could still feel like the triumphant rider who had bonded with the strongest dragon of her year.

Tomorrow might bring clarity and its accompanying discomforts, but tonight belonged to oblivion, and she surrendered to it completely.

***

The evening dining hall buzzed with activity; riders gathered in groups around heavy wooden tables laden with food. Tomorrow's eastern patrol team had claimed a corner table near the windows overlooking the valley below. Maps and weather charts lay scattered between plates and goblets, occasionally requiring rescue from spilled drinks.

"So we'll cross the channel here," Soren said, tracing a route with his finger across a faded map, "following the northern coastline before circling back. Should give us good visibility of the harbor preparations."

Ilyse nodded, her attention divided between the map and her plate, which she'd heaped with roasted fowl, herbed potatoes, and fresh bread. She'd already finished her first helping and was working steadily through her second, breaking off pieces of bread to soak up the rich gravy.

"Why the extra security for a routine delegation visit?" she asked between bites, her cheeks fuller than they had been months ago, her uniform straining slightly across her chest and middle where it had once fit perfectly.

"Stormhaven delegates always bring a certain... tension," Paige replied, sipping her drink with significantly more restraint than Ilyse showed toward her food. "Especially around founders' festivals."

Talia laughed, leaning back in her chair. "You'd think after a thousand years they'd let it go."

"Let what go?" Ilyse asked, reaching for another roll despite her still half-full plate.

"Only the complete humiliation of their greatest warlord," a passing rider called, overhearing their conversation. "Stormcrest thought he had Windcrest cornered until Leonor showed up on Brasswing's back."

"My grandfather used to joke that's why they're such awful negotiators," Talia said. "They're still bitter about being outmaneuvered by a concubine who figured out dragons before they did."

The group laughed, and Ilyse found herself unconsciously touching the copper medallion at her throat -a stylized image of Leonor astride Brasswing.

"Is that why their architecture looks so different?" she asked, helping herself to a third bread roll. "I've only seen sketches in the Academy texts."

"Partly tradition, partly defiance," Soren explained, pushing his empty plate aside. "They maintain their own styles deliberately -fewer dragon motifs, more nautical elements. The harbor buildings all face away from the mainland."

"Their women wear Stormcrest blue rather than Windcrest copper on formal occasions," Paige added. "Not officially rebellious, but the message is clear."

Ilyse nodded, soaking in these details while soaking up gravy with her bread. Her appetite had grown noticeably in recent months, though she paid it little mind. The food at the High Aerie was simply too good to resist, and flying burned energy.

"Their cotton trade keeps them wealthy despite being politically subordinate," Talia continued. "The outer islands grow it, Stone Harbor processes it. Half the empire's finest textiles come from their mills."

"Which is why we tolerate their little cultural rebellions," Soren concluded with a shrug. "Commerce trumps ancient grudges."

Ilyse reached for the serving platter again, adding more potatoes to her already substantial meal. Paige raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"You're certainly fueling up for tomorrow," Talia observed, eyeing Ilyse's plate.

"Eastern routes are longer," Ilyse replied easily, though she shifted in her seat as if suddenly aware of how much she was eating. "Need the energy."

"Speaking of tomorrow," Soren interjected, returning to the maps, "we need an early start. Tide charts show optimal channel crossing before mid-morning."

As the conversation shifted back to patrol logistics, Ilyse continued eating with barely diminished enthusiasm. The soft fullness of her cheeks caught the lamplight differently now, her once-sharp jawline softened into a gentler curve. Her uniform, though recently adjusted, already showed signs of strain across her more generous curves.

When she reached for a slice of honey cake, Talia gave her a look that mingled amusement with something else -concern, perhaps, or simple observation. Ilyse noticed but chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the sweet dessert and the patrol plans.

"Early morning assembly, then?" she confirmed, brushing crumbs from her slightly rounded chin.

"Sunrise at the launching platform," Soren said, nodding. "Pack extra water -the island air is more humid than you're used to."

"And maybe ease up on the provisions," Paige suggested lightly. "The delegations always provide a feast for visiting riders. Part of their showing off."

Ilyse flushed slightly but laughed it off. "Noted. Though I never turn down good food."

"That's becoming increasingly obvious," Talia murmured, too quietly for anyone but Paige to hear.

As they gathered their maps and prepared to leave, Ilyse found herself slightly winded just rising from the table -a new development she attributed to the long day of preparations rather than any change in her condition.

"Rest well," Soren advised as they parted ways in the corridor. "Channel crossings can be challenging for first-timers."

Ilyse nodded, one hand unconsciously coming to rest on the slight curve of her belly as she headed toward her quarters. Tomorrow would bring new territories, new perspectives -another chance to prove herself as an elite rider, whatever small changes might be occurring along the way.

***

Alayne's quill scratched against parchment as she pretended to focus on her tactical flight formations essay. The scratching provided useful cover for the more interesting sounds coming from behind Ilyse's partially closed door. The Spring Equinox Festival was just two days away, and all the dragon riders would be on display in their ceremonial attire, flying in formation over the capital city.

From her strategic position at her desk, Alayne had a partial view into Ilyse's room through the cracked door. She kept her head down, only allowing herself occasional glances up when the muffled curses grew particularly colorful.

Inside, Ilyse was waging war against her ceremonial riding pants.

The garments in question were gorgeous – tooled leather in deep copper, designed to match her dragon's scales, with decorative side panels that shimmered with metallic thread when she moved. They'd been custom-fitted just after her bonding ceremony five months ago, meant to showcase her remarkably Leonor-like figure. Now, they lay on her bed like a battlefield opponent.

"Come on, you stupid -" Ilyse grunted, yanking the waistband up around her thighs. The leather refused to budge past her upper thighs, the material straining audibly with each tug.

Alayne bit her lip to suppress a smile as Ilyse flopped dramatically onto her bed, the motion causing the jar of dragonroot on her nightstand to rattle. Ilyse had been hitting that stuff pretty hard lately. No wonder she was having... issues.

"This is ridiculous," Ilyse muttered, rolling onto her back and trying a different approach. She lifted her hips, sucking in her stomach and wiggling frantically as she attempted to pull the pants up over the new curve of her backside. All she managed to accomplish was setting her softened belly into a jiggling motion that would have been comical if it wasn't also slightly sad.

Ilyse had spent years dreaming of being a dragon rider. She'd achieved it spectacularly, bonding with one of the largest dragons in the Aerie. But something had shifted in recent months. The disciplined, focused trainee had given way to someone who spent more time at the Rider's Respite tavern than at flight drills, who skipped morning exercises with increasing frequency, and whose portions in the dining hall had grown noticeably larger.

The pants still wouldn't budge. Ilyse stood, jumping slightly as if the added momentum might force the leather past her thighs. "Why. Won't. You. FIT?" Each word was punctuated by another frantic hop that sent ripples through her increasingly soft midsection.

Alayne ducked her head as Ilyse glanced toward the door, breathing a sigh of relief when her roommate turned back to her wardrobe challenge.

Now Ilyse was attempting to fasten the pants while lying flat on her back on the floor, legs in the air, face flushed crimson with effort. Her riding tunic had ridden up, exposing the pale swell of a stomach that had once been flat and toned. She strained, grunting with the effort, fingers working frantically at the fastenings.

"This is ridiculous," Ilyse huffed again, abandoning the floor strategy. "They must have shrunk when the laundresses cleaned them." She stood before her mirror, turning sideways to examine the pants that clung halfway up her thighs. "Or maybe the leather stretched when I wore them before, and now it's contracted back to its original size."

Ilyse tugged again, managing to get the waistband a bit higher. "Almost," she muttered, sucking in her stomach so forcefully her face reddened. For a moment, it seemed like she might actually succeed – and then there was a telltale sound of straining leather, followed by a small but distinct ripping noise.

"NO!" Ilyse wailed, immediately releasing her grip on the waistband. She examined the seam with horror, fingering a small tear at the side. "No, no, no..."

Alayne carefully kept her expression neutral as Ilyse cast a desperate look around the room. The festival was in two days. There was no time for replacement garments to be made.

Ilyse yanked the pants down her legs, nearly falling over in the process, and threw them onto her bed in disgust. "I'll have to get these fixed," she muttered. "That new tailor in Cliffside... Jaren? I heard he does quick work."

Part V