Rise of the Dragon Queen

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  Each person stole a glance at Prince Dalton, whose eyes were fixed on the table. His face was unreadable. His jaw was clenched tightly and a vein ticked on his temple.

  “What are your suggestions?” Eulonda asked. “Surely we can help if they are so close!”

  “I plan on sending a small army with Prince Dalton to Wexford, and—“

  “No,” Silvia said loudly, and everyone, including Dalton, looked at her in surprise. “Do not send him there with only a small army. With Rohedon’s army the size that it is, what good would that do? If their city has nearly been conquered, then it is alike to sending him to his death, and then there will be no heir to the throne of Wexford. Or is that what you’d like? Tell me, my Liege, are you trying to kill off all hopes of saving Wexford?”

  “Quentin, where are you?” Keelan muttered softly. He was inside Silvia’s room, alone and in human form. He did not want to use the sapphire to contact his brother for fear of distracting Silvia from the War Council. He had done a quick run of the castle, but had found no trace of his brother. Frero, Hans, and Maura were also on the lookout. He was about to pick up a book to browse through when he heard labored breathing and footsteps in the corridor. Keelan transformed into the fox and hid behind the plush green couch. He heard the door open, shut, and the lock click.

  “Keelan?” he heard his brother whisper.

  “Here,” said Keelan quietly, transforming as he stood up. A second later Quentin appeared, rushing into the bedchamber. Keelan followed, and struck a piece of flint into one of the torches to get it burning. When he saw Quentin’s harried face he wished he hadn’t. “By the Dark Moon, brother, what is wrong?” he asked.

  “He knows,” he panted, his face pale even against his white hair. “He knows who she is!”

  “No, I am not,” Gregorich answered a little unsteadily. “I am merely trying to help, as I am sure you understand.”

  “Well, I would think it wise to send an army of substantial size or send one not at all. How hard would it be to attack a small company of ordinary men when you are an empire? Do you even have a trained army?”

  Gregorich swallowed visibly. “No, madam, I do not. There hasn’t been a need for one, until now.”

  Sir Grant let out a minute sound of disdain, clearly displeased that such a large city had no army.

  “Now my point is ever more valid. Your Highness.” Silvia stared at the King with a blank expression.

  The prince sighed heavily. “The lady is right, Sire. I should not go back until Rohedon has left Wexford alone or unless I take a massive army. I’m afraid I must take refuge here, King Gregorich, if only for a little while.”

  “Then you will not go with the men I’m sending out in the morning?” Hapshamin asked curiously.

  “Wait…you’re still sending an army?” Sir Grant barked gruffly, puffing out his chest. “Why in the world for? Any small count will be slaughtered mercilessly!”

  “Darkania is a very big city,” Eulonda said. “Surely we can send more than a few soldiers?”

  “He doesn’t have ‘soldiers’,” said Silvia bitterly. “He only has his Guard, who will stay here to guard his person.” She was having a problem holding her tongue today.

  “I cannot leave the city unprotected,” Gregorich said as he frowned. “But I also have to help in any way I can, even if I cannot send a large number.”

  “Help whom, exactly?” growled Grant. This comment received a vicious glare from the King.

  “I am sending out a small army of a couple hundred men regardless of what will happen. I will not hear people say that while Wexford fell I sent no help.”

  “So you’re sending men to die needlessly?” Prince Dalton spat. “And you wish me to go as well? I am proud of my country and would fight to the death for it. However, Sir Grant has a logical point. If Rohedon really does have a large army, then you are sending people to be butchered. It’s suicide, Your Majesty. But whilst I am speaking, let me say this: Wexford has not fallen yet, so do not act as though it has.”

  Gregorich sighed, clearly more than irritated. “I’d have thought you of all people would have supported me helping your country. But I will think on what you have said tonight.” He turned and looked at the map behind him, saying softly, “So little time left for us if Wexford is indeed surrounded.” He traced his finger from Wexford to Darkania. When he turned back around, his face was puzzled. “I am concerned about something else. A very troubling situation, though I would not necessarily call it a problem yet.”

  “Pray tell,” said Eulonda, though she was the only one who appeared interested in what he had to say now.

  “Our homeless have disappeared,” Hapshamin stated, “and no one knows where to. What has been rebuilt of the shelter is barren. Completely abandoned, I should say. Do any of you have any inkling as to what might have happened?”

  “Perhaps someone murdered them all,” said Grant softly. He and Dalton knew better than to look at each other.

  “What do you care anyway?” Silvia said. “You abhor the very thought of the homeless.”

  The King looked as if he wished to say something smart in reply, yet bit his tongue instead to silence the remark. “Well, if anyone knows some information or has heard of where they are, send word for them to come back…I’ve found a new home for them, as well as one for my prisoners that I do not wish to house any longer.” He cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss while we are here?”

  Eulonda spoke up. “Since Lordale has been conquered and Wexford is encompassed, how will this affect our market? And what will we do if the war nears us?”

  “We will fight, of course,” said Gregorich Hapshamin as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Unfortunately the besieged cities will practically crush our market trade. The prices will have to rise dramatically if we are to stay on our feet.”

  “Surely in a time such as this a King may use his treasuries to help keep his kingdom out of debt and poverty,” Silvia said.

  “I have stated before that my treasure is used to pay my Royal Guard and feed them, as well as other servants that need paying. A palace has a hefty price for its upkeep, milady,” Hapshamin reminded her.

  “I agree with Lady Serena—there is no way these people could survive such a drastic change in the economy,” added Sir Grant. “The gods only know half of this city is already nearing poverty.”

  “Darkania would fall in on itself and die,” said the prince.

  “But royalty is only supposed to use the bulk of their treasuries in the greatest of needs,” said Eulonda.

  “What do you think this is?” Grant barked at her. His anger at the King was very evident. “There is hardly anything worse than a failed kingdom in which everything gets ruined.”

  “I don’t think you are right,” Eulonda said quietly.

  Hapshamin shook his head. “I don’t either. The economy will have to build itself up anyway and the treasury would only go so far in helping.”

  “And then people would begin seeing you as weak and challenging you for the throne,” said Silvia. “Such a pity that would be.”

  The King could have thrown daggers from his eyes at her remark.

  “Perhaps a city-wide restriction on food would help,” said Dalton. “My parents did that once when I was but a child. We were in a bad year for crops and the restriction helped stabilize us.”

  “You still are a child if you believe some sort of fast or diet will help us when we are that damaged.” Eulonda glared at him, her full figure shifting in its seat.

  “All right, all right. Calm down Eulonda, my dear. We’ll just discuss this another time,” said Gregorich. “After all, the war has yet to reach our fair city.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the table. “Before I dismiss everybody I have something to say to Lady Serena.” He gazed at Silvia’s startled expression. Briefly he wondered why she scooped up the sapphire at the end of her necklace, which had been had been resting comfortably again
st the brown folds of the dress she wore. “I have become all too aware that it is time I started something new. Ever since you arrived here milady, I have been smitten with you. You are a very free-spirited young woman, and yet extremely conservative and proper. It would be a great honor, therefore, if you would be my Queen, and bear the heir to my throne.”

  Eulonda gasped, and then clapped her hands delightedly. Sir Grant glared heavily at Hapshamin, then switched to an anxious expression as he turned to hear Silvia’s answer. Prince Dalton was flushing deeply in anger, the vein in his head pulsing rapidly. Everyone waited. Silvia’s hand clutched her stone so hard that her knuckles were white; at the same moment, elsewhere in the palace, Quentin, Keelan, and Frero seemed to be frozen in time. Zander was on his knees in his bedroom, praying to the gods earnestly.

  “I…am already taken, Your Majesty,” she answered, her voice a little too high and unsteady. “I am already betrothed.”

  Eulonda’s jaw had dropped, and Dalton looked crestfallen, but relieved.

  Gregorich’s face reddened. “Then why do you not wear an engagement piece upon your finger?” he shouted in fury as he pointed at her hand. “You have said already that you were not promised!”

  Silvia hid her emotions and steadied her voice, easing her iron grip on her sapphire. “Sometimes people ask too many questions when one is known to be engaged.”

  “And sometimes they do not ask enough questions when you do not show signs of being spoken for,” he seethed. “For instance, telling your correct name and where you are really from?”

  This time the prince and Sir Grant did look at Silvia, as she calmly remained under the rapid fire of Hapshamin’s accusations.

  “Tell me who you are. I have written proof that you are not ‘Lady Serena of Alwak’, so do not try and escape the truth. Are you running from your future husband? If so, I can help you, and give you a kingdom of your own to boot.”

  Eulonda was watching the situation with eyes greedy for the truth.

  “I run from nothing and if I did escape the truth, I wouldn’t be the only one, Your Majesty.” She watched in satisfaction as the color drained from his face. “And I do not deny what you say. I will tell you more than you want to know tomorrow. Until then I would suggest patience.”

  Gregorich was fuming as he walked to the door and pounded on it with a closed fist. “Tomorrow morning you will tell me in front of the whole city who you are. And if you are lying about anything you will pay. George! Open the door!” The King glared at them all. “Dismissed.”

  Flanked by Prince Dalton and Sir Grant, Silvia walked briskly to her room. Hans, Maura, and Frero were already in the room, waiting for her. As soon as the door was shut and latched, herself and her escorts inside, she collapsed onto the sofa, crying.

  Keelan changed into human form immediately, not caring if the two men saw or not. Quentin appeared a second later and both kneeled by their Queen. Keelan took Silvia into his arms and ignored the utter astonishment on Dalton and Grant’s faces.

  “Be calm, my love,” Keelan said. “You must be strong. It’s not over—we…we have more bad news.”

  Silvia tilted her head to look at him. “I do not know if I can take anymore. My burdens are already so heavy!”

  “You can take it and you will take it,” he said, “for that is what a queen does. A queen’s burdens are never light, my love.” He kissed her brow gently.

  This soothed her and she accepted a handkerchief from Hans. “Prince Dalton, Sir Grant, I must apologize for deceiving you,” she said quietly.

  “I am sure you will explain…but a man who appears out of nowhere and a shape-changer,” said Grant, staring at Keelan warily. “How can we trust someone who doesn’t know their true shape?”

  “And who is this ‘man’ anyway?” asked the Prince. One could tell he was trying hard to keep a hateful sneer from forming on his face.

  Keelan’s face turned stony as he rose to face them. “My name is Keelan. I am the man of Queen Silvia’s engagement.”

  “’Queen Silvia’?” questioned Prince Dalton, looking around Keelan at the beautiful young woman on the couch. “You really are royalty?”

  Silvia stood up and attempted to appear tall and proud; she did not fall shy of this mark. “I am the daughter of King Zacharias and Queen Madeline, and I am the true Queen of this city.”

  Pure shock covered the prince’s features. “But…you were said to be stillborn—even I remember the tales of you and I was just a child,” he said. He shook his head in disbelief.

  “You being alive is a miracle of all the gods, milady,” said Sir Grant. “I remember as well how your parents were forced from their throne.”

  “My parents wished me to survive the turmoil of the city and hid me away.”

  “The Dead Queen has risen to take her throne,” Grant whispered, bowing low as Dalton genuflected. “I always knew you were a Lady, but I had no idea you were a queen. I apologize for any offense I have ever given you.”

  “Oh, please, you have not offended me. I consider you both friends.” She looked at Keelan sadly. “So what is the bad news? We might as well get it over with.”

  Quentin answered. “I’ve been following Hapshamin all day,” he said. “After you left your private breakfast with him he began swearing that he knew your face from somewhere and that he would eventually remember from where. I tailed him when he went for a stroll around the palace to sort his thoughts. Then it seemed as though he had an idea and he began walking quickly towards your room. But he went to the locked room at the back of this corridor instead and I was able to slip in beside him when he opened the door. He walked up to one of the pictures, stopped, and stared.” He swallowed as Silvia’s blood ran chill. “You know that Motilda spoke of him entering that room only at night, so that he could not see the faces of his past but still be reminded of it. The painting he stopped at was one of your mother, milady, when she first married your father. She was only a year or two older than you in the painting and the resemblance…well, you know already that you could be her mirror image.”

  “I have seen the paintings in that room, and know of what you speak,” Silvia whispered. “What else have you to say?”

  “Just this: that he was so terrified and confused and angry that he didn’t know what to do. He said, ‘What perfect irony. The queen’s stillborn returns to marry the treacherous King. How suitable…Motilda was right.’ That’s exactly what he said, Your Majesty.”

  “I do not know the whole story, milady, but it sounds as if you are in the greatest of dangers,” Sir Grant said. “But I gave you a vow on my sword to help and I mean to keep it.” He drew his broadsword and laid it at her feet, bowing low again.

  Hans, Maura, and Frero appeared a bit puzzled, for they had not been informed of Silvia’s late meeting in the garden.

  Prince Dalton drew his sword also, a long, jeweled blade retrieved from a studded leather scabbard. “We both made a vow and together we will place you on your throne if it means killing Gregorich Hapshamin ourselves.” The beautiful sword was laid at her feet as he bowed next to Grant.

  “If you are true to your word and you help me take my throne and crown I will reward you. For I will get my throne…or I will die trying.”

  “Perhaps we should get you out of the city until we come up with some sort of plan,” Grant suggested. “If need be we can hide you to protect you—you are too important for the city to lose.”

  She shook her head. “I refuse to hide from him. My parents may have been forced to leave the city, but he will force my hand at nothing. And I will not marry that foul toad of a man; I will tell him tomorrow my true identity and retake the throne that is mine.”

  Anger consumed every inch of his being and fright made every blond hair on the back of his neck stand up on end. Was she really the dead queen’s daughter come back from the Land of the Dead? Surely it couldn’t be Madeline herself, for ‘Lady Serena’ was too young. Perhaps she was only someone who happened to
look just like his predecessor, and she had no idea of whom she looked like. But that was unlikely. After all, Motilda had warned him that she was of royal blood and that she was scheming against him. Damn her! He stormed about his room in a silent fury, his brain working hard. If she really was the heir to the throne, where had she been hiding for the last nineteen years? And who had hidden her? He thought of her servants and smiled grimly to himself, betting that they had probably worn some sort of oath to King Zacharias and his wife. The only real question was what to do now? Could she be made to marry him? If so, her servants would have to go. He wanted no one who was personally involved with her and loyal to her to be around—even her damn animal.

  It was too bad his Special One had disobeyed his call the other night. He could have been very helpful right then. But Gregorich knew he would turn up in a week or two, as he always did. Until then, he would do his best to even the odds against his beautiful guest.