by K.N. Lee
“Where is my father?” Rowen asked, as she drank from a cup of hot tea.
Rickard rested his chin in his hand, and sighed. “Inside the palace in a room that is heavily guarded. I want to keep an eye on him while he’s free.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust him,” she said, shaking her head. She looked off toward the balcony and finished her tea. “He’s the most dangerous man I’ve ever known. Even more dangerous than Warwick. You know that wizard hated my father, and that’s why he hated me so much? Elian is responsible for this—for all of it. I have a mind to send him far, far away and never see him again.”
“I know. But, we need him by our side as we find a way to reverse the curse on the Dragons. And, if we’re lucky, maybe he’ll also help us against the Wizard’s of Myrity. If anyone knows their weakness, it would be him. He might as well have organized the bloody lot of them.”
“Ah, but I doubt he’d lift a finger against them. I’d much rather rely on my own wits and powers, and find a cure for the curse myself.”
“Of course, and that’s just one of the reasons I love you so dearly. You have a fire within you that I’ve never seen in anyone else,” he said. “But, you need your rest. Heal, and then we can talk about whatever quests you desire.”
She turned to face him. Straddling his body, her brows furrowed as she took his face into her hands.
“Rickard, I would like nothing more than to never be in bed again, for the rest of my life,” she said. “I swear I’d rather sleep on the floor after what I’ve been through. No. I’ve rested enough. It’s time I start living again.”
She then got up and crossed the room to pull the rope for the servants. She cast open the wardrobe doors and stood before them with her hands on her hips.
Rickard stood and joined her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He then breathed her in and kissed the top of her head. As he felt the small mound growing on her belly, a surge of sorrow washed over him.
A child.
He hadn’t wrapped his mind around the fact that he’d be a father. What kind would he be? He’d only ever seen cruelty from his own. His life was one of constant training, and never measuring up to his father’s standards or expectations.
A tinge of sorrow washed over him as he remembered times when it was blatantly obvious that King Thorn favored Prince Lawson over him—when he’d been made to feel like the bastard child he barely wanted to claim as his own.
“Don’t you wish we could just be free from it all—to escape somewhere far, far away?” Rowen asked.
He dropped his hands, and stepped away.
“I do not,” he said, and she shot him a vexed glance. “This is my home. My duty.”
“Do you remember how you got it?” Rowen asked, narrowing her eyes. “How I helped you?”
He tilted his head, a bit taken aback by her comment. “Yes,” he said. “That’s why I’ll never give it up.”
Rowen stepped away, hands dropping to her sides.
“Very well,” she said, and turned to head toward the door. “While you fight to keep your crown, I’m going to save my sister. Join me, if you’d like. Otherwise, enjoy being king.”
She left then, and he stared after her, baffled.
Rickard rubbed his chin, wondering what just happened. Then, he sighed and raced for the door.
He caught her in the hall, a few feet from the door. Taking her by the arm, he pulled her to him.
“Don’t ever do that,” he said, and she frowned.
“What?”
He kissed her, holding her face between his hands. “Don’t just walk out like that, assuming you know what drives me as a man. Yes, I want to be king. But, I also want to help you save your sister. You forget who I am.”
A sly smile came to her lips, and she tilted her head. “You’re King bloody Rickard,” she said. “The wiliest Dragon I’ve ever met.”
He chuckled, and held her close. “That’s right, love. Never forget it.”
“So,” she said, stroking his arm. “What now?”
He pulled back and looked her over, measuring her up. Then, he took her by the hand and headed down the hall. “First,” he began. “We need to get you a sword. Second, we need to teach you to use it.”
13
Elian stalked the halls of the palace, followed by two guards, and constantly watched by another set of specialized soldiers Rickard had enlisted to keep an eye on him.
He let them follow, utterly uncaring. They could watch his every move, and still wouldn’t know what went through his mind, and how he could end their pitiful lives with minimal effort.
If Elian wanted to be free, he would be so.
While observing a painting of King Thorn, which hung high above a large fireplace that nearly took up the entire wall, soft footsteps alerted his attention.
He knew it was her. He could sense her presence, and smell her distinctive scent of rosemary and lavender. Somehow, Rowen smelled of his childhood.
She smelled of home—something he hadn’t thought of in ages. The rustling stalks of wheat in the meadow. The smell of the distant sea in the air.
He didn’t want to remember home. Yet, she forced it from him.
“Lovely day,” Elian said, without turning toward her. He kept his eyes fixed on those dark eyes of King Thorn’s. “Isn’t it?”
She stopped and stood at his side.
“I’m sure you’ve heard by now,” she said, ignoring his question.
“What would that be?” Elian asked, very well informed about the secret that would soon be revealed.
“What game are you playing?” Rowen asked, stepping before him. The lines in between her brows creased as she looked up at him.
Still, Elian peered over her head, a slow smile coming to his lips.
“The same game you’ve been playing all of your life, dearest daughter,” he said, softly. “Its the game of innocence. We play it well, you and I.”
“I’m not playing a game,” she said, and he finally looked at her, a brow raised over his left eye. She pursed her lips. “Not anymore. This is real, Elian. Real lives are at stake. I’m not playing the innocent fool anymore. I must be queen.”
He looked her up and down. “Yes, indeed. You do look the part. But, its not what’s in your soul. Not truly.”
She frowned. “What are you even talking about?”
He headed away from the fireplace and toward the doors that led out to the gardens. “Walk with me. I’ll give you your first lesson.”
Grumbling, she followed along. “I told you already, I do not want or need your lessons.”
“Nonetheless, you’re about to get one. And, its at no cost to you.”
He pushed the heavy wooden door open, and the guards, and Rowen were close behind.
Ah, an entire entourage for little old me.
Once he felt the soft breeze of fresh air and the sweet scent of fresh flowers and herbs, he led her to the white path that weaved through the lush garden that stretched the entire length of a rectangular stone body of water. With water a shade of blue that mocked the summer sky, it was the closest thing he’d find that resembled the sea in that landlocked piece of land which the palace stood on.
“Spill it,” Rowen said, clearly annoyed, with her hands on her hips the moment they stopped at the edge of the water.
“That child,” he said, nodding toward her belly. “It’ll change everything. History, prophecy, all that we thought we knew.”
“How do you know? Its just a baby. Like me, born of human and Dragon blood.”
“Aye,” he said. “But, what of its dark power—the power you summoned against Priscilla. What of that?”
She shook her head, and outstretched her arms. “What of it? One might consider my power dark. Yet, I would never use it to harm anyone,” she said, then narrowed her eyes. “Unless, they deserved it.”
Elian chuckled then, and clasped his hands together. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice and spoke into Row
en’s ear.
“Its that spark—right there—the one you inherited from me,” he said. “The child will be all fire, and rage, and darkness.”
Once he stood back to his full height, her face had paled.
“You’d do well to follow that instinct of yours and flee from Withrae before its too late,” Elian said.
Alarm filled her expression, and her chest rose and fell with heavier breaths. She gazed out toward the water.
“You know its what calls to you. That’s your intuition,” he said. “Listen to it, and you’ll never have to suffer again.”
Then, he began to walk away, leaving her standing at the water, and covering her mouth with her hands as she reflected.
“As I said,” he added, over his shoulder as he headed back to the palace for some supper. “Lessons are free, but for a limited time.”
14
Rickard sat upon the throne, dressed like a king—like his father did every day of his life after the Withraen crown was passed to him.
He wore his golden crown, a white cape, and suit of black with dark gold buttons, and a sash.
King Thorn had won the crown in the Battle of Black where the two families with royal blood fought for the throne after the former king died without an heir.
Rickard was born in battle—raised in a world of political intrigue—and had the drive and ambition of a true warrior. He’d inherited it. Withrae had been built on blood, and he would see it thrive, and pass it on to his son one day.
A smile crept across his lips.
A son. He couldn’t have imagined better news from the woman he loved.
While he spun the glowing orb that muted Elian’s abilities in his hand, he welcomed foreign diplomats, dignitaries, messengers, and royalty into the throne room.
Sir Tristan, arrived, crossing the long path marked by a royal blue carpet. Once he stopped before the platform from which Rickard sat, he bowed at the waist, and stood back to his full height.
He nodded to the orb. “That thing work?”
Rickard shrugged a shoulder. “Better be,” he said. “No problems out of the wizard yet.”
“Good,” Tristan said.
“What news of the people?”
Clearing his throat, Tristan crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Pretty much the same as the last time we spoke. Our people growing restless,” he said. “With the wizard who cursed us dead, and the curse still upon us, I fear an uprising unlike anything we’ve ever seen in Withrae.”
Rickard gazed down at the orb. “We expected as much, and we’re working on it.”
“Yes, your highness, but something needs to be done in the meantime—something to ease the tension that’s steadily brewing.”
Lifting a brow, he looked to the soldier before him. Leaning forward, he allowed the orb to hover in the air at his side. It glowed and spun slowly, with ripples rising up and down along its water-like structure.
“What exactly do you suggest.”
“Well,” Tristan said, running a hand through his beard, he glanced toward the windows that peered westward toward the city. “The noble families are eager to offer their assistance—eager to get their foot back in favor of the royal house.”
That made Rickard grimace. “Really? I’d rather not.”
“Very well, your highness. But, you did ask for my suggestion,” Tristan said. “It could be good to join forces with the power of those houses. Perhaps if you host a celebration of Queen Rowen’s child, it could boost morale in the kingdom—maybe soften the people to her now that an heir is on the way.”
That wasn’t a terrible idea.
“Invite the nobles, and strengthen alliances.”
He hated to admit it, but it was actually quite brilliant. With the nobles at his side, and popular opinion back in his favor, he could possible prevent a civil war.
Having the nobles against him could have the complete opposite effect. It was best to know his enemies and keep them within eye and earshot.
“Make it happen,” Rickard said, standing from the throne. “Summon the great lords and ladies. Might as bloody well.”
15
Rowen was in deep concentration when Rickard entered the training grounds for the Withraen army.
She focused on the target, determined to send the arrow to the very center.
Yards away, it seemed impossible to hit. Nevertheless, Rowen was becoming a skilled archer. With the power of both a dragon, and a wizard, her senses were heightened, and sharpened. The only thing that made it more difficult was the blazing sun, directly in between her view of the target.
Calming herself, and centering her focus, she heard nothing, and saw only the red target. It became a singular dot in her vision, and all she could see in the midst of the surrounding clamor and activity. She took a deep breath and released the bow and listened as the arrow sped through the air, slicing a path, and slamming into the target, dead in the center.
“Well done!” Rickard heartily, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You’re a fast learner, and more skilled than most of the recruits I see come through the training grounds.”
Rowen turned to face him.
“I did have a good teacher,” she said, with a smile.
Taking her by the hand, he led her toward one of the many tents that were pitched along the training grounds. The soldiers paused and bowed as they walked by, and returned to their training.
Rowen watched Rickard’s face, certain that something had happened—something she wouldn’t like. His expression was serious when they entered the large tent.
“Leave us,” he said to the two older soldiers who had been inside. They gave a quick bow, and left Rowen and Rickard alone.
Rowen tilted her head as she looked to him. He poured them both a cup of water and sat in one of the chairs around a wooden table.
“What’s wrong?” Rowen asked, unable to drink until she learned what made the energy in the room feel heavy.
The king was silent a moment as he just looked over her face.
“Rickard?”
With a sigh, Rickard leaned forward, and met her gaze. “It’s Ophelia,” he said, and her heart began to race.
“What’s happened?”
“Well,” Rickard said. “There is good news and bad news.”
“What’s the good news?”
“She’s free of the Trinity brothers,” he said, and her brows lifted.
“And, the bad?”
That’s when his face paled a bit, and he cleared his throat. “It seems King Kelton has sold her.”
Rowen fell to her knees then, clutching her chest. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Just when she’d resolved to rescue her sister by any means, whether it be a treaty or downright battle against the despicable Trinity brothers, she was thrown another obstacle.
Rickard stood and crossed around the table to help her to her feet.
She shot him a panicked look. “Who has her now, Rickard?”
He hugged her, and smoothed her hair. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It isn’t as bad as it sounds. King Kelton only sold her to one of his enemies to make a new alliance.”
Enemies?
Her stomach churned.
“Which one?”
Rickard held her at arms-length then, and searched her eyes.
“Blackthorn,” he said. “The pirate.”
16
The salty sea air splashed onto Gavin’s face as a wave crashed aboard. He stood at the railing, overlooking the dark sky that threatened to send walls of water to swallow them whole.
Feyda hid below deck, praying to the gods to show them favor and stop the thunderous storm that raged above. When Gavin left her, she’d taken it upon herself to sit on the floor and start conjuring whatever spells she could muster to calm the storm.
Siddhe stood at the helm, her hair whipping around her face as the mist sprayed onto her from the sea. The mermaid’s scales began to glow as the water touched her swarthy flesh. Her mahogany braid
snapped with the wind as a mighty gust swept through, nearly sending her crashing into the waves. She caught her balance, glaring at the sky as if it had personally targeted her.
Then, she pointed toward something ahead.
“There,” she shouted, over the roar around them. “I see it.”
Gavin followed her gaze.
In the cyclone of water that spun ahead of them, was a golden light. It glowed in the murky darkness of the storm, and seemed to beckon to him. Its beauty nearly took his breath away. The light spun in the middle of the vortex, sending bright flashes of golden rays outward in every direction. The air tightened, and every hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
“What is that?” Gavin asked, though he was certain he’d said those words so quietly that no one could hear them over the chaos that ensued all around.
“The talisman is inside the light. I’ll see if I can get a little closer,” Siddhe said.
Come to me.
The voice was unlike anything he’d ever heard. It was impossible to decipher whether it was male or female, and utterly alluring as it floated across the misty air and directly into his mind.
I will show you. The truth. The lies.
“Did—” Gavin began, licking his lips. “You hear that?”
His body grew warm, as if arms were wrapped around him, and hugging him tight. His mind went quiet, calm, and—before he could rationalize what he was feeling—he found himself climbing the railing of the ship.
“What are you doing, you fool?” Siddhe shouted at him, breaking him from his trance. “Get down before you kill yourself!”
Gavin froze, and all sounds seemed to crash into him at once. The world returned to full motion, and his teeth chattered as sensation came back to him.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Siddhe staring at him with furrowed brows and disbelief in her eyes.
Climbing down, he cleared his throat, and tried to regain his composure.
He stiffened as Siddhe stormed across the deck and took him by the collar. “What are you playing at? Are you trying to kill yourself?”