by Zoe Chant
Her chin lifted and she straightened her back. Someone had taught her just as Grand Duke Vaclav had taught him. Her uncle, Duke Constantine, perhaps. “I swore a vow of honor on my country and on my hoard. Many dragons before us have had such marriages. It is only the lucky few who find their mates.”
Lucas stifled a sigh, realizing how much he’d hoped she would beg him to break his vow. “That is true.”
“But it was kind of you to offer.” She smiled, though a shadow of sadness clouded her gray eyes, and took his hands in hers. “Let us make the best of this partnership. It need not be terrible. We clearly have much in common. I hope we may become great friends.”
“I believe that we shall.” Lucas squeezed her delicate hands, wishing that everything could be different. He sincerely liked her. He would do his best to be a good husband to her.
They ate the dessert, but Lucas didn’t taste it any more than he’d tasted the rest of the meal. It was impossible to forget that at midnight tomorrow, he would be engaged to a woman who could never truly love him and whom he could never love as she deserved.
Tick-tock.
Chapter Two
Journey
Journey Jacobson always imagined herself as Cinderella when she hauled out the ashes. As she dumped the ash bucket out on the compost heap, a flock of colorful wild parakeets flew up from a nearby tree and circled above her head, making annoyed-sounding chirps.
Journey was pretty sure that had happened in Cinderella, too. But since she couldn’t afford either an internet connection or an international call, she couldn’t check. Instead, she stood and watched the parakeets flutter against the sapphire sky. When she’d first come to Brandusa, she’d been amazed at the flocks of wild parakeets with their feathers of pastel green, blue, pink, lavender, or yellow. They were like living Easter decorations. She’d been in Brandusa for three months now, and they still amazed her.
The parakeets settled back down into their tree. With a sigh, Journey hefted her bucket. She’d have been happy to stay in Brandusa longer, but she was about to lose her position with the Florescu family, who paid her a small salary plus room and board to be an au pair and a companion for their seventeen-year-old daughter, Stefania. But Stefania was about to turn eighteen and no longer needed a chaperone.
The Florescus, who had grown fond of Journey, had helped her search for a new job. But to her dismay, she hadn’t been able to find another position in the city. She had enough money saved for a plane ticket out of the country, but none left over to cover her expenses while she searched for a new job. It looked like her year of backpacking across Europe was over.
“Oh, well,” she said to the parakeets. She’d spent so much time in cities where no one spoke English that she’d gotten in the habit of talking to animals. They couldn’t talk back either, but at least they didn’t give her annoyed or embarrassed or apologetic glances when she addressed them in English. “It was wonderful while it lasted. I got to live my dream! And at least I’m going out with a bang.”
The parakeets chirped excitedly, as if they wanted to hear more.
“I’m going to a ball at the palace!” Journey informed them. “Can you imagine? Stefania was invited, so I’m going as her chaperone. I don’t have suitable clothes and I can’t quite fit into hers, so her mother is going to help me dig through the attic to find something I can wear. The ball is traditional garb only, so it won’t matter if it’s old— it won’t be out of fashion.”
The parakeets seemed to approve of this plan. A bubblegum pink parakeet flapped its wings and a powder blue parakeet let out a piercing screech.
“I’ll remember the ball for the rest of my life,” Journey said. “It’ll cheer me up while I’m flipping burgers or telemarketing or selling shoes or whatever I end up doing in America.”
The thought of those jobs depressed her. Locked up in a room, probably in some dull suburb with rent she could afford, socking away every spare cent for years until she’d finally earned enough money to go backpacking again... Ugh!
Maybe she could get a job as a traveling salesperson. Or a taxi driver. Anything to stay on the move, even if it was only within a single town.
With a final wave and whistle to the parakeets, Journey hefted her ash bucket and went back inside the Florescu house. As always, she paused to admire the carved wooden door. It was a Brandusan tradition that she especially admired. Every household had a door carved with something associated with the family that lived in it. Even the poorest homes carved their own with whatever level of skill they could manage— which was always impressive to Journey’s untutored eyes, for woodworking was a skill that every child learned.
The Florescu door was carved with twining roses. Every leaf and petal was intricately detailed, some complete with fuzzy bees or drops of dew. No matter how often Journey looked at it, she always found some new detail to enjoy. Today she spotted a tiny butterfly, wings folded and thread-thin proboscis extended, half-hidden by petals as it drank from a rose. She sighed with admiration.
“We will be very sorry to lose you, Journey,” said Mrs. Florescu. The plump, middle-aged woman smiled as she walked up. “I’ve so enjoyed seeing how much you appreciate our culture. I wish I’d been able to find another family for you to work for.”
“I know you tried. I really appreciate it.”
“Normally, it wouldn’t be hard. But right now everyone’s worried about money. It’s because of the new trade treaty with Viorel that will be sealed with Prince Lucas’s engagement— many people think it will benefit Viorel at the expense of Brandusa. You see, the former tax agreement...” Mrs. Florescu broke off with a laugh. “Never mind. I shouldn’t bore you with politics when you have a ball gown to find! Go wash up, then meet me in the attic.”
Journey replaced the ash bucket by the fireplace and took a quick bath, then eagerly went up the winding stairs and into the attic. Mrs. Florescu was already there, opening carved trunks bound with brass and pulling out gowns and undergarments and shoes. She had set up a lovely full-length mirror for Journey to look at herself under the shaft of golden sun from the skylight.
Mrs. Florescu examined Journey’s body, then nodded in satisfaction. “Very good! You have the body of a proper Brandusan girl. Big belly to withstand hard winters, wide hips to bear children easily, and good plump breasts to nurse babies and please your husband!”
Journey laughed, enjoying Mrs. Florescu’s frankness. “I wish I was a Brandusan girl! The proper American body has slim hips to wriggle into designer jeans, a flat belly to look good in a bikini, and big fake breasts made out of silicone.”
Mrs. Florescu made a face. “False breasts! Who thinks of such things? No, it will be easy to find clothing that will be lovely on your figure. It is only your hair that is unusual for Brandusa.”
“It’s unusual in the US, too.” Journey looked in the mirror. The sunlight fell directly on her wild tumble of red curls, making them glow like flames.
“The royal family is the same way,” Mrs. Florescu remarked, sorting through gowns. “Prince Lucas has golden hair, and his promised, Princess Raluca, has hair of silver. It is the mark of the dragon.”
Journey smiled to herself. Out of everything in Brandusa, perhaps what she loved the best was the legend that the royal family did not merely have the dragon as their sigil, but could actually transform into dragons. When she had first arrived, she had thought that people who mentioned it were being metaphoric or poetic, but she had eventually realized that they sincerely believed it. Journey had traveled enough to know that every culture had their own beliefs that seemed strange to people from other cultures— Americans included. So she never argued or expressed disbelief. Besides, she loved the idea that the king and queen flew invisibly over the city every night, ensuring that all was well.
“Maybe someone will mistake me for a princess,” Journey suggested, grinning. “I could be a ruby dragon!”
Mrs. Florescu shook her head, as if that was a perfectly reasonable possib
ility that merely happened to be incorrect. “Dragons are very slim. It is because flying requires so much energy.”
Journey would have loved to coax her for more details on the royal dragons, but Mrs. Florescu held up a handful of undergarments instead. “Here, put these on.”
Unselfconsciously, Journey stripped down to her panties, then let Mrs. Florescu help her into a corset. It wasn’t uncomfortable— in fact, it provided good back support. It also lifted and supported her breasts, pushing them together to make her cleavage even more impressive than usual. Then she put on several layer of petticoats, clean and rustling and scented with dried roses, and after that a white undergown with a tight bodice and long embroidered sleeves.
Finally, Mrs. Florescu helped her into a long dress, then turned her around to look into the mirror. “There!”
The sleeveless gown was leaf-green, making her eyes and hair look even brighter and giving a flattering cast to her freckled skin. The full skirt ended at her ankles, sparing her the worry of being able to dance in it. The neckline was very low-cut, showing off her cleavage. It had crisscross green lacing down the front, allowing the white undergown bodice to show through.
But her favorite part was what made Brandusan traditional dress distinctive: the undergown sleeves. They were embroidered with crimson roses on green vines, as delicately detailed as the roses carved into the front door. The vines twined up her arms and over her shoulders, as if she was decked in living flowers.
“Thank you so much,” Journey breathed. “You’re so kind, Mrs. Florescu.”
“I knew it would suit you,” said Mrs. Florescu, seeming pleased with her own judgment. She picked up a pair of shoes, and said, “Shoes last. If you’re not used to them, it will be difficult to climb stairs.”
They walked down to Stefania’s room and knocked on the door.
“Come!” Stefania called.
They went inside. Mrs. Florescu and Journey had already helped Stefania dress and do her hair and makeup, before Journey had finished her last chores. Stefania wasn’t quite as curvy (and often remarked enviously on Journey’s figure), but her crimson gown showed off the curves she did have. She too wore a white undergown embroidered with red roses. With her black hair braided and pinned atop her head, her pale skin, and her full scarlet lips, she reminded Journey of Snow White.
Stefania gave Journey a delighted smile. “Oh, you’re so pretty! Perhaps you’ll meet a rich Brandusan man, and then you can marry and never leave. And perhaps I will meet another!”
Mrs. Florescu gave her daughter a stern look before turning to Journey. “She is not to be alone with any man. She is still too young. You need not stick close together in the ballroom, but she is not to go into any side rooms without you.”
“Oh, Ma,” Stefania sighed. “I turn eighteen tomorrow!”
Ignoring her comment, her mother continued, “She may dance with any man, but she is not to choose one and keep him from dancing with other women. Even the prince will dance with many women, not only his fiancée-to-be.”
Stefania’s eyes lit up as she clasped Journey’s hands. “Let’s both try to dance with the prince! It’s good luck to dance with the dragon.”
Journey doubted that a prince would select a broke American backpacker out of the hundreds of beautiful women at the ball. But with any luck he’d be willing to give a sweet teenager a memory she’d always treasure. “I’ll do my best to make sure you get to dance with him. I’m happy just to be there.”
“Sit down,” said Mrs. Florescu. “Stefania and I will do your hair and makeup.”
Journey sat patiently while Stefania applied her makeup and Mrs. Florescu did her best to tame Journey’s curly hair.
“You will be the wild rose,” Mrs. Florescu said at last, giving up the attempt. “Now put on your dancing shoes.”
Journey’s shoes were made of polished brown wood and green leather, with a lining of red leather. The green leather was cut out in rose shapes, allowing the red to show through. Stefania’s were of black wood and red leather, with leaf-shaped cutouts to a green leather lining.
Journey didn’t often wear high heels, much less dance in them. But the heels weren’t too high, more like swing dancing shoes than the teetering icepick heels supermodels wore.
“Mind you don’t let Stefania run wild,” Mrs. Florescu warned Journey.
“Oh, Ma,” Stefania sighed again. “What do you think I’ll do, run off with the prince?”
To Journey’s surprise, Mrs. Florescu neither laughed nor frowned. Instead, she looked thoughtful. “Do you think I would object if you were his mate? Stefania— it is the last chance, for him and for you. Mind you look into his eyes!”
Journey had no idea what Mrs. Florescu was talking about. Maybe it was good luck to make eye contact with unmarried royalty.
“Yes, Ma.” Stefania seized Journey’s hands. “Let’s go!”
They hurried out of the house and into the hired carriage that awaited them outside. That was something else Journey never got tired of: the horse-drawn carriages. Motor vehicles were banned within one mile of the palace, so carriages often shared the road with cars, bicycles, motorcycles, and the occasional rider on horseback.
Their carriage was drawn by a pair of lovely snow-white horses with pink ribbons braided into their manes. The coachman had a pointed nose and beady eyes that gave him an unfortunate resemblance to a rat, but he wore an elegant black uniform. He cracked his whip and away they went, clattering over the cobblestones.
The streets were decorated with gold and silver ornaments in honor of the prince’s engagement. The setting sun made them glow like molten metal. Journey imagined the prince and princess flying overhead to observe the carriages jolting toward the palace.
The carriage pulled up at the palace gates, and Journey and Stefania got out. Journey had seen the palace and its gardens before, but she’d never gone inside the magnificent building of golden marble whose towers pierced the sky.
She thrilled with excitement as she walked through the immense double doors carved with dragons soaring, dragons fighting in midair, dragons hatching from eggs, dragons guarding treasure hoards, and dragons doing every possible other thing that dragons could do. She’d have loved to examine the doors more closely, but Stefania was practically exploding with impatience.
The ballroom took Journey’s breath away. Its high ceilings sparkled with crystal-and-gold chandeliers, couples were dancing on the polished floors, and a full orchestra played on a stage. The Brandusan tunes were quick and merry, making Journey’s heart feel light enough to float to the ceiling. Her time in the country was winding to a close, but she’d make the most of it.
“Let me dance, Journey,” Stefania begged. “I won’t run away with anyone, I swear!”
“Go find the prince,” Journey suggested.
“He’s not here yet, silly,” Stefania replied. “He makes his grand entrance later.”
“Then go have fun. And don’t go off alone with any men.”
“I promise!”
Stefania darted away, her wooden heels clicking, and made a beeline for a handsome young man in knee-high black boots, blue breeches, and a blue tunic embroidered with white constellations. A moment later, they were whirling together across the dance floor, kicking up their heels in a folk dance Journey had never learned.
Journey watched the dancers for a while, enjoying the sight and making sure Stefania wasn’t doing anything but flitting from one man to the next like a crimson butterfly. Then she headed for the tables and bars around the edges of the ballroom.
The tables were full of platters of elegantly arranged appetizers and desserts, and the bartenders offered cocktails, wine, or hot coffee or tea. One platter held traditional Brandusan pastries: apricot crescents, apple dumplings, plum buns, cherry tartlets, marmalade rolls, and poppy seed triangles. Another displayed fancier desserts: chocolate cream squares, meringue kisses, marzipan tortes, and elaborate concoctions of whipped cream and pastry decorate
d with gold dust.
She was just reaching out for a slice of apple strudel when the orchestra finished their tune. The dancers halted as the trumpeters played a fanfare. Stefania froze like an image in a snapshot, still clasping the hands of her latest dance partner. Everyone turned toward a platform at one end of the ballroom. As the fanfare ended, total silence fell.
Journey could feel the anticipation in the air. She too was caught up in it, eagerly awaiting her first sight of the prince and princess.
The personalities, hobbies, and adventures of the royal family were often the subject of gossip in Brandusa, so she knew all about the king and queen and their children. But she knew little about the royal family of Viorel, except that they were also supposed to be dragons. And, she realized, she knew barely anything about Prince Lucas, even though he was heir to the throne, other than that he had golden hair and had been abroad for years. But no one had ever mentioned what he was doing abroad or what he was like as a person. Journey hadn’t noticed that before, but now the omission struck her as odd.
Before she had time to wonder about it, a man and a woman stepped on to the platform. Everyone bowed. Hastily, Journey did as well. Then she straightened. She was relatively close to the platform, so she got a good look at the prince and princess.
Princess Raluca was slim and lovely, young but with silver hair. She wore a Brandusan gown, red as blood. The undergown had black sleeves embroidered with silver dragons. She wore a delicate tiara of gold filigree studded with diamonds, and a matching necklace, bracelets, and rings.
Prince Lucas was tall and lean, with broad shoulders filling out his sky-blue tunic embroidered with golden dragons. His features were sharp but handsome, as if they had been chiseled from marble. His hair was as bright as sunlight, and his eyes were the color of amber. He wore a heavy gold chain around his throat, more gold chains wrapped around his wrists, and gold and diamond rings that flashed and sparkled in the light. He had beautiful hands, long-fingered and slim, but strong rather than delicate. They were the hands of a concert pianist, or a sculptor, or a swordfighter.