Dragon's Heart

by Michelle Rabe

  Chapter 17

  For Killian, the next few days passed in a blur. The morning following the queen’s passing, the Death Maidens began their work, calling upon ancient secret techniques to preserve her body. When the council met, Mathias was confirmed as the new monarch with Killian as his heir. Three days after Anastasia’s death, the public mourning began. She lay in state, appearing as though she were sleeping while courtiers and commoners alike paid their respects. The next day, she would be interred in the Rhys family crypt beside her husband.

  Killian stood on the dais, his father at his right, seated on the throne, Katia on his left. His whole body seemed numb as people passed by paying respects to Anastasia. The change in his station was another anchor weighing him down, one more shroud pulled over his face, suffocating, killing him. He took a deep breath, reminding himself he wasn’t actually asphyxiating.

  Flames of the ritual candles danced in a slight breeze as a woman dressed all in black stepped up to the casket. She paused, staring down at the corpse for a moment before giving a small shake of her head and moving on.

  Killian frowned, wanting to reach out and push back the hood of her cloak, to see whether his mind was playing tricks on him. He needed to see if she looked at him with gold-green eyes. For a few moments, he tracked her movements, studying the way she carried herself. His heart skipped a beat when she paused at the side door, letting those behind her move to one side or the other in order to pass. The woman pushed her hood back, and Killian’s breath caught in his throat. The heavy cloth slid over strands of hair the color of amethysts in shades of darkest purple to lavender… so pale it appeared silver. The monochromatic rainbow, styled in an intricate braid, wound around her head so when she looked first left, then right, he noticed the matching make-up covering the area around her eyes.

  Not my Serena. I am a fool. She is lost to me. I need to let her go. To allow us both peace.

  Bronwynn stood for several moments, glancing at her surroundings. Her hand clutched the letters tucked into the pocket of the traveling cloak. The princess had given very precise instructions, including directions about where to find the quarters of the Royal Guard. According to Serena, someone in the guard would always know where to find her trusted friend. Bronwynn remembered her future monarch’s instructions up until the moment she stepped into the Grand Hall where the late queen lay in state. The rituals were so different from those of the Dragon Fey that she had to study several humans before she knew what was expected. She stood in the open door, trying to remember what Serena had told her. Behind her, someone coughed. A quick glance over her right shoulder revealed a small knot of people had gathered. Muttering a curse under her breath in the Dragon Fey tongue, Bronwynn struck out to her right, heading deeper into the bowels of the massive structure. She folded her hands at her waist, squared her shoulders and held her head high… walking with purpose… hoping no one would question her presence.

  Ryan strode down the hall, Davies at his side, filling him in on all the happenings around the castle. The official period of mourning would conclude with the funeral the next evening; the palace staff was completing preparations for Mathias’s coronation in three days, and the Royal Guard was being pushed to their limits to keep the ruling family safe. He was surprised when a lady he’d never seen before stepped out of a side hall and paused in the middle of the walkway. Something told him this was no ordinary visitor. His suspicions were confirmed when she turned and glanced in his direction. She looked away, but not fast enough. Ryan walked faster as she started in the opposite direction. He called out, “My lady.”

  She froze for a second before making a slow turn to face him, right hand slipping into the pocket of her fine traveling cloak.

  Ryan took his hand off the hilt of his sword and offered her a small bow. “Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to frighten you.”

  “You did not.” Her tart reply was spoken in a haughty tone.

  He bowed his head in silent apology. “Your pardon, my lady. I have not seen you around before and was wondering if you needed some assistance. The castle can be daunting the first time you visit.” His lips turned up in a half-smile as a faint blush crept up her cheeks, setting off her eyes.

  “Actually, I do seem to be a little bit turned around. I was asked to come to pay respects to the late queen on behalf of my prin…” She sighed and shook her head. “My lady.”

  “The late queen is lying in state in the Grand Hall—” Ryan began but stopped when she smiled and held up a hand to silence him.

  “Thank you, my lord. I was able to carry out that part of”—a pause stretched from a brief moment into several as she seemed to consider her words—“my lady’s errand. However, I have not managed to find the subject of my second task.”

  “Well then, perhaps I can be of assistance?”

  “I am searching for Captain Ryan.”

  “Well then, you are in luck, dear lady, you have found him.” He bowed. “How may I be of assistance?”

  Her lavender eyes went wide for a split second before she nodded. “Captain, I was asked to request that this meeting be held in private.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he studied her for a few seconds before nodding and turning to his lieutenant. “Davies, please inform the prince I will be with him shortly.”

  “Yes, sir.” Davies acknowledged, turned on her heels and marched down the hall.

  Ryan turned back to the unknown woman and smiled. “Since you know my name, it is only fair if I am allowed to know yours, dear lady.”

  “I am Bronwynn.”

  “That is a lovely name,” Ryan said and offered her his arm. After a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and they walked. He wanted to know more about this strange person, who her mistress was, and what errand had brought her here. Since she offered no information, he guessed there was a specific reason she wanted to deliver the message in private. He led them into an unused practice room and closed the door, sliding the bolt home, limiting interruptions. “So, we are alone and will not be disturbed. Now I must ask, how may I be of service, my lady?”

  “I come bearing an official message for his Majesty, the king. And two personal messages, one for you as well as one for Prince Killian.” Her tongue snaked out and swiped over her lips. “The communications are from…” she paused again as if she had to stop herself from saying something else, “Lady Serena Harlowe of Lakeshire Province.”

  Ryan stepped back, leaning against the door, feeling as though someone had punched him in the gut. He slid down to the floor and raked a hand through his hair.

  Bronwynn knelt and frowned, her brows pulled low. “Captain? Are you well? Should I call for assistance?” She leaned toward him, searching his face for some clue as to what ailed him.

  Ryan noticed what he’d previously believed was elaborate makeup around her eyes, was, in fact, an intricate pattern of delicate scales in varying shades of purple, like her hair. “Would you please repeat what you just said?” He knew his lungs were expanding and contracting, but he felt as though he wasn’t getting any oxygen.

  Satisfied that it was nothing more than a reaction to the shock she’d given him, Bronwynn stood and took a few steps back. “I have three messages from Lady Serena Harlowe of Lakeshire. One official message for the king and two personal ones, for you and Prince Killian.”

  “Where is she?” Ryan shot to his feet and took two steps toward Bronwynn, gasping and stopping only when he felt the sharp tip of a dagger pressing into the center of his gut. He glanced down at the weapon, gauging his chances of disarming her.

  “I may not be as skilled as the princess, but I assure you, I will not give up without a fight.”

  “Princess?”

  “Yes.” Bronwynn’s free hand slipped into the pocket of her cloak. A moment later, she withdrew a bundle of papers and handed it to him, the dagger never moving from its place. “Read yours. The princess has explained everything to you. I believe she has been
more circumspect with the king and the prince,” she said, holding the letters out to him. “If you have any questions after reading your note, the princess has asked me to answer them. She also requested that I carry whatever replies you have back to her.”

  Ryan stared at the packet as though he had no idea what to do with it. “Where is she?”

  “Read your letter, captain.” The dagger disappeared into a sheath on her wrist.

  “What’s happening? Where has she been? Why has she not contacted us?”

  “I am sorry, my lord, you need to read the letter before I can answer any questions.” She turned and took a step, meaning to give the man his space, but he caught her wrist and held her.

  “No matter what is in this letter,” he said, holding it up, “I am going to need some time to deal with the ramifications of its contents.” He released her arm and let out a deep breath.

  “How much time?”

  “A day, perhaps as many as two or three. Do you have any bags or servants that will require accommodation?”

  “No. I have a room at the Bell and Candle. You will be able to find me there.”

  Ryan frowned, the Bell was a nice enough inn, but it was outside the city walls. “You do not want to stay at the palace? Or in the city?”

  “No, thank you, my lord. I prefer open spaces.” She walked to the door and pulled back the bolt. “As I have said, you can call upon me or send word there.”

  “Wait.” She turned, pinning him with another sharp lavender gaze. “You’ve called Serena princess more than once. Why?” Ryan asked, hoping her answer would set his world right again, but fearing whatever she said would only make things worse.

  She studied him for a moment as she debated something with herself. “Serena has found,” she paused as though searching for the right word, “her true family. Her blood kin. It is all explained in the letter she sent to you, captain.” Before Ryan had the chance to respond, she opened the door and slipped out, closing it behind her.

  Ryan stared at the wall for several moments, before crossing to the single table and dropping the bundle on it. He untied the ribbon holding the letters together and tossed it aside. His correspondence was on top. He picked it up and turned it over, fingers brushing over the seal as recognition dawned on him. It was the same one the letter from Dennsmore had borne. The one the archivist had identified as belonging to the Dragon Fey. A quick look at the letters for Killian and the king showed they had been sealed with the sigil Serena had taken as her own. Knowing he wasn’t going to get any answers without reading the letter, Ryan broke the seal, tossed the pieces of wax into the fire and began reading.

  The doors at the end of the Grand Hall slammed closed after the last of the mourners exited the room. Though the public grieving had concluded, the remaining members of the royal family were far from alone. Killian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the only outward show of exhaustion he allowed himself. On his left, Katia sighed again. He didn’t know if it was on purpose or just her nature, but his betrothed seemed to have no head for court. Lords and Ladies milled around the room, talking amongst one another, waiting on the king’s pleasure to release them for the evening. His father leaned on the arm of his throne, resting his chin on his fist.

  Ryan strode through the double doors, making his way down the center aisle toward the dais with purpose. He approached the throne. At the bottom step, he dropped into a deep bow, holding something small, square and off white, out to the king. “Your Majesty, a missive from Lakeshire province.”

  To his left, Killian heard Katia’s sharp intake of breath, even as his own heart skipped a beat. He forced himself to remain silent and keep his expression neutral as Ryan moved forward and handed the message to the king. His hands clenched into fists as the new king broke the seal, unfolded the letter and read it. The parchment rattled in Mathias’s unsteady hands. After a few moments of silence, the king folded the letter and held it in his lap.

  “It would seem that Lady Harlowe of Lakeshire has returned to her province and her duties.” The new king’s voice echoed through the empty chamber.

  “How?” Katia hissed, whispering so low that Killian was certain she hadn’t meant to be heard.

  “She sends her heartfelt condolences,” the king continued, “and remembers the late queen as a wise and fair ruler. Lady Harlowe also sends her regrets. An illness has her confined to her bed in Lakeshire and healers have forbidden travel. Therefore, she cannot pay her respects in person.” The king turned his gaze on Ryan. “The crown thanks Lady Harlowe for her kind words of sympathy at this difficult time and wishes her a speedy recovery. We are…” the king paused, the silence hanging in the air for longer than was comfortable, “anxious for her return to our court.” Some among the assembled nobles shifted on their feet, or fanned themselves a little too hard, waiting for the king’s continuance.

  Killian listened to his father’s words in a daze, his breath catching in his throat, a loud buzzing filling his ears. He thought he might have stepped outside himself, watching as his father pronounced the official mourning was concluded. Leaning heavily on a cane, the king made his slow, painful way out of the room.

  “Killian, love?” Katia’s voice broke through the fog after the door leading to the king’s chambers closed.

  “Yes?” he answered, voice sounding flat and dead to his own ears. Katia wrapped her fingers around Killian’s forearm. He pulled free, feeling his flesh crawl under her touch.

  “Will you dine with me this evening, my love?” Her voice was all sugary sweetness, dripping with ill-concealed desire.

  “No, my lady. I will retire to my rooms and spend the night in quiet contemplation.” He started making his way out of the room, Ryan falling into step beside him at the base of the dais. Neither of them spoke as they walked through the castle to Killian’s apartments. Along the way, the prince stopped to speak with several courtiers, giving each his full attention for the time he spoke to them. Throughout the palace, everyone knew Killian had taken on more royal duties than his predecessors, and many of the court sought out the prince’s aid and counsel. After what seemed like hours, Killian walked into his sitting room and waited until Ryan closed the door.

  “Killian,” Ryan said.

  “She’s alive.” The words came on an exhalation and Killian sank into the chair in front of the fireplace. “When?”

  “A messenger from Lakeshire arrived a short time before I addressed the court.”

  “Where is she? I have to get to her.” Killian snatched his coat from the chair and stepped toward the door.

  Ryan stopped the prince and put a hand in the center of his chest. “Killian, you can’t.” With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the last of the three letters from Serena. “She wrote you a letter. I believe you should read it before you do anything else.”

  Killian took the letter, staring at the rose seal pressed into the red wax with a slight golden sheen sparkling in the light of the fire. Dread flooded his heart. He broke the wax and unfolded the parchment. Killian turned and walked away from Ryan to read in private.

  Katia stalked through the halls of the castle, ignoring the couriers who tried to catch her attention. She hissed insults and threats to any servants who came within a few feet of her, sending more than one maid or footman scurrying for the shelter of the servant’s quarters. The prince’s betrothed stormed into her chambers, slamming the door behind her. With a scream of rage and frustration, she threw her fan across the room. It hit the edge of a table and shattered.

  “Is there a problem?” Jeffery asked, the dark circles under his eyes appearing like bruises.

  “The Dragon Fey bitch lives.”

  “Impossible, the men I sent—” Jeffery began, but Katia stepped up to him and hissed.

  “Have not been heard from in nearly a month.” Her hand found a small bottle of liquid and without looking she launched it at the wall, a grimace twisting her features into something bordering
on the grotesque.

  Jeffery sighed, her glamor was slipping, and he knew better than to berate her for it. He needed answers, not a spoiled brat’s tantrum. “Why haven’t you sent anyone to see why they haven’t responded to your queries?”

  “Because, father, I have been doing everything in my power to keep the prince’s attention now that I have him trapped.” She paced the perimeter of the room, picked up the tiara Killian’s valet had delivered the day after their betrothal was announced. The gift was delicate, understated, an excellent example of the master artisan’s craft. The gems winked in the flickering light of the candelabra as she twisted it in her hands. The tiara had been expected, not an actual, meaningful gift. The metal contorted and after a moment snapped, and she threw the pieces across the room.

  “You cannot allow yourself to become distracted,” Jeffery counseled, keeping his voice calm. “Maintain your focus on the prince. I will leave in the dark of the night to discover what has happened to the men.”

  “The whelp has either escaped, or she somehow managed to kill the buffoons who were charged to hold her. She’s now back in Lakeshire, plotting my downfall. I am certain of it.”

  “I cannot go immediately because I do not want to depart while most of the court is still awake.” I am supposed to be dead. Little do the foolish humans know. It is not a simple matter to kill us. He stood and approached where Katia stood by the fire and stepped up behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders. “Rest assured, daughter, I will take care of the whelp. She will no longer be a threat to your impending marriage. While I am gone, convince the new king your wedding day must be moved up. Say you are concerned about his failing health and the stability of the realm, or that you think Killian is seeking a way to break the contract. I don’t care how, but the sooner the union is cemented, the better.”