Honorbound

by Chelsea M. Campbell

  Odilia’s face falls. “What? You?”

  “You don’t have to say it like that.”

  “But you’re…”

  “In love with Virginia?” he suggests, even though I’m pretty sure that’s not what she was going to say. “I know. And so does my father. He wasn’t exactly supportive.”

  “But you’re not…”

  “What, Odilia?” Amelrik glares at her. “I’m not what?”

  She stands up straighter and makes a point of looking him in the eyes. “You’re not a full dragon.”

  He flinches. “But I am. By blood, I am. That might be enough for the Oak king, even if I’m not the heir.”

  Odilia wrinkles her nose. “Does Rosalind know?”

  “That’s what you care about?”

  “Marrying you isn’t the same as marrying my brother. She has a right to know what she’s getting into.”

  “First you say I shouldn’t marry Virginia—”

  “I never said that! I said your father would skewer you for it.”

  “—and now you’re horrified at the idea of me marrying another dragon!”

  “I’m not… I’m not horrified.”

  “My father only treats me like his son when it’s convenient. Everyone acts like there’s something wrong with me, even you. And if I’m so messed up that you don’t even see me as a…” There’s a hitch in his voice. He swallows. “As a full dragon. If everyone feels that way, then they shouldn’t care if I want to be with a human.”

  “With a St. George,” Odilia corrects him. Her eyes dart over to mine, like she’s checking to see if I was offended by that.

  “So?” Amelrik narrows his eyes at her and takes a step closer to me.

  “The St. Georges tortured you. They tortured Aunt Ingrid! They forced her into human form—”

  “Virginia’s not like that! You know she’s not!”

  “They forced her into human form when you were still inside her, and they made her lose her mind! They’re the reason you’re like this, cousin.” She points a finger at him. “Why you were born instead of hatched. Why you came out looking so human. They ruined both your lives.”

  Amelrik shivers. “My life isn’t ruined.”

  “St. Georges only exist to hurt dragons.”

  “What?” I say, the word coming out kind of a squeak. “I’ve never—”

  “Virginia wouldn’t do that,” Amelrik says, beating me to it.

  “I know,” Odilia says. “But you have to know how this looks. To everybody else.”

  “Everybody else made their minds up about me a long time ago. I don’t care what they think.”

  She tilts her head slightly, like she doesn’t believe him. “You have to admit how weird it is, though. You ending up with a St. George. Even if she’s not like the ones who hurt you. It still seems… I get why Uncle Ulrich would be worried about you.”

  “About me embarrassing him, you mean.”

  “It’s more than that. It just doesn’t seem right.”

  His eyes widen. “That’s what you think? That me and Virginia being together isn’t right?”

  “No.” She holds up her hands. “That’s not what I meant. Just that from the outside, I can see why it would look that way to everyone else. Especially Uncle Ulrich. Maybe the St. Georges didn’t ruin your life, but they took his wife from him. Your mother’s never been the same.”

  “That’s what everyone says,” Amelrik mutters.

  “And because of what they did to her, you ended up how you did. Uncle Ulrich still lost something. With you.”

  “It’s my life, not his,” Amelrik says, but some of the fight’s gone out of him, and now he just sounds tired.

  “And maybe you’ve found the one St. George in the whole world who isn’t out to get us—no offense, Virginia.”

  “Um, none taken?” Wasn’t that a compliment?

  “But you still can’t blame Uncle Ulrich if he doesn’t want you ending up with her.”

  4

  WEDDINGS ARE PROBABLY OVERRATED

  Two days later, I get recruited to make decorations for the wedding. The same wedding where my boyfriend might be marrying someone else.

  Just the thought makes my hands tighten around the little images of maple seeds I’m cutting out of dried leaves. Because having to work on this at all isn’t bad enough—it has to be a reminder of Amelrik proposing to me, just to rub it in.

  At least I’m not alone, though, even if I’m the only one who’s pissed about this. Godwin and Hild—one of Odilia’s friends—are sitting across the table from me in human form. Godwin whistles and hums to himself as he focuses on cutting shapes out of the leaves. He’s making stars, not maple seeds, and despite his focus, none of his cutouts actually come out the same size. Hild keeps glaring at him and muttering about how all of his work will have to be redone.

  “There.” Godwin slaps down another finished cutout on the table. “Only, like, five hundred more to go.”

  Hild sighs. “Your corners need to be more crisp. Less… blobby.”

  “I don’t know. It looks fine to me.”

  “This is the wedding of the century. Fine isn’t going to cut it. Everything has to be beautiful.” She waves a hand in the air, like she’s imagining a gorgeous wedding taking place right in front of us. “Right, Virginia?”

  “Uh-huh.” This wedding can be the ugliest, most disappointing event ever for all I care. Actually, that would be great. Maybe if the decorations all come out super ugly, they’ll have to call the whole thing off after all.

  Hild frowns at my work. “Virginia. Is something wrong?”

  “Nope. Everything’s great.”

  “Because your corners are crisp and everything, but you’re kind of mangling the leaves. We want a gentle touch. Gentle. I don’t want everyone looking at our decorations on the big day and thinking, ‘Ew, who made this garbage?’”

  “No one’s going to think that,” Godwin says. “Besides, they’ll be too busy watching the ceremony. And eating the feast.”

  “It’s going to be a gorgeous wedding.” Hild groans. “I wish I was getting married.”

  You and me both. “Weddings are probably overrated.”

  “Not this one. It’s a royal wedding. Everybody’s going to be talking about it for years. Maybe decades. Which is why your corners need to be crisp!” she snaps, suddenly glaring at Godwin.

  He drops the leaf he was working on like it’s about to explode. “I’m doing my best!”

  “Anyway,” Hild goes on, “I hear Rosalind’s really pretty. Dark green scales. And she’s super nice, too.”

  Great.

  “Virginia, are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should take a break.” She reaches over and pulls the leaf from my hand like she’s rescuing it from an attacker.

  “Can I take a break?” Godwin asks.

  Hild holds her breath in her cheeks for a second while she considers that. Then she lets it all out and says, “Fine. But just for a minute.”

  “I don’t need a break,” I say, grabbing my leaf back. More because I feel like I need to be doing something with my hands than because I actually want to be making these. But I feel like if I’m just sitting here, with nothing to do, I’ll go crazy. “And what if… what if the wedding got canceled?”

  Hild gasps. “Don’t even joke about that.”

  “Then we wouldn’t have to do this,” Godwin says, sounding like that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “We could go outside and get in more gliding time.”

  “Getting everything ready for this wedding has been my entire life for the past two months! It better actually happen. Why?” She suddenly looks worried. “Did you hear something?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not only that, but my friends all have this huge after-party planned. Er, you can come if you want. I would have invited you sooner, but it might get a little wild, and I don’t want you to get stepped on.”

  “Thanks, but I think I have plans.” L
ike crying my eyes out. Or running away with Amelrik. One of those. Though of course we’d have to run before the wedding, not after, but the idea’s still the same. I mean, I’ve already run away from one arranged marriage—what’s one more, even if it’s not actually mine? “But, like, if Cedric didn’t come home—”

  She lets out an enraged squeak. “He wouldn’t dare!”

  “If he didn’t, though, and they had to cancel it, that, like, wouldn’t be a big deal or anything, would it?”

  Hild laughs. “Good one, Virginia.”

  “No, I mean, for reals, what would happen?”

  “The Oak king would be pissed,” Godwin says. He picks up an unused leaf and twirls it between his fingers.

  Hild sets down her scissors. “Things are bad enough already without adding a slap in the face to it.”

  “I thought things were good with Oak clan?”

  She and Godwin share a look, and then she says, “Sure, for now. But nobody in this valley gets along. At least, not all the time. Elder clan’s the real problem, of course, but once this alliance with Oak clan goes through, it’ll make peace seem a lot more likely.”

  “So, if it didn’t go through—”

  “It will. It has to.” She gives me a stern look. “We need Oak clan on our side if we’re going to stand against Elder clan. What if they try and attack us again?”

  Godwin grins at me. “Virginia can take ‘em.”

  “Ha.” I don’t tell them I can barely take down one dragon, let alone a whole army of them.

  Hild rubs her arms like she feels a sudden chill. “And if this wedding didn’t happen, things could get bad. We’d go to war.”

  The grin wilts from Godwin’s face. “Cedric’s going to be here. He wouldn’t let that happen.” But he doesn’t sound a hundred percent sure about that, and I wonder if he’s heard anything through Odilia and Osric.

  “There’s been a tense kind of truce for the last few years,” Hild continues. “Canceling the wedding and throwing this in their face would not be good. And if Oak and Elder clan both ganged up on us…” She sticks out her tongue and makes a face. “No. I’m not even going to think about it.”

  “What if it wasn’t Cedric?” I can’t believe I’m asking this, but I have to know. “If it was… someone else. That married Rosalind. What then?”

  “There is no one else.”

  Godwin gives her a look. He jerks his head toward me.

  Hild swallows. “You mean Amelrik?”

  I nod, because I can’t bear to say it out loud.

  She considers it, chewing the inside of her mouth. “It’s hard to say.” She’s tentative, a hesitation in her voice, and I wonder if it’s for my benefit or if she really is unsure. “But if I was in the Oak king’s place, well, it’s better than going to war. He’s still a prince. In a way, it’d be better than Rosalind marrying Cedric. Cedric’s only the appointed heir. He’s not the king’s son, and if the king ever changed his mind—”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen.” I kind of hope he doesn’t, which probably makes me a horrible person, but if he decided Amelrik should rule, then there’s no way in hell he’d ever let him near me again. Not that he wants me anywhere near his son now, but still.

  “Nothing’s final until one of them takes the throne,” Hild says. “And Amelrik’s here and Cedric’s not. And he’s still the king’s actual son. If it was me, I’d bet on the sure thing, and that wouldn’t be an appointed heir who couldn’t even be bothered to show up.”

  “And if neither of them marries Rosalind?”

  Hild’s face goes pale. She picks up her scissors again and grabs another leaf. “Let’s hope we never have to find out.”

  5

  AFTERWARD VIOLENCED UPON

  Me and Amelrik are sitting in the dining hall with Osric the next day, eating lunch at one of the human-sized tables set against the walls. Well, I’m eating lunch—the boys are mostly too busy planning our next snowball-fight strategy. They’ve been drawing on the stone table with a piece of chalk, mapping out where to build snow fortifications and how many snowballs they’ll need stationed at each one.

  The snowball fights were my idea, since you can really only make so many snow dragons before it gets old. That and I “accidentally” threw a snowball at this bitchy dragon named Bryn who’s rivals with Odilia. Bryn asked me if Amelrik was still “stringing me along,” and as soon as she turned around, I hurled a snowball right at the back of her head. Though, to be honest, I didn’t think my aim was actually good enough to hit her. It was worth it for the shocked look on her face when she turned around, but then I panicked and said we were doing snowball fights now.

  I also said we were playing in teams, because the thought of doing a one-on-one snowball fight with a dragon—especially one who looked as murderous as Bryn did in that moment—sounded kind of intimidating. Because it turns out I can’t throw nearly as hard as, say, a dragon can. I also can’t take hits as easily, so I spend most of my time crouching behind snow barriers, trying not to waste snowballs and hoping no one notices how useless I am.

  Amelrik, Odilia, Osric, and Godwin are all on my team. I don’t know who’s all on Bryn’s team, only that we’re going to kick their asses.

  Osric nods and points to the edge of the giant oval that represents the lake. “We’ll be exposed on this side. But if we put in another wall, we can force them to go around here.”

  “Where we’ll be waiting for them,” Amelrik says. “We’ll need extra snowballs piled up near the opening. Both sides.” He turns to me, looking really serious. “What do you think, Virginia?”

  I’m in the middle of chewing a particularly doughy roll, so it takes a second before I can swallow down my food and answer. “I think my hands are going to get really cold making all those snowballs. What are we up to now?”

  Amelrik glances at the tallies they’ve made to keep track and quickly counts them up. “Two hundred and twenty, but that’s just to start with. We need to add in a buffer.”

  “Another fifty, you think?” Osric says.

  “Let’s make it an even three hundred, just to be safe.”

  “Wow.” I know this was my idea and all, but they’re taking this way too seriously, if you ask me. Not that I’m going to tell them that, because they’re obviously enjoying it, plus it is fun, and I don’t want to ruin my team’s morale with my naysaying.

  A dragon comes over to us, and I’m pretty sure it’s Odilia. I can tell by the way the others look at her—Osric like she’s the best thing in the world, and Amelrik like he’s still stinging from what she said the other day. I mean, I think he’s mostly forgiven her, since it’s hard to stay mad at someone when you’re busy throwing snowballs as hard as you can at your enemies together, but I get why he’d still be upset.

  There’s that horrible, wet crunching sound as Odilia changes into human form, and if I wasn’t done eating already, I am now. She holds up a piece of parchment paper. “I’m going to kill my stupid brother!”

  “You and my father both,” Amelrik says. “And me, if I ever see him again.”

  He says that jokingly, but Odilia’s face suddenly falls, her anger turning to worry.

  Osric bites his lip and motions for her to sit next to him on the stone bench. She does, clutching the piece of paper—which I assume is a letter from Cedric—in her hands.

  “What happened?” Osric asks.

  “What happened is he’s so infuriating! Why can’t he just come home?! Why does he have to be so… so Cedric?”

  Her eyes start to water. I make grabby hands at the letter, and she shoves it in my direction.

  And… the letter’s in Vairlin. Of course it is. Cedric’s handwriting is pretty messy, too, though that’s less of a hindrance than not actually being able to read the language. I mean, I can pick out a few words. Words like “dragon,” “paladins,” and… something about excitement? Maybe I’d be able to pick out a few more, except Amelrik snatches it out of my hands.
<
br />   “Hey! I was reading that.”

  “Right,” he says, totally not believing me.

  I mean, I was at least trying to.

  He quickly scans it, then sucks in a breath. “Your brother’s an idiot,” he tells Odilia, any trace of joking gone.

  “I know,” she says. A tear threatens to fall, and I see her visibly trying to hold it in, as if she can will herself not to be upset over this, whatever it is.

  Osric tries to put an arm around her, but she shrugs him off. He holds his hand out for the letter instead, and Amelrik passes it across the table to him.

  “What happened?” I ask Amelrik. “What does it say?”

  “Cedric’s—”

  “Your highness,” someone says, interrupting him from telling me all the juicy details of the letter. I look over and recognize Gilbert, one of the king’s servants. He’s an elderly dragon, in human form right now—they almost always are when they approach Amelrik, like it’s some kind of unwritten rule or something. Except, for all I know, it could be an actual written one. He bows, keeping his hands folded behind his back. “The king requires your presence to discuss preparations. For the wedding.”

  Amelrik gets a sour look on his face. “There is no wedding. Tell him I’m busy.” He turns to Odilia. “Listen—”

  Gilbert clears his throat, interrupting again. “His majesty said you might say that.”

  “Good. Then it won’t be a surprise.”

  “And that if you did, I was to tell you that if you don’t comply, I will be beaten in this weak body and not allowed to transform and heal myself for twenty-four hours.” The old man lets out a shaky breath, though he’s obviously trying to hold it together.

  Amelrik’s face goes pale. He looks like he’s going to be sick.

  Gilbert hesitates, then says, “If I may say so, your highness… I feel you shouldn’t go.” His voice is tight when he says it, probably imagining the pain he’ll be in if Amelrik follows that advice. “It’s not my place to say, but as someone who’s watched you grow up—”