King's Bride

by Ava Sinclair

  Today my plan is simple. Attack Yrgi, who is closest — attack him on his ledge before he takes to the air. I know what my brothers will say afterwards. They will call it unfair, but by then I will be king and I can ignore them.

  Yrgi is slightly below me. I leap from my ledge, hearing the gasp of the lords and ladies as I fall at full speed towards my older brother. I extend my claws, expecting to feel them tear into the membrane of his wing.

  Instead, I feel blinding pain as my feet hit rock, and a blow from above, then a second. Both Bymir and Rargi slam into me at once, knocking me from the ledge. As I fall, I see Yrgi wheel away. I barely recover before hitting a lower outcrop, and when I do, it is to the sight of my brothers, who are now battling without me, above the crowds.

  Rage fills my heart, making my head pound. Theirs was a coordinated attack. They plot against me, the trueborn son of Vukurcis and rightful king! I inhale the frosty air, filling my lungs. Fire venom burns in my throat. I will set them ablaze! I will burn them to ash in the sky!

  I beat my wings, pulling myself upwards through the wispy clouds that ring the peak of Mountain of Kings. I search for shapes above the clouds, and there they are. My three brothers are circling one another, angling for an opportunity to bite or claw or strike with the heavy end of a tail. They do not see me. I focus on the shape of Bymirr, eldest born and most likely the one who planned this betrayal, this….treason! I let loose with a stream of fire and am rewarded with the sound of his scream. I see him fall, trailing fire behind him as he desperately beats his wing to put out the flame.

  I head straight for Rargi. He, too, must pay. I have exhaled my air and there is not enough time to refill the glands of my throat with fire venom. I will have to rely on force and rage. I make towards him, my mouth open. I aim for his upper neck, the spot right behind the head. If I bite there, I can disable his ability to make fire by crushing his venom glands.

  Yet before I can reach him, the air is knocked from my lungs. Something has hit me from below. Yrgi. He is repaying his brothers by attacking me. I feel myself flying backwards and scream as my back slams into the side of the mountain, dislodging a hail of rocks that slides down the side with me.

  I do not immediately recover. My brothers are circling one another once more. To my fury, Bymir seems unfazed by my attack. He and Rargi are slashing at one another. Yrgi is zipping below them. I know what he’s waiting for. I don’t interfere. When Bymir slashes Rargi’s wing with his claw, the second born brother falls. Yrgi goes for the second attack, grabbing Rargi’s tail and raking his body with one bloody slash. Rargi is in a spin. He beats his wings with just enough force to find the mountainside, where he hangs on with wing and claw. Bymir wheels back, blasting fire on the rock above him, dislodging hot boulders that cascade in a landslide towards Rargi. It is too much. Rargi pulls himself to a ledge just in time to escape the boulders and shifts back into his human form.

  The battle has claimed its first prince.

  Now three remain. I head towards Bymir, still stung by what feels like betrayal. He is expecting this, and barrels towards me, hitting me with a full body blow that sends both of us reeling. Yrgi has swooped under us and snags Bymir as he falls. They lock talons, grappling as they spiral towards the earth.

  This is my chance. I turn, diving down, inhaling air as I plummet. My wings are folded. I move faster and faster, filling my fire glands as they come into view. I will burn them. I will burn them both. I open my mouth, exhaling flame, but just as I do they break apart. The flame hits something solid below a cloud. It’s an outcrop. I slam into the super-heated surface, broken and screaming in pain. When the burning doesn’t stop, I realize the horrible truth. I am shifting back into my human form. I have lost.

  I will not be king like my father.

  Chapter 8

  Zara

  The screams of dragons. I can hear them as they battle. Heat of fire. I can feel it rising from where the last one fell. They are all the same color, but there are subtle differences in the colors of the spines along their back.

  “Prince Oneg has fallen!” someone calls when he doesn’t rise from the ravine. The last two — Bymir and Yrgi— are rumbling as they rise to circle one another intently. I look to those around me. Everyone looks afraid, even the lords. But I think my fear is different.

  It’s taken all the courage I can muster not to push my way through the crowd and flee back into the castle, to find a dark place to hide. Each dragon cry, each burst of heat, evokes a flash of memories I have been trying to keep at bay.

  I feel a warm hand take mine. Isla puts her arm around me. “They are fierce, but they will be gentle with you. I promise.”

  I want so much to believe her. I wish I were so brave. Isla knows the power of the ShadowFell. She watched one destroy our village and take me and the others away. She was able to separate the dark dragons who brought pain into her life from the Drakoryan dragons who saved her and made her their mate. But seeing the ferocity of the dragons as they battle for the crown triggers whatever it is that my mind has suppressed to keep me sane. I close my eyes, and when I hear the threatening rumble of the last two dragons, I see an image of glowing red eyes staring up from the deep of a dark chasm. When I feel the heat of the battle fire, I remember what it was like to be consumed without dying.

  “No,” I say, and my sister hugs me once more.

  “I promise,” she says again, and I realize she thinks my word was spoken in doubt of what she said when I was speaking to something else, someone else, someone I am told can no longer hurt me.

  A scream jolts me back to reality. The dragons have latched on to one another again, this time with tooth and talon. They rip and pull, throwing sprays of blood that fall just short of showering the viewing platform. In my peripheral vision, I see one of the lords of Fra’hir pivot a sickly looking Lyla away from the spectacle. The air in the ravine is rent with screams. The two brother combatants bash themselves against cliff faces, dislodging boulders and trees. They slide down the mountain amid a pile of rubble, each scrabbling for advantage. No sooner does one have it than another reclaims supremacy.

  “This will end in death,” one lord says.

  “No it won’t.” At the front of the stone railing, only Ezador is calm. “It is nearly over now.”

  It is Yrgi who makes the mistake. He takes off, no doubt seeking to attack from the air. But as he does, Bymir’s mighty jaws grab his tail, and even from here we can hear the crunch of bone as he breaks it in the middle. A dragon’s tail is its rudder, and while Yrgi can fly, he cannot steer. His tail hangs like ballast. It is all he can do to stay airborne. Bymir does not attack. He knows he doesn’t have to. He watches as his younger brother sinks down to settle on a lower ledge, wailing in defeat as he shifts.

  The crowd erupts around me, cheering, raising their fists. Like his brothers, Bymir changes back into his human form, but unlike his brothers, he doesn’t stay human. He shifts again, this time with a steel-gray flame and when he transforms into his dragon form once more, he is the color of a fresh sword blade, but with gold-tinted horns and spines.

  “The king is dead! Long live the King! Long live King Bymir!” The crowd calls out to their new liege as one, and the King Bymir the Dragon answers with a jubilant roar.

  Even if I could run, I wouldn’t be able to. Fear has made rocks of my feet. I can only stare at the huge dragon, knowing he will make me a woman this night.

  Chapter 9

  King Bymir

  In the times past, the crowning of a new Drakoryan King would have been accompanied by days of lavish feasting.

  Much has changed. While there won’t be days of feasting, there will be a feast. The Mountain of Kings has its own storehouse, and there is a privilege that comes with command. Even before the battle of brothers began,, the lower part of the castle was a bustle of activity as hundreds from the serving class worked in the kitchen.

  “My king.” Ezador greets me with a smile when I exit the tunnel ba
ck to the main passage. “The Great Hall has been readied for the guests. Banners from all the Drakoryan houses have been hung; logs have been cut and hauled to fireplaces, and wine has been hauled up by the barrel for this one night.” He stops and turns to me. “There is no need to fear the enemy will strike this night, nor any night soon. All the signs show a lull in the war, at least for now.”

  “As I expected,” I reply. “It’s one thing to steal the deep magic necessary to change dragon to man and back again; now the ShadowFell need to master the art of shifting, of controlling the transformation.”

  “Not an hour into your reign and you already display remarkable wisdom,” the oracle says.

  “Thank you, Ezador. Like my father and the other kings, you are as much a part of the kingdom’s success as we are.” I pause. “If only we could follow the enemy to their lair and destroy them before they return. Any progress on that front?”

  He shakes his head sadly. “I fear not. Whatever magic the ShadowFell use to hide themselves is not easily penetrated. They go where we cannot follow.”

  We stop outside my chamber where I will dress for the feast and coronation. It’s the same chamber where I will claim first rights to Zara of Branlock, who will be Queen Zara by morning. I pause, wondering if perhaps she has some clue where she was held. Perhaps she can help us find the ShadowFell.

  “A word of advice, Your Highness?” Ezador pulls me from my thoughts. He arches a brow. “Focus on your little queen’s pleasure tonight. Pull forth her passion, not information.”

  “Stop reading my mind, thief of thoughts.” I grin as I scold him.

  “King Bymir, that’s what I do!” He taps his temple. “You’ll be glad of it come morning.”

  He turns away without another word and I find my chamber, where a servant washes me down and helps me into a fresh skirt and a king’s tunic of purple and gray, with a belt stamped with the king’s insignia.

  I’m not one for gazing at my own reflection. That is more Ezador’s occupation. But today I do. Once I’m dressed, I look into the mirror. I am proud to be king, but more than that I am relieved. I would have been disappointed to have lost to Rargi or Yrgi, although either would have made a good king. I would have been more troubled to have lost to Oneg, who wanted the crown more than all of us combined. All four of us loved King Vukuris. All considered him our primary father, even if he was not our sire, for that is the way of royal families. But Oneg believed blood should decide the throne, not combat. He grumbled about it often enough, and when he did, our father the king would simply tell him a Drakoryan who wants something badly enough should be prepared to fight and win.

  Oneg spent an inordinate amount of time studying past battles for maidens and crowns. He flew carrying boulders to build his strength. He practiced directing his fire at targets. All dragons train; it is a matter of being combat ready. But Oneg was obsessed with battling not some enemy, but his own brothers.

  He and the others will soon be returning from the healing pools to prepare for the feast. Soon we will reunite in the Great Hall, and I hope that our youngest brother will have accepted his destiny.

  I also hope that the woman I’m about to see understands hers.

  The king can go anywhere he wants in the castle. He is the only male allowed to walk directly into the queen’s quarters, although he still must ask permission to enter the Queen’s inner sanctum.

  I am glad that Isla of Za’Vol is here to lend support to her younger sister. From near starvation to becoming queen, the changes that have befallen Zara of Branlock’s life from the time she was taken by the ShadowFell are nothing short of drastic. I’m certain all the attention must be overwhelming, too.

  The walls of the Castle here are all rose quartz, with carved archways and natural pools. Veins of gold run through the floor beneath my feet. As I pass, servants drop to one knee. But outside an ornately carved door, two older women who are assigned as personal maids to the young queen step in front of me. They have been apprised of the new protocol, and I am impressed that they so eagerly take up the task.

  “Good maids,” I say, “I seek an audience with the young queen. Will she see her king?”

  “She is dressing for the feast,” says one, peering at me from under her wimple as if I am some green suitor appearing with a handful of wildflowers. But at the nudging of her companion, she turns. “I’ll check,” she mutters.

  And so I, the king, wait for permission from a village girl to enter a room in my own castle.

  Chapter 10

  Zara

  I feel like one of the dolls my mother used to make for me and Isla each year after harvest. They were fashioned from corn leaves, and Isla and I would make dresses for them out of bits of fabric.

  “Hold up your arms,” I would say to the doll, bending the twig limbs upward. Then I’d slip the carefully pieced-together dress over its head and tell the doll how beautiful it looked.

  I’m just as stiff and silent as the ladies and maids rub my body with scented oils before fastening me into a golden dress. My hair is brushed until it glows like a summer sunset, but my face is as pale as the moon.

  Isla’s face is just worried. She wants me to be happy. She wants me to smile. I suspect that as much as she loves me, part of her is slightly angry that I’m not happy. I have lost count of how many times she’s told me how lucky I am, how any woman in the village would give her life to be in my place.

  Would they have up given their dreamless nights? Their sense of peace? I long to ask her this. I long to tell her of being captured by the ShadowFell, of horrific memories that pounce on me like dark creatures lurking in the recesses of my mind. I want to tell her that if this is the price I must pay, I’d happily trade places with any woman.

  If I were stronger I would, but I have used all my strength to survive things I can’t even fully remember, and now life is like a river pulling me along as I bob with my head above water.

  “The king seeks an audience with you.” A serious looking maid walks over to issue the news in a clipped and officious tone. “Will you see him?”

  I want to ask why they are asking me, then Isla smiles and reminds me that in the queen’s chambers, I am free to say no. I can’t think of a reason to refuse him, though, so I say I will see him. As as the doors open, the women all but flee like shorebirds before the incoming tide.

  King Bymir is even taller even than he appeared on the dais. He towers over me, as broad as I am dainty, as bold as I am shy.

  “Zara of Branlock.” His eyes sweep over me. “What a slip of a thing you are.” He could be talking to himself as much as to me, so I don’t respond. He reaches out, putting a finger under my chin and tipping it upwards until I’m looking up at him. “I do believe you will be the smallest queen the empire has ever seen.” He smiles. “But you will grow into your role, just as I will grow into mine.”

  “I don’t think you can grow anymore,” I say, and gasp at my own boldness. The king, however, throws back his leonine head and laughs.

  Then he winks at me. “Tonight after the feast, you’ll come to my bedchamber and I’ll prove you wrong.” He steps back and bows. “I’ll be waiting outside your chamber to escort you to the throne room, then to the hall for feasting.” He exits without another word, leaving me standing there perplexed. The women rush back in as soon as he’s gone, fussing over my dress.

  “What did he say to you?” Isla is eager to know.

  “He said I was small,” I reply, and leave the rest of his comment out because it seemed cryptic and I don’t want to listen to her fuss over what it might mean.

  “Is that all?” She searches my face, as if hoping for more, but it’s easy to ignore her with the other ladies flitting about like bees on a gilded flower. Everyone wants to add their own touch. A hand curls a lock of my hair; another hand smooths my hem. Fingers pinch my cheeks to bring out my color.

  Then it is time and I am walked out to where the king is waiting. He holds out his arm, and for the f
irst time, I touch the man who will be the first of four brothers to take me. King or no, the thought of it sets off fluttering in my stomach. He guides me through the castle, asking me several times if I am well. I nod, wondering whether he finds me too taciturn, but relieved that he does not push me to make small talk. I can smell the food long before we reach the hall. My stomach growls, and I am mortified when King Bymir looks down. He chuckles at my distress, however.

  “I like a woman with an appetite,” he says. “Tonight is a feast night, which is rare in such times. Everyone will gorge themselves. And even if you feel eyes on you, do not feel that you have to eat like a bird. I know this is fashionable for ladies, but the only opinions that matter now are those of me and my brothers, no? As beautiful as you are, the extra cushioning will serve us all well come winter. There’s nothing like a plush woman to warm a cold bed.”

  “So you’ve had women, then?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Yes, but from now on it is only you.”

  “I have never been with a man.”

  “That is good to hear. If you had, I’d hunt him down as a dragon and eat him.”

  When I gasp in horror, he laughs. “I jest. While I am glad you are a virgin, I would not kill someone who touched you in the past. But understand, if any man other than one of my brothers tries from this day forward, he will feel the dragon’s fire.” He nods ahead of us. “Enough of talk. We are at the hall.”

  The doors open to the sound of trumpet fanfare. A sea of faces stares in our direction. The urge to run away is strong, but King Bymir seems to understand and squeezes my hand.