by Lindsey Duga
“Gertrude,” the girl said in a high voice.
“Gertrude, do you know how Kisses work?”
The girl looked away, cheeks red.
“It’s perfectly all right if you don’t. Many in the villages do not.” I guided Gertrude to the front of the class and sat her on the front desk, and then I turned to the rest of the class. “The first thing you must understand about Kissing is that it works only between two Royals. Royal Magic exists in every Royal, but it lies dormant. A Kiss is what unlocks the magic in the Royal and allows one or the other to use that power.”
Every girl in the room stared at me with rapt attention. I remembered my own eagerness when I was their age. My desperation to prove myself…to one person in particular.
“It acts as a catalyst that unleashes the magic,” I continued, “but a kiss alone does not make it a Royal Kiss. You must learn the spells to make them either battle Kisses, healing Kisses, counter-curse Kisses, and so on. Does that make sense?”
They all nodded.
“Now, remember, only princesses can actually cast the spells, so we get the delightful task of memorizing them all while the boys get to play with wooden sticks.” I flitted my hand toward the window, where the training grounds expanded below. “While it’s true that we may not have to learn swordsmanship, we must help our princes as best we can—which is why I urge all of you to learn more than how to shoot an arrow. You never know when your life, or the life of your partner, will depend on close-range combat.
“But putting that aside”—I turned back to Gertrude—“let’s see a demonstration. One of the basic Kisses a princess first learns is how to heal her prince. The words are Illye Menda.” I brushed back Gertrude’s hair and Kissed her cheek, my lips brushing the tender spot of her bruise, while my mind spoke the spell words.
I felt Gertrude’s magic, soft and fluttering like a baby bird, rise up to meet mine, fierce and powerful like a dragon. Using just a tiny sliver of my magic, I healed the bruise. Eyes wide, Gertrude pressed her fingertips below her eye where the bruise had been.
The other girls all oohed as Gertrude hurried back to her chair.
“All right, moving on. Let’s try—”
My words were cut off by the sound of the door opening at the back of the classroom. It was Tulia, her dress wrinkled and her short brown hair disheveled, with Bromley at her heels. She walked briskly down the classroom aisle to meet me, her cloak flying behind her.
Yawning, she said, “I have to teach after all. Your page was sent to wake me up and take you to meet Master Gelloren.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is it that urgent?”
“Apparently so. Get going, then.”
Grabbing my cloak, I waved to the girls and followed Bromley out. Just as the door was closing I heard Tulia say, “Get out your books,” and the girls responded with moans.
“Sorry, Tulia,” I murmured with a small smile.
When I turned toward the Tower of Mages, Bromley grabbed my elbow. “Master Gelloren is with the Council.”
My heart skipped. Surely it had to be about Zach. But why would they need me? Thanks to my pure ancestry, I had little choice in partners. Not like half princesses, or even Minnow and Tulia, who got much more of a say in choosing their princes than I ever had. The Council had never hesitated to assign me a partner without my opinion before.
Then again, we’d never had a Royal quite like this legendary swordsman in Myria before, either.
Chapter
Six
The Council’s Debate
The Council met in a large circular room located almost directly behind the Hall of Ancestors. Tapestries of past Royals decorated the walls, and above a round table with cushioned mahogany chairs was a large stained-glass window that filtered red, gold, green, and blue sunlight.
Out of the three Master Mages who resided in Myria’s castle, Gelloren was the oldest and wisest, and therefore had high standing with the Council. He had taught almost all the current Council members, so there was no one they trusted more.
I entered through the large brucel doors, the wood carved into images of faceless Royals and fierce dragons. Conversation halted at my entrance, and all gazes turned to me.
“Princess Ivy, come in,” Master Gelloren said.
The table was not full. At least four members were missing. The Royal Council was made of princes and princesses who had been appointed by the Master Mages to a seat in their kingdom’s Council. Once a member of the Council, their titles changed to king or queen. While each kingdom had its own Council, it was always a symbol of great prestige to be a part of the Myrian Council, since it was the founder of the Legion.
“Princess,” said King Randalph as he stood, his wooden chair squeaking on the marble floor, “our condolences on losing Prince Kellian.”
Instinctively, I clasped my right hand, the hand that still bore Kellian’s fading mark. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Your severing ritual is scheduled this afternoon, is it not?” Queen Jocelyn asked.
I ignored the sharp stab of pain. So soon. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“So you will be prepared to accept the mark of another in a few days’ time?”
My pulse quickened. “Of course, my Queen.”
“Then what are your thoughts on Prince Zachariah?” King Randalph asked.
I licked my lips. “It’s hard for me to say, Your Majesty. I have yet to see what he can do with my own eyes.”
The Council members exchanged looks, and the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Such gravity could not just be because they’d heard my potential partner was a little uncouth.
Queen Jocelyn leaned forward. “We must be wary of prejudice, Randalph. We must think of what is best for the Legion…the whole Kingdom.”
“I am well aware, Jocelyn. But his bloodline…”
I approached the table, gripping the back of an empty chair. “If I may ask, Council, what about his bloodline? I was told by Prince Weldan that he’s half. He may not be a pure Royal, but if his skills are as good as they say, then it shouldn’t matter.”
King Randalph waved away my words. “And what of the other half of his bloodline?”
I frowned. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“His father was Prince Abram from the House of Jindor, and his mother, well, we’re not quite sure of her name.”
“How could you not know her name?”
King Randalph lowered into his chair and folded his arms. “She was not recognized by the Royal Council of Saevall, and they forbade Prince Abram from ever seeing her again.”
“But…why?”
“She was a Romantica.”
My hands slipped off the chair I had been leaning on, and I almost fell forward. Embarrassed, I caught myself and eased into the chair in front of me. “A Romantica…” I spoke the word carefully. As if it was some sort of evil curse I shouldn’t utter.
In a way, it was like a curse. Romantica claimed that our ancestors Myriana, Saevalla, and Raed were nothing special, that they were not the first of a new superior race with the unique power to vanquish darkness. Instead, they believed their Kiss was born from True Love, a magic in itself—a preposterous idea. I certainly was not “in love” with anyone, and yet my Kisses were the most powerful in Myria.
Romantica also practiced primitive traditions like marriage and courting. They even claimed sex was more than just a release or a way to continue the bloodline. Instead, they claimed it was the ultimate act of Love, when in reality it was nothing more than the manifestation of Lust.
Lust was a powerful force that was necessary to continue Royal bloodlines, and something much easier to understand than the Romantica’s Love. Lust was a physical human reaction, a real, tangible thing that could not be denied. Romantica simply mistook Lust for Love.
The truth was this: Love was nothing more than an illusion.
Utter nonsense.
I twisted my hands in my lap. “Are you certain he’s truly…?�
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“Yes, it would seem that Zachariah was raised by his mother until she was killed by a griffin that attacked their village,” King Randalph said. “At a young age, he disappeared from the village and returned only a year ago, claiming his Royal birthright to join the Legion.”
“I can’t believe we’re even debating this.” King Krowe leaned back with a look of disgust on his face. “He’s the son of a Romantica heretic. Who can say his allegiance even lies with the Legion?”
I often disagreed with King Krowe, but here, I could see his point. Romantica had been a thorn in the Legion’s side too many times, making us expend resources we could’ve used to battle the Forces. Whole Romantica villages declared independence from the Legion, and Royals were sent to put down rebellions. There was even one case where extremists had tried to kidnap Royal recruits.
“If Prince Zachariah wanted to spy on the Legion, he would’ve taken measures to rise in the ranks,” Queen Kallina said. “Commander Prince Weldan has vouched for him, and he claims there’s no one in Saevall who has killed as many monsters as Zachariah in so short a time.”
“A griffin did kill his mother. He’s probably trying to avenge her,” Queen Jocelyn pointed out.
“And even if that weren’t the case, he’s still willing to lay down his life to fight the Forces.” Kallina placed her elbows on the table and intertwined her fingers. “We’ve never looked down on the status of the non-Royal’s side of the bloodline before.”
That was true. Royals were always pairing with commoners to keep bloodlines fresh. If they didn’t, the Royal gene pool would become more like a puddle.
“Perhaps…but a Romantica?” King Krowe scoffed. “I’d go so far as to say heretic blood cancels out Royal blood.”
Queen Jocelyn scowled. “It doesn’t work that way, and you know it. If Zachariah’s father was a prince, then he has the power. No exceptions.”
“Still, Jocelyn—”
“Enough.” The sharp voice of King Helios cut through the air. As the oldest member of the Council, and the most revered, any time he spoke, people listened.
He was also my grandfather.
“Here’s the truth of the matter,” he said, “we are desperate. The Dark Forces are growing, and we are shrinking. We need every Royal we can get. We cannot push away his help and ignore the fact that he is known to be a powerful swordsman—with abilities we have not seen for over half a century—just because his mother belonged to a cult. Yes, the Romantica have made enemies of us in the past, but we mustn’t forget the face of the true enemy. Dismissing his abilities would be prideful and stupid, knowing what we must face.”
Complete. Silence.
Then they all nodded, even King Krowe.
“My King, I know times are hard,” I said, “but what will we face? I feel as if I’m missing something.”
King Helios looked me in the eye. “We’ve received word from farther north that an alarming amount of darkness is gathering and festering within a cave in the Wu-Hyll Mountains. We believe it is the manifestation of an egg.”
Fear enclosed my heart, and I struggled to keep my breath even.
“The egg of a Sable Dragon,” he said.
I lost the feeling in my legs even though I was sitting. “H-how do you know for sure?”
“There have been many dark signs,” Master Gelloren said. “Signs I have been following closely.”
“The sparrow harpies,” I muttered. I’d been right—they were an omen.
“It’s the same as the signs from a hundred years ago, when the last Sable Dragon was born. Swarms of sparrow harpies in broad daylight,” he said, giving me a nod, “thunderstorms with black lightning, flowers within the chapel wilting…and, of course the most obvious—the drastic increase of monster attacks. The good news is it’s still only an egg. We will know all too well once it does hatch.”
“How soon do you think it will be?” I asked.
“I can’t be exact, but if I’m reading the omens correctly, I would say we have a little less than a month. Dragons are vulnerable as babies, but they reach adulthood quickly. And when that happens, it will be nearly unstoppable.”
Besides the Wicked Queen, the Mother of the Forces, the Sable Dragon was the most powerful evil creature to have walked the earth. Its massive body was said to be covered in obsidian, and its flames…black. I had heard stories of the years that a Sable Dragon terrorized the lands. Many, many Royals and their subjects had lost their lives. It was said an entire Legion perished in the time it took to kill the beast, and thousands more innocents as well.
“Which is why we must send out a very small group to kill the dragon before it reaches adulthood. Preferably before it even hatches,” King Helios said, leaning to where the multicolored light from the stained glass dyed his white hair red and violet.
“But…shouldn’t we send as many as possible?” I asked.
Master Gelloren shook his head. “Even a group the size of a patrol would attract too many dark creatures. It’s best if only a pair of Royals sneak into the mountains, destroy the egg before it hatches, and get out without attracting any more beasts. Not only that, but a large group could alert the Evil Queen’s spies. With her prized son bound to hatch, she’s sure to be on the lookout for any Royals questing to destroy it.”
It was then, as Gelloren’s gaze met mine, that I realized why they were telling me this. This secret was kept to prevent raising alarm throughout the Legion and the kingdom. The only reason I was being told was because they wanted me to…
I stood so violently my chair wobbled. “I accept.”
My grandfather avoided my gaze. “Dear princess, we have not asked anything of you.”
“Yet,” I finished for him. “And you have my answer anyway.”
An icy ball of fear weighed in my gut. It was so cold I thought it would freeze my insides. But at the same time, something much more powerful burned inside me. In my chest, melting that block of ice, were flames fueled by anger and passion. Anger at the Dark Forces for taking down Kellian, and passion to protect my Kingdom and its people.
But can you do it, Ivy? You? A princess with five lost partners?
I was a direct descendant of Myriana. I could do this. My Kiss was the Mark of Myriana—and as dangerous as that was, killing four out of five partners and leaving the other in a coma, it had also saved hundreds of lives with its power. Now, it would have to save hundreds of thousands.
I cleared my throat. “I will go, my King. I’d do anything to protect our kingdom.”
“Princess Ivy, your bravery and loyalty are of no question. You are no doubt the most powerful princess in the Legion, but you are in need of a prince,” King Randalph said, “and we have not yet officially decided on Zachariah. Nor do we know if he would be willing to accept this perilous mission.”
“King Helios has made more than a strong enough point,” Queen Jocelyn said. “We need this prince if his skills are as good as they say.”
“Then we must test them.” King Krowe drummed his fingers on the table.
“It could be tricky,” Randalph said. “Romantica spawn though he may be, he’s still a member of the Saevallan Royals. It would be rude to insult our guests by demanding a test.”
Krowe smiled, making his dark beard twitch. “Oh, not to worry. I have an idea.”
…
I wasn’t allowed to hear the idea, having been dismissed only a few seconds later. They ushered me out the door, and I found Bromley waiting for me in the hall.
I motioned for him to follow me, and he was silent for maybe a minute before the pestering started. “C’mon, what’d they say?”
“Didn’t have your ear pressed against the door, Brom?” I teased.
He scowled. “Last time I did that, Master Gelloren cast an itching spell on my ear so bad I had to cover it with paste.”
I laughed.
“Are you going to tell me, then?”
I waited until we were out of the castle and halfway betw
een the gardens and the training grounds before I pulled him behind a willa blossom tree and told him everything in a low whisper.
Bromley backed away, eyes wide, mouth open. “A Sable Dragon?”
Knowing I could trust Bromley with this news, I nodded. I trusted him with my life.
“And you said you’d go, didn’t you?”
“It’s my duty, Bromley.”
“To fight, not to die,” he shot back.
I laid a hand on his cheek. “Brom, I taught a class of little girls today. One of them was seven. You know what they did? They giggled at the idea of kissing a beast’s snout. That’s what they should be doing—giggling and playing, not picking up a shield or learning spells to kill monsters. Maybe going after this dragon is a step toward that future.”
Bromley sighed. “I just…I just don’t want it to be you. Does it have to be you?”
My heart swelled, and I threw my arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. For a moment, he was stiff, but then he melted into the hug.
Brom was more than my page, or even my best friend—he was my brother. We’d grown up together. What I felt for him was like the bond I shared with my sisters. Romantica would call it Familial Love, and though we refused to use the word “Love,” Royals believed in the bond between families quite deeply. It was this bond that had allowed us to come together and rule—knowing our bloodlines and where we came from was everything.
Even though Brom wasn’t related by blood, that didn’t stop me from treating him and caring for him like an older sister would.
“It has to be someone,” I whispered, “and I want it to be me.”
Brom leaned away. “Your severing ritual is in a few hours. Do you want me to be there?”
“No, I— It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” My shaky voice betrayed my confidence, but I gave him a smile anyway. He frowned but didn’t push further.
A few hours later, I knelt next to Kellian’s body, gripping his hand but unable to look at him. Holding on to him was like holding a marble statue—cold, lifeless, stiff.