The ground trembles as a dragon comes to a landing in front of the crowd. He’s massive—as tall as three men, at least—and red and as beautiful as he is terrifying. His eyes are black ebony, and wisps of gray smoke drift from his huge, scaled nostrils.
“King Ewan!” The animal roars, fire licking from his mouth. “I demand to see the king!”
The men standing before me step back and away from the flames. The breeze shifts and sends the great animal’s metallic scent our way.
“I am here, Noble Beast.” Father steps past me.
Black eyes narrow as they focus on Father. “You have violated the treaty.”
A chill runs down my spine, and the crowds begin to chatter in fear. The dragon steps toward my father, and I feel the movement through the ground.
“My mate was slaughtered during your tournament,” the dragon says. “And now I am saddled with the burden of searching for a new one.”
My father is temporarily speechless. Who would dare break the dragon treaty?
“If you refuse to find the man responsible, I will destroy your village. After the village is burned, and your people are nothing but memories to the waste that is your kind, I will move to the next town and then the next.”
Rigel. It must have been.
I search the crowds, frantically looking for the dark-haired Errintonian. I find him leaning against the chapel, seemingly unconcerned except for the hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Sensing my accusing gaze, his eyes flick my way. He shakes his head, as if to say it wasn’t him.
“Sir Rigel.” Father obviously has the same thought as me. “Do you know anything of this?”
Rigel steps forward, his hand still on his sword. “I paid for my treasure with sheep,” he answers, and then he turns to the dragon. “Fifty ewes to Malgonith, the great winged serpent.”
The dragon snorts and flames lick from his mouth. “I know of this bargain. It was not this man.”
“Galinor?” Father asks.
“I didn’t kill his mate.” An honest, if evasive, answer. He shakes his head, looking pale.
The dragon peers at Galinor, and his reptilian tail twitches back and forth. “King Ewan, how many returned with treasure?”
“Three men,” Father answers.
“Line them up,” the beast demands.
Father bristles at the command, but it would not do well to argue with the dragon. I’m anxious as I wait for his decision. “Men, line up.”
Rigel comes forward, as does Galinor. Lionel joins them. He’s white as fleece, and there is the sheen of nervous sweat on his brow.
The beast tilts his head back and sends a burst of flames into the air above him. “Do you think I am a fool?”
“No, Great One,” Father says.
Knights and archers are slowly circling the area. On my father’s command, the dragon would be dead. He’s only one dragon.
But if we kill this dragon, we will surely be at war once again.
“The weak-hearted she-dragon, Zenalin, gave a piece of treasure to a man. Where is this man?”
Galinor swallows, and I can see in his eyes he’s searching for an answer.
No one comes forward, and once again a stream of fire jets toward the clouds. “The shield!” he says. “I was with her. I remember the man, and I do not see him here.”
The crowd jumps back when the dragon’s fiery breath is directed at them. Sparks fly to a nearby cottage, and the thatch roof catches. The courtyard rings with shocked, terrified cries. A woman’s mournful scream punctuates the rest, and with it the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. At Father’s command, men scramble to put out the burning cottage.
“I am here.” Out of the wide-eyed crowd, Archer steps forward. He looks out of breath, as if he’s just run across the courtyard.
The dragon swings his great head toward Archer and narrows his serpent eyes. “Hello again, Master Archer.”
Archer bows his head.
“Did the treasure win you your love?” The dragon cackles. He watches the men extinguish the burning roof with disinterest.
Archer glances at me, and our eyes lock. “It did not. I never said it would.”
The dragon turns away from the steaming, soggy cottage, looking bored. “It was not you who murdered my mate. I have no use for you.”
Father looks taken aback by the announcement. He shakes his head, and looks from Archer to me, and then to Galinor. “Galinor, did you retrieve your treasure?”
Galinor lowers his head, ashamed. “I did not, Your Majesty. It was Archer—”
“Enough!” The dragon bellows, and the heat of his breath travels past us. For the first time, his depthless eyes settle on the ill-looking Prince Lionel. “You murdered my mate.”
His words have lost their fury and are now cold. Deadly.
Lionel shakes his head, his curls swing around his face. “I might have wounded her,” he says, stepping backwards. “But I did not kill her.”
“She is dead.”
Rigel and Galinor step away from Lionel, leaving him the sole target of the dragon’s wrath. The prince tries to draw his sword, but he can’t seem to grab hold of it. His sweaty hand repeatedly slips off the hilt. Lionel’s terrified eyes dart around the crowd, looking for help. When he finds none, he stammers, “I…I didn’t mean to, I swear.”
The dragon roars, lunges forward, and pins Lionel to the ground with a stout, clawed foot. The prince blubbers, begging for mercy, while the rest of us look on in horrified, helpless silence.
“Won’t you fight me, oath-breaking prince?” The dragon tilts his head like a cat taking pleasure in the slow torture of a field mouse.
There are tears streaming down Lionel’s cheeks. “Please, forgive me. Forgive me.”
I have a lung full of air I can’t seem to release, and I hold it, waiting. I want to cry out and beg the dragon for mercy. No one deserves to die this way.
Not even Lionel.
“Wait!” I take a step forward, my legs and mouth moving on their own accord. What am I doing? “Please.”
“No—” Archer yells.
“Pippa, stop!” Alexander grabs me, holding me back, but it is too late.
The dragon slowly turns his head, and I quiver as he studies me. Curls of smoke leave his nostrils, rising in a lazy manner. “Who are you?”
“I am Pippa.”
Lionel tries to scoot away, his back on the ground, but the beast adds pressure to his clawed foot, keeping Lionel firmly in place.
The dragon turns his attention back to me. “The princess?”
I nod, not sure I can find my voice again.
“Do you love this cowardly man, Princess? Do you wish I spare his life?”
If I step back, the dragon will surely kill Lionel. If I step back, I will be free.
“Pippa, please,” Lionel begs, using my shortened name for the first time. Tears continue down his face, and his eyes are wild and desperate.
I stare at him. I hate this man. I hate everything he is, and everything he has done. How can I show him mercy? Why would I even want to?
He almost killed Galinor. He tried to have Archer murdered.
“Dragon.” I clear my throat, hoping my voice will not waver. “I do not love him, but I ask of you—I beg you—please. Please spare his life.”
“Would you trade your life instead?” The dragon tips his mouth in a reptilian smile, and his tail twitches. “Would you trade your life for the safety of your people?”
There is a riot of angry cries, but Archer’s protest is the only one I hear distinctly. It’s too much to ask. I close my eyes, and tears spill down my cheeks.
I nod.
The dragon laughs, and fire comes with the guttural wheezing. “I do not want you.”
My eyes fly open, and before I can think or move or cry out, he lunges at Lionel. The prince hangs from the beast’s mouth. He’s flailing and shrieking, but he seems otherwise unharmed. The crowd parts as the dragon stalks closer to me. He drops th
e prince at my feet, and then once again pins him to the ground.
If I had the inclination, I could touch the dragon’s snout. I can feel his hot breath on my face, and I try not to choke on the smoke.
“I will spare his life for now, Princess, because of that lovely, noble gesture.” He’s mocking me, but I stay quiet. The dragon’s black stare drops to Lionel. “Where are you from, oath-breaking prince?”
Lionel lies still, gasping for breath. “Vernow. I am a prince of Vernow.”
“Then we will travel there, and I shall decide what to do with you in front of your own people.”
Lionel’s eyes go wide. “I don’t—”
I stumble back as the dragon snaps his wings from his body. He crouches low on powerful, scaled legs, and then leaps into the air. Lionel is swept away with the beast, hanging from the dragon’s talons like prey in an eagle’s grasp.
In that one moment there is perfect, horrified silence, but it is soon followed by chaos. The villagers shriek and many flee. Animals, as if sensing the danger, cry out, bleating and squawking.
I fall to my knees, quaking, trying to block out the sound of Lionel’s screams.
“We are even, King of Lauramore,” the dragon calls. With that, he rises higher into the sunset and takes to the sky, leaving pandemonium in his wake.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lord of Errinton
There is a knock on my door, but I do not answer. I’m not surprised when the door opens anyway.
“Pippa,” Father says, and the bed dips as he sits next to me. “We must announce a winner.”
I nod but do not answer.
“This was not your fault,” he says after several moments of silence.
I turn to him. “If I hadn’t requested the tournament, he wouldn’t be…”
His eyes crinkle with his sad smile. “I thought you hated him.”
“That does not mean I wish this.”
He wraps his arm around me, squeezing my shoulders like he hasn’t done since I was young. He sighs, and it’s weary sound. I will not be surprised if he steps down so Percival may take the throne soon. “There are consequences to every choice we make. Lionel paid for his choice. That is not your fault.”
I lay my head against his shoulder. “I feel so guilty, Father. Because no matter how terrible I feel, I am so relieved.”
“Pippa,” he says, bumping my shoulder so I will look at him. “I am fiercely proud of you and what you did.”
“Are you?” There are stupid tears in my eyes. I’m so tired of crying; all I’ve done the last few days is weep.
Father chuckles. “I would never have allowed you to sacrifice yourself, but I am proud of you all the same.”
I give in to a few tears and hug him tight. “Does that mean I may marry Archer?”
“No, Pippa. He’s not eligible.” He squeezes me and then gently pushes me back.
I wish the dragon had eaten me.
“Galinor?” I ask.
Father frowns, and I know from the look in his eyes it won’t be Galinor either. “Galinor has been disqualified. Rigel is the winner.”
***
The announcement is to be made in the great hall. Nobles sit toward the front, while villagers stand in the back. The sun is just beginning to set. Yesterday at this time, I was to be promised to Lionel.
There are no celebrations today.
Father stands, and a hush falls over the already subdued audience. “Though we have all been shaken by the tragedy that has befallen Prince Lionel, it is necessary we announce our tournament champion. As the tournament tests the competitors on strength, resourcefulness, and tenacity, it is imperative each man completes the events himself.”
Galinor lowers his eyes, studying the floor.
“For that reason,” Father continues. “Lord Rigel of Errinton is our champion.”
Polite applause follows Rigel up the stairs. He kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his, and he lowers his forehead to my knuckles.
“I am not the one you want,” he says when he looks up.
“I—”
He smiles, and the expression reaches his dark eyes. “I sent my page on an errand, and he returned early this morning. It was not in time for your promising ceremony yesterday, and for that I am sorry.”
I don’t understand. “Lord Rigel?”
He stands and turns to my father. Loud enough for all in the hall to hear, he says, “I cannot accept the win, King Ewan.”
I gape at him, stunned. Father looks surprised, but he allows him to continue.
“There is one who has bested me.” Rigel looks behind me. When I follow his eyes, I find Archer standing with Father’s elite. My heart leaps in my chest.
He can’t be.
Father sighs, and I know he doesn’t want to repeat the conversation from my room.
Rigel continues, “I knew Archer’s maternal grandfather. Lord Greymond Archer passed away several years ago. He had no sons, no brothers, and no living male relatives. My page has returned to Errinton to speak with my king to verify this information.”
My head is reeling. What’s he saying? He sent his page to find out what exactly?
“Archer is the legal heir to his grandfather’s lands and title,” Rigel says. “He is as much a lord of Errinton as I am.”
I don’t dare breathe. Archer looks shocked, and he’s shaking his head as if he doesn’t understand.
Father scrunches his forehead, running his hand along the lines. “Even so, he would have had to participate in the tournament.”
“He brought back the dragon treasure,” Irving calls out.
Galinor steps forward. “King Ewan, he competed for me in both the hand-to-hand and the joust when I was injured.”
At hearing this news, Father gives Galinor an incredulous look, and the prince once again shrinks back.
“It’s true,” Percival says.
“He brought back all the items in the scavenger hunt, as well,” I say. Excitement begins to build in my belly, but I try to tamp it down, not wanting to get my hopes too high. “He killed the grim boar, he found the maid-of-the-shadows, retrieved the inger egg, and he figured out the sheep!”
I glance at Mother and Leonora. Their eyes are huge and hopeful.
“I didn’t secure the eldentimber resin,” Archer says, finally finding his voice. No one pays him any mind.
“He didn’t compete in the archery tournament,” Father says.
“He did!” I jump up from my seat, unable to contain my joy. “He demonstrated every round—he even shot the arrow from the air. If he had been officially competing, he would have won.”
Irving rolls his eyes, taking it in stride that I just ripped his only win away from him.
Father’s eyes meet mine, and he rubs his chin. “How many points is that, Percival?”
“Four for the scavenger hunt,” Percival says, taking away the point for the win and the eldentimber resin. “Six for the archery tournament, four for the dragon treasure, six for the joust, and four for the hand-to-hand, giving him a total of—”
“And my two chosen points!” Archer raises an eyebrow when I call it out, making me flush.
“Twenty-six points,” Percival says.
Irving whistles at the impressive number. Even without my chosen points, Archer would have beaten Lionel by four points.
I stare at my father. He has to give Archer the win.
He must.
“Lord Archer of Errinton is our champion,” Father says finally, his voice loud and clear.
The crowd erupts with applause and cheers, but I am rooted to the spot. My eyes are on Archer, and I’m scared to believe this is truly real.
“King Ewan.” Archer’s eyes never leave mine. “May I marry your daughter?”
I break eye contact, and turn to Father. Suddenly my father’s laughter rings through the air.
“Go on,” he says, motioning to Archer.
I leap forward, wrap my arms around my father’s neck,
and then rush to Archer, moving as fast as I can run. He meets me halfway and lifts me into the air, wrapping his arms around me so tightly I can barely breathe.
“Let’s perform the promising ceremony now,” Percival says. Leonora clings to his side, and his arm is wrapped affectionately around her shoulders.
Archer and I separate, and Father steps behind us.
“Lord Archer,” Father says, and a thrill runs through me when I hear it. “It is your right as the tournament champion to claim Pippa’s hand in marriage. Do you wish to marry her?”
“With all my being,” Archer says.
“Pippa, do you agree to marry Lord Archer in a month’s—”
“Tomorrow,” I interrupt.
Archer nods, squeezing my hand. “Tomorrow.”
Father narrows his eyes at me. “In a week’s time?”
Fine.
“Yes, I do.”
Father nods, appeased. Mother hands him a silver ribbon. “Hold out your hands,” he says.
I set my palm on the back of Archer’s hand, and a tingle of excitement travels from my fingertips all the way to my toes. Father ties the ribbon around our wrists, joining us together.
“The promise is binding,” Father says, finishing the ceremony.
He unties the ribbon, and Archer’s hand turns under mine, joining our palms together. I lean forward, smiling at Archer—my Archer. “You were wrong. A princess can marry an archer.”
Archer smiles and leans forward, his eyes locked on mine. “I’ve never been so happy to be wrong in my life.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Wedding
“Pippa,” Leonora says, “Stop fidgeting.”
“I can’t,” I answer, tapping my foot.
Ginna pulls a comb through my hair, which falls in long, soft waves past my shoulders.
“My darling,” Mother says as she slips a sparkling tiara in my hair. “You are exquisite.”
I wear a gown of pale green. It cinches tight at my waist and falls in rivers of delicate, embroidered fabric.
“It’s beautiful,” I say to Anna, who’s standing over my shoulder weeping like a child. “How long have you worked on it?”
She sniffs, holding her kerchief to her nose. “Since you were seven.”
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