by Tessa Dawn
There shall be no more delay in payment.
Affixed and sanctioned…
Dante Dragona, Sovereign King of Dragons Realm.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Castle Dragon ~ One week later
Mina Louvet waited anxiously inside the anteroom, just behind the throne of Castle Dragon, to enter the grand hall for the royal ceremony, imperial proclamations, and what amounted to the first official day—without any secrets—of the sapphire dragon’s rule.
The first official day of her rule as the queen of Dragon’s Realm.
Every important dignitary in the Realm was in that throne room: every general, every regent, and every constable. The courts of Castle Dragon, Castle Warlochia, Castle Umbras, and Castle Commons were assembled before King Dante as well. The high mage and the entire Warlock’s Council on Supreme Magic and Mystical Practices, minus Kristof Nocturne, were assembled by rank, region, and mystical position. The king’s witch, Willow; Castle Dragon’s steward; its chamberlain, chaplain, and treasurer—along with an unusually large delegation of Malo Clan giants—were all assembled in that blasted hall.
Mina felt as if she were going to retch.
Her stomach was queasy, her skin felt pasty, and she could’ve sworn her hair—which was wrapped in a dozen intricate plaits, interwoven curls, and chiffons—was beginning to droop. Never in a million years when she had entered the castle as a slave—as one of three subservient Sklavos Ahavi—had she dreamed she would walk in again, thirty-one years later, as a queen.
“How are you holding up?” Thomas the squire strolled into the room, his bright, hazel eyes alive with renewed hope and purpose.
Mina pressed her hand against her lower belly. “Are my parents here?”
“They are,” Thomas answered softly.
Mina nodded. “And Raylea?”
“Close to Prince Damian as always.”
Mina shuddered: Prince Damian. Great Spirit Keepers, King Dante was going to have to change that…
King Dante.
Her knees grew weak.
Thomas stepped forward to catch her, gently propping her up. “Milady, are you okay?”
Mina placed a hand on his shoulder, took three slow, deep breaths, and nodded. “Thank you. And milady…it isn’t necessary, Thomas.”
“Oh,” the squire argued, “but it is. You had better get used to it: milady and my queen.”
She blinked rapidly, her lashes fluttering in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. “Do you think Prince Dante still wants me?” she asked, sounding like an idiot, even to herself.
Thomas laughed heartily. “Um, yes. I think he’s been clear on that point for decades. And it’s King Dante—try to remember.”
Mina brushed the back of her hand over her brow. “I could use some chamomile tea, perhaps with a driblet of whiskey.”
Thomas chuckled softly. “After the ceremony, my queen.”
She nodded. “Then it’s time?”
“Almost time,” Thomas answered. “First, there is someone who has been wanting to speak with you, a very persistent young lady, and I thought I would bring her in before your attention is consumed by matters of court for the rest of the day.”
Mina frowned. She tried to smooth her unrumpled gown, the myriad of golden layers falling in a gilded cascade from her waist to her hips, to below her quivering knees. She tried to adjust her hair.
Thomas grasped her wrist. “Mina. Calm down. I think this visitor will help. I think she will boost your spirits.”
“Very well,” Mina rasped dryly, and then she sighed, “but just tell me now, so I’m not caught off guard. Is it a witch or a member of King Demitri’s staff, someone I should be wary of?”
Thomas just shook his head and laughed. “Why don’t you see for yourself?” He paced to the door, pried it open, and peeked out into the hall. “Mina,” he whispered, “the queen will see you now.”
Mina? the queen thought. Perhaps Thomas is cracking up, too. Perhaps he’s not quite as composed as he seems.
A beautiful lass, perhaps twenty-nine or thirty, strolled purposefully into the antechamber, wearing a simple dark brown chemise over a plain white pleated skirt. She stopped several feet shy of the Sklavos Ahavi and curtsied. “Milady.”
Mina pinched her brow before forcing her arms to her side and drawing back her shoulders. “My servant.” Great Nuri, that sounded preposterous.
The beautiful woman smiled—she was obviously human—neither a witch nor a bitter employee left over from King Demitri’s reign. She placed her hand on her chest, and her eyes instantly brimmed with tears. “Like yours, my name is Mina. Mina Brouchard. My father was a shoemaker named Jarett, and my mother was a seamstress named Anna. Sadly, they have both passed away.” She closed her eyes briefly. “The fever that swept through the commonlands several seasons back.” She took a moment to regain her composure. “But that is not why I’m here…why I begged to see you, if only for a moment.” She wrung her hands together, and for the first time, Mina Louvet could see just how nervous Mina Brouchard truly was.
“Go on,” the former prompted. “Do not be nervous, girl. I come from the commonlands as well, from a simple farm in Arns, as you likely already know. There is no need for consternation in my presence.”
The commoner blinked several times, folded her fingers together, and pressed on. “I don’t know if you remember her, but several decades ago, my aunt Jacine was placed in your service. She accompanied the royal caravan of Umbras to the sands of Dracos Cove as a maidservant, prior to the infamous battle when King Demitri slayed the Lycanian fleet.” She glanced to the side, almost as if in remorse, an unspoken apology for mentioning the late king’s name. “At any rate,” she continued, “she asked a favor of you. She asked you to hold my mother’s hand. You see, my mother, Anna, had suffered five miscarriages, the last nearly killing her, and she was at Dracos Cove as well. She was part of the caravan of merchants and laborers from the southern province, those who traveled to the beach to support the soldiers—to feed them, attend to their wounds, build weapons and repair apparatus. She was also pregnant again at the time, and—”
“Your aunt believed if her sister Anna could only hold the hand of a Sklavos Ahavi…” Mina interrupted before her voice trailed off.
“Yes,” the commoner said. “Then you do remember?”
This time, it was Mina Louvet who closed her eyes, even as she caught her breath. “I remember,” she said softly, slowly raising her lashes.
“I was that unborn child,” Mina Brouchard offered, although the queen had already pieced the facts together. “Her first, her last, and her only. I am alive because of your kindness.”
Mina Louvet cleared her throat. All she needed to add to her sickly complexion, wilting hair, and upset stomach were swollen, bloodshot eyes, yet a single tear escaped anyway. She stepped forward and grasped the maiden’s hands in her own. “Mina,” she said softly, now understanding the true significance of the girl’s identical name. “Your mother’s condition changed my fate…forever. Without going into detail, I will simply say she did me a tremendous favor as well.” Jacine, the maid, had switched clothes with the cornered Sklavos Ahavi, allowing Mina Louvet to slip out of the tent of Umbras undetected, allowing her to make her way to the traders’ encampment, where she later made love to Prince Dante Dragona for the very first time, where she conceived Prince Ari and set the chain of events in motion that led to the real Prince Damian’s demise. “I am forever beholden to your aunt, and to your mother, for making that desperate request.”
Mina Brouchard appeared to glow with pride…and love.
She reached into an old, tattered satchel slung over her shoulder, and withdrew a lovely wreath of flowers. “I made this for you. The flowers were grown in our garden, and I’ve pressed and preserved them. I would be honored if you would keep them at Castle Umbras.”
Ah, Mina thought, so she didn’t know…yet.
That Mina Louvet would be residing at Castle
Dragon.
But then, how could she? The true assignments, identities, and appointments were yet to be made public.
Mina accepted the wreath with deep appreciation and gratitude. “Thank you so much, Mistress Brouchard. I will cherish them always, more than you know.”
The lovely maiden’s answering smile lit up the room as she stepped back, curtsied once more, and turned to leave, her chin held just a little bit higher.
A soft knock came against the antechamber door—three hollow taps from inside the throne room—and Thomas gestured toward the hall, bowing deep: “It is time, my queen. It is time.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dante Dragona’s breath caught in his throat as Mina Louvet, the Sklavos Ahavi he had loved for what felt like a lifetime, entered the throne room through the antechamber door, made her way across the raised platform, and stood beside—and just behind—King Dante, to his right.
By all that was sacred, she was lovely.
Her golden gown shimmered like sunlight reflecting through a rainbow; her almond-shaped eyes were as emerald as ever; and her raven-black hair was a glorious silken crown unto itself, the myriad of plaits befitting his queen. He took her hands in his, and there was a surprised murmur throughout the throne room. “Apologies, my Ahavi.” He spoke in a private whisper. “We are having another cathedra built. I think King Demitri burned Queen Kalani’s.”
Mina appeared to force a smile—by all the ancestors, the Ahavi was nervous. “I’m fine,” she lied. “But if I fall, please catch me.”
Dante chuckled beneath his breath, and then he stood and cleared his throat, and it was as if all the world fell silent. The hall had never looked so grand with its exquisite marbled stone reflecting pure blue veins and pearlescent arroyos; its magnificent jutting columns of imperial ivory and hand-carved leaf-like etchings; and its opulent, multilayered, retractable dome ceiling. Prince Damian stood atop the dais in all his Umbrasian finery, just to Mina’s right, even as Prince Drake, cloaked in the colors of Castle Commons, flanked Thomas the squire on Dante’s farthest left.
At the bottom of the dais, nearest the first marble step, the second generation of princes, as well as the Sklavos Ahavi, stood proudly facing their new lord: Dario, Drake’s five sons, Tatiana, and Cassidy were to the right, in Dante’s forward vision; just as Ari, Azor, Asher, and Princess Gaia could be seen clearly to his left. Beyond the dais, but before the gallery, in a place of honor between the two, Aguilon and Willow stood behind Prince Dario, and Mina’s unsuspecting family—Soren, Margareta, and Raylea—stood behind Prince Ari. The Louvets had no idea why they had been ushered to the front of the hall.
Every eye in the throne room fixed upon Dante.
The trumpeter blew his conch horn.
And Thomas the squire—the new regent of Castle Dragon—stepped forward, closer to the throne: “Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye,” he bellowed in a deep, resonant voice, “all ye present at this momentous assembly, all ye gathered in this great hall today, whether by invitation or obligation, to witness the coronation of our venerable king, Dante Dragona, firstborn son to King Demitri and Queen Kalani, brought forth in the sixth year of the Dragonas’ Reign, the season of the diamond king. Be it known to all those present that on this day, the tenth of July, in the two hundred and sixth year of the Dragonas’ Reign, we usher in a new season: the season of the sapphire king. And may it so be recorded in the annals of history, without delay or objection, that his reign is supreme.”
Feeling the full weight of the moment, Dante Dragona kneeled on the floor before his slain father’s throne and bowed his head with humility as Prince Damian stepped forward, placed the golden, bejeweled crown on Dante’s head, and bent at the waist in a gesture of tribute and veneration. Great Nuri, it felt like only yesterday when Dante had made that fateful decision to place Matthias’ soul inside Prince Damian’s body, and now they were actually here, at the foot of the throne, before all of Castle Dragon…
Prince Drake stepped forward next, and his kind hazel eyes beamed with affection and reverence. As Drake shrouded Dante’s shoulders in the heavy purple-and-gold brocade robe, Dante couldn’t help but remember another momentous evening: the night after Mina’s brutal whipping when Dante had used Magic to take the punishment for her, when he and Drake had spoken openly with both Mina and Tatiana about matters involving the Realm—when they had all but whispered of sedition while explaining the importance of obeying the king and honoring one’s duty.
Had the plan been set into motion that night?
If only by the gods?
Drake bowed low. “My king,” he whispered, and Dante’s eyes filled with moisture. His baby brother had been loyal to the bitter end.
When Prince Ari climbed the stairs of the dais, balancing a red satin pillow in his left hand—a pillow with a golden signet ring lying atop the crimson cloth—Dante had to stiffen his spine and struggle not to tremble. Although the crowd did not yet understand the significance of the presentation, Dante understood it well: Prince Ari Dragona was Dante’s eldest son, and he was next in line for the throne of Castle Dragon. Rubbing his thumb in a circular motion over the golden dragon’s sapphire eye, Prince Ari slipped the ring on Dante’s third finger and met his sire’s proud paternal gaze. “Father,” he whispered so quietly, it was more like a thought than a spoken word, and Dante closed his eyes.
Yes…
Father…
Not uncle…
He blinked his eyes back open and waited as Ari bowed before him, and then Dante took a deep, cleansing breath, watching his son retreat, and waited until he reached the bottom of the dais.
It was done.
After two hundred years living beneath tyranny, the succession of kings was done.
And the Dragona princes had presented a powerful, unified front: a demonstration of family, loyalty, and a united monarchy.
Dante stood to his full, imposing height, and Thomas the squire reached out for his hand, bent to kiss his ring, and turned one last time to face the gallery. “Long live the king of Dragons Realm, and long may the sapphire dragon rule! All hail King Dante Dragona.”
Every knee bent.
Every head bowed.
And the hall fell eerily silent.
And in that sacred moment of final coronation, the doors to the throne room flew open, a white owl darted in, landing on the upper ledge of the column nearest to the throne, and a golden finger on an ethereal, preternatural hand alighted as if bathed in fire. Above and behind King Dante’s throne, the apparition began to scribe several letters, until at last, nine words were emblazoned on the throne room wall in the ancient syllabary of the common tongue:
Behold, the greatest king to ever rule the Realm.
Dante staggered sideways, and Mina Louvet rushed forward to brace him by the arm. “My king,” she whispered, doing her best to prop his heavy frame up. “The ceremony isn’t over—you still have the proclamations.”
King Dante gawked at the fresh, preternatural inscription. “Desmond,” he muttered, his voice thick with awe.
Mina brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. “Yes. The gods have blessed you, King Dante, and it has taken a lot of pain, sorrow, and loss to get here. Now, share your law with your court.”
He squeezed Mina’s hand, turned to face the gobsmacked gallery—half of the onlookers were visibly trembling—and cleared his throat to bring them back to attention. “On this first day of my rule, the season of the sapphire king, I shall make several announcements and royal proclamations. Take these decrees back to your districts, disseminate them amongst your populations, and relay the message that my word is now your law. You may rise.” He raised Mina’s hand as the crowd ambled to their feet, and once again, the throng began to murmur. “First and foremost, the Sklavos Ahavi of Castle Umbras is no longer a servant of that district. She is the mistress of Castle Dragon, and she is no longer a consort—but a queen. Behold Her Majesty Mina Louvet, queen of Castle Dragon.”
Thos
e who didn’t gasp tried to speak, only to stutter like mad hatters.
Those who didn’t stutter either swayed on their feet, grasped their chests, or gestured incredulously with their hands.
Cassidy Bondeville hung her head in shame, no longer able to even glance toward the dais, and from the corner of his eye, off in the other direction, King Dante saw Margareta Louvet, Mina’s mother, grasp Soren’s arm as her knees buckled beneath her. Fortunately, her husband caught her, even as he gawked, wide-eyed and incredulous, at King Dante, his pinpoint eyes darting back and forth between the two monarchs with both shock and curiosity.
And then Mina’s father began to cry, and Dante had to turn away.
There were a number of proclamations still to announce.
Realizing that the manure had yet to get deep, Dante chose to just put it all out there. He waved his arm in a regal arc, indicating the three princes to his left, beneath the dais. “Second, and equally significant, Prince Ari Dragona, Prince Azor Dragona, and Prince Asher Dragona are my sons with Queen Mina, dragons of my seed and my blood. They will reside with their king and their mother in the halls of Castle Dragon.”
The chaos that followed was just short of pandemonium: Several women grasped their breasts and cried out; a few loyal servants hit the floor—they simply toppled over and fainted—and still others, more modest males from the commonlands, lowered their heads and shielded their eyes, as if witnessing some forbidden act of fornication right there on the dais.
Mina raised her brows and spoke telepathically to Dante, trusting that the supernatural king could hear her: Well, hell, King Dante, why not just put it all out there? No need to beat around the bush.