by Tessa Dawn
Dante turned away from the mirror and shook his head abruptly.
He was desperate to expunge the vision, yet it wouldn’t go away.
When, at last, he glanced at his reflection a second time, the likeness of his brother sharpened, came more fully into focus, and Desmond locked his gaze with Dante’s in a severe, unblinking stare. “Behold, the greatest king to ever rule the Realm.” He spoke with the dragon’s voice, and Dante practically quaked in his boots.
An enormous crown, inlayed with precious jewels and rare exquisite etchings, began to rotate in soft, luminescent circles above the dragon’s head. It was strangely akin to a halo or a mystical aura, and it drew attention to the dragon’s third eye in a way that could only be described as a focused beacon of light, a supernatural allegory for the dragon’s second sight…
For Dante’s second sight.
Desmond spoke again. “Just as the apex of a triangle sits like a king on a throne, supported by two sides and one base, so shall the greatest ruler of this realm be made wise and strong by the three legs that will support his foundation.”
Like a sudden gust of tumultuous wind, clouds gathering before a storm, three distinct masculine figures swept across the screen—two of them flanked the mighty dragon with the crown, one on his left and one on his right, and the third knelt at the serpent’s feet.
Dante’s mouth fell open as he stared at the masculine personas—three strong, healthy lads—and while their age was impossible to determine, each one possessed an unmistakable regal bearing, the countenance of a prince; and each one, to a lad, had deep green eyes, the color of…Mina Louvet’s.
The storm passed as quickly as it had mounted; the children were simply gone; and Desmond spoke again: “Three children. Three decades. Three acts of deception—three betrayals. The prophecy has already begun. Do what you must to strengthen the Realm; seek justice, morality, and peace; obey our father in the light of day, but rise to your calling in the dark of night.” Before Dante could speak or react, Desmond whispered, “Brother, you are never alone.”
Then, in the blink of an eye, the apparition was gone.
Dante took three generous steps back from the mirror.
He brushed his hands over his face and shivered, recalling each and every word from the vision, committing both the verses and the visage to memory, memorializing the dragon’s eyes.
And he knew—he just did—exactly what it meant.
The dragon in the glass was his future self, and he would one day be king of the Realm. He would, indeed, usurp his father: not Damian, not Drake, but him. He would rise to power in a sudden surge, like the swell of a rapid storm, and the winds that would carry him to greatness would not be his determination, backed by the fealty of his two brothers, but the loyalty and strength of his sons, of children he had yet to sire, children born of Mina’s womb.
Suddenly, the tryst near the traders’ encampment took on a whole new meaning, and his choice to deceive his brother seemed less like a betrayal and more like a ploy, like his destiny unfolding…for a reason. Yet he also intrinsically knew that the shift in power would be subtle and unassuming, until the day of reckoning came. He would have to keep this omen and his intentions hidden, carefully concealed; he would have to make sure that the storm lay dormant for the next thirty-one years, until such time as he was able to fully shift.
He would have to be impeccable in his actions and his words.
Dante stiffened, understanding for perhaps the first time in his life what he was truly meant to do, both what and who he was fated to become: a dragon that ruled the Realm with smoke and fire; subtlety and strength; deception and morality.
He would have to be oh so very careful.
He would have to be cunning and deliberate.
And he would have to be as ruthless as he was patient.
For the good of the Realm, Dante Dragona would have to appease his father, continue his preassigned role, and bide his time; and somehow—someway—he would have to gain favor with Mina Louvet, for her involvement, secrecy, and complicity were integral to his success.
As hard as it was to believe, Dante needed Mina.
Chapter Twenty-four
Damian Dragona emerged on the eastern side of the narrow ravine, about a mile inland from Dracos Cove, just before twilight. He was careful to remain on the distant outskirts of the traders’ encampment, lest there be too many inquisitive ears and watchful eyes nearby, eager to witness his presence. He immediately scanned the dimly lit area for any hint of danger, an unknown enemy, or a member of the king’s court who had managed to follow him into the interior. He had prearranged the meeting weeks ago with Thaon Percy, a heretofore enemy who was now an unlikely ally and cohort, a barbaric shifter, and the rightful king of the Lycanians.
He ran a splayed hand through his thick golden hair, readjusted the leather thong, and sighed as he kicked a dead squirrel out of his path and took a seat on a nearby hollowed-out log, waiting for Thaon to arrive. He and the crafty Lycanian had planned the entire conflict beautifully. They had done what needed to be done. And while many innocent players had lost their lives, and many more would carry permanent scars and injuries for the rest of their days, the cost and the collateral damage were miniscule when one considered the enormous payoff to the Realm, the gigantic leap forward that would be made on behalf of all its citizens.
For as long as Damian could remember, the Lycanians had bested the Umbrasians, Warlochians, and commoners in all manner of commerce and trade. Their fabrics were more refined; their engineering was more advanced; and their art was more valuable and exquisite. It made no sense to continue trading for goods and commodities the Realm could potentially produce for itself. Why limit the internal revenue and economic potential to restricted, local commerce and ever-increasing taxes when there was an entire world of export just waiting to be had? Why constrain one’s labor force to narrow, antiquated districts; archaic, secluded villages; and proscribed but specialized merchants when the kingdom could bring in labor from other lands, enslave foreigners from other states, and revolutionize a whole new brand of industry, simply by taking a courageous step forward, by forging a lasting and mutually beneficial alliance with their oldest and most formidable enemy, the Lycanians?
Thaon had seen the vast potential when he had reached out to Damian over two years ago, asking the prince for an audience, and Damian had seen it too, the moment the wily shifter had described his ultimate vision: The Dragons Realm was rich in natural resources and ripe with raw, untapped power. It was teeming with magical inhabitants and imbued with preternatural strength, but the world beyond the Realm was so much larger, so much more expansive, than King Demitri understood. And that was the Realm’s critical weakness. An alliance between the two most powerful species on the face of the earth—the dragons and the shifters—would not only be unstoppable, it would herald the beginning of a golden age, a time of absolute prosperity, influence, and dominion…at least for the powerful.
For the mighty.
For Damian Dragona and Thaon Percy, a shifter who was as eager to usurp his brother, Bayard, as the rightful monarch of Lycania as Damian was to one day rule Castle Dragon in the place of King Demitri.
And so the two had plotted, schemed, and prearranged: Thaon had promised Prince Damian 1,000 years of peace, 100 seaworthy vessels that could be used to conquer and trade, and to openly share the lucrative, time-tested methods of Lycanian weaving, engineering, and artistry—with all the inhabitants of the Realm—in exchange for the indefinite military might and backing of a primordial dragon. True, it would be another fifty-one years before the two could fully seal their deal or cement their pact, before Damian could fully shift into a wholly formed dragon, but time was of little consequence to such long-lived beings. If Damian would promise to help place Thaon on the Lycanian throne—right now—to one day accompany the Lycanian fleet on slave raids and invasions, and to back Thaon’s rule with his own indestructible might, that would be enough.
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And so, together, the two had hatched a plot to overthrow King Bayard in one swift and definitive blow. They had agreed to stage an epic battle on the sands of Dracos Cove, a battle that would result in catastrophic losses for the Lycanian troops and invaders. They had convinced King Bayard that the Lycanians had an inside ally, a traitor, residing in Castle Dragon, who was intimately close to the king and only too willing to betray him, a rebel confederate who would insure the Lycanians’ success. Furthermore, they had convinced King Bayard that the rebel had sworn to drug, shackle, and confine the powerful monarch from May 24th to May 29th, thus preventing the king from shifting for the duration of the invasion, for the entirety of the battle; and Prince Damian had demonstrated this traitor’s ability to bypass the king and access the castle’s resources by shipping one crate full of silver and gold coins, as well as a dozen illegal slaves, to Lycania, every other week for six months.
Convinced that King Demitri would be drugged, indisposed, and shackled at the time of the incursion, King Bayard had commanded the invasion, sent his best ships and troops to the sands of the cove; and arrogantly awaited word of the destruction and booty.
Needless to say, things had not gone as the Lycanian king had planned. He had unwittingly led his armies to a wholesale slaughter, and the miscalculation would soon cost him his throne…if not his very life.
Now, as Damian waited to confer with his cohort, he couldn’t help but smile at the stunning success of the plot. The shifters had taken the bait, and King Demitri had massacred the entire Lycanian fleet with the ease and alacrity of a giant dispatching a newborn kitten. Thaon would undoubtedly be named king in the weeks that followed, and Damian would one day be known as the greatest ruler—the most powerful dragon—to ever oversee the Realm. In a curious shift of fate, he would come to be known as the dragon who brought ultimate prosperity and progress to an antiquated land. All that remained to be done was to see Thaon safely home before Damian’s father or his brothers discovered his nefarious role in the bloody, pre-orchestrated battle.
“Beautiful day for a devastating defeat.” A gruff, menacing voice pierced the silence as Thaon Percy appeared, all at once, as if out of a mist, and sauntered up to the log.
Damian stiffened and stood up. “Indeed, my clever friend. Indeed.”
“I’m glad to see you made it out of the scuffle alive.”
Damian sneered. “Scuffle…whatever. It was a bit of a challenge for a few hours, followed by a blanket slaughter.” He smiled. “And you, of course, hid out quietly—and safely—in our own traders’ encampment, masquerading as a common human citizen of Dragons Realm.” He waved his hand in silent dismissal of the menial topic and immediately turned to more important matters: the victory. “So how many Lycanian lives were lost, my good friend? Two thousand? Three? Great Master of Vengeance, it was a brutal massacre, was it not?”
Thaon grew uncharacteristically quiet, undoubtedly reflecting on the terrible carnage and the piteous loss of life. “Too many, my ally.” He sighed. “But all necessary for the future we seek.” He drew back his shoulders and raised his chin in proud defiance. “And what about on your side? How many loyal subjects of Castle Dragon were ushered into the Eternal Realm of Peace—or the Eternal Realm of Suffering—as the case may have been?”
Damian frowned, refusing to answer the question, refusing to give Thaon the slightest satisfaction in knowing his side had taken lives—it was of no matter, whatsoever, the unfortunate loss of life. In fact, all things considered, it had been a meager price to pay for an immeasurable gain. It was simply something that needed to be done. As it stood, King Bayard had made a grievous error; his reign as the monarch of Lycania was over; and now it was time to embrace the future. He winked at Thaon in a slightly derisive gesture. “You needn’t worry about the Realm, my friend. Trust me; I have matters well in hand.” A sly smile curved along his outer lips, and he raised his brows. “In fact, we were able to contain a potential mishap when two of your comrades broke through our lines and headed inland. My brother dispatched them as easily as my father dispatched our foes.” He gesticulated impishly. “Well, Castle Dragon’s foes—you and I understand that we are all mutual friends.”
Thaon bristled at Prince Damian’s cavalier words as well as the sparsely veiled superiority. “Your brother dispatched them?”
Damian nodded, unbothered. “Indeed.”
“Prince Drake or Prince Dante?”
This time, Damian sneered. “What difference does it make?”
The Lycanian shrugged. “None, I suppose. Just curious.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looked off into the distance, and squinted. “Hmm.”
Damian didn’t appreciate Thaon’s tone. He didn’t like the curious look on his face or his subtle, self-satisfied demeanor. If they were to be allies—and without question, they were—then a bit of rival banter was fine, harmless and expected between powerful males—after all, they had been enemies for years—but serious disrespect of any kind? Well, that would not be tolerated, not in Dragons Realm. “Yes, my friend: Prince Dante dispatched the shifters. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
Thaon turned his attention back to Damian, this time, biting his bottom lip and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as if he was avoiding…something. “Then you’ve spoken to your brother, recently?” he asked.
Damian crooked his head to the side and unwittingly cracked his neck, waiting to see where this was going.
“I mean, about the battle and my…comrades…the ones who almost got away?”
Prince Damian slowly inclined his head in an amiable, affirmative gesture, yet his lips drew taut as he replied. “I was briefed on the situation by a watchman from my Umbrasian guard.” He absently rubbed his jaw, relieving some unwanted tension—his teeth were clenched way too tight. He sighed. “Thaon, my friend: We have orchestrated a spectacular feat together—have we not?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “And while I am more pleased than you could ever know with the outcome, I’d also like to keep the lines of communication open.” He smacked his lips together in emphasis. “How shall I say this?” He toggled his hands up and down in the air as if searching for just the right words. “It’s important that we…maintain some perspective…with regard to our relative roles. After all, I am a dragon, and you are a shifter. And while both of our kingdoms will benefit from this day, long into the future, one should not forget what that future will look like.” He narrowed his eyes in contempt, foregoing all pretense of civility. “When that future arrives, I will be as my father was today: capable of absolute annihilation, capable of destroying an entire fleet—of any enemy—at my will and my discretion.” He immediately held up a placating hand, lest Thaon become offended. “You, of course, are not an enemy, nor will you be one at such time. However, it is important that you understand this notable difference between us, so that our light-hearted, masculine rivalries—our inevitable competitive banter—does not get out of hand.” He softened his gaze. “Above all, I expect your undying loyalty, and always…your honesty. Like you, I am not much for playing feminine games.”
Thaon snarled like the animal he was, but Damian didn’t take any offense. It was a pure territorial reaction from a predatory beast, from his inner Lycanian monster, and to do any less would have been a great sign of weakness, unbefitting of a future king. “Of course,” the Lycan hissed, even as his jaw tightened. “Just so long as you also…understand…that in less than one month’s time, I will be the sovereign and solitary king of the most financially powerful, commercially lucrative, and densely populated country in our lands.”
Damian smiled broadly. He bent infinitesimally at the waist and gestured grandly with his hand, drawing a wide arc through the air. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Thaon drew in a deep breath of air and let it out slowly, nodding his head with deference. “Very well, then…” He took a moment to appease his beast. “And you’re right: We should both be careful…being two alpha males and all.” T
here was no need to elaborate.
Damian relaxed his posture and smiled again, understanding his ally’s need to save face.
“And on that note,” Thaon continued, “and, of course, in the spirit of friendship, there is something you should probably know.” He paused unexpectedly, as if carefully considering his next words, and this piqued Damian’s curiosity. “Unfortunately, it is somewhat of a sensitive nature, the type of thing one might consider personal, perhaps even…unwelcome.”
Damian crooked his eyebrows and waited, though his gut was beginning to clench.
“As we both know, I have extremely sensitive ears and preternatural vision at night, so it wasn’t that I was spying…or wandering…I just happened to—”
“Out with it!” Damian snarled, his temper getting the best of him. He tried to force a weak smile in the wake of his outburst and failed. “Just say what you have to say.”
“Very well,” Thaon replied. “Your brother bed your wife, or your slave—whatever you call the poor girls now, your Ahavi—and he did it no more than fifty yards from where we’re standing.” He averted his eyes out of respect…or maybe pity? “I heard the whole thing, and I’m sorry to say, but she seemed all too willing.”
Damian’s heart stuttered in his chest. “What did you just say to me?” There was nothing amiable or arrogant in his tone.
Thaon froze. “I…I just—”
“What—the—devil—did—you—just—say?”
“Prince Dante confronted two of my comrades near that large maple tree”—he gestured in the general direction—“and then he took the Ahavi, Mina, who was already here, laid her on the ground, and coupled with her.” He pointed at a small rectangular clearing, in the midst of several adjacent trees, and indicated the leveled dirt and the ruffled grass. “I didn’t hear the entire conversation—I was quite some distance away—but the prince said something about an elixir and bearing his offspring. I just thought you should know.”