by J. D. Monroe
Contents
Speak The Language
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
What Now?
Also by JD Monroe
About the Author
DRAGON’S VOW Copyright 2019 by J.D. Monroe.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Mighty Fine Books, LLC
PO Box 956
Evans, GA 30809
Editing by Gayla Leath
Cover Design by Celtic Ruins Designs
Book Design and Ebook Formatting by Katzilla Designs
ISBN: 978-1-944142-28-5
First Edition: 2019
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Created with Vellum
The Dragons of Ascavar – the Kadirai – have their own language and customs. While all terms are explained in context, if you want to follow along with the language of the dragons and learn more about their culture, you can check out this link to the Kadirai glossary on my website:
| SPEAK THE LANGUAGE |
I will do whatever you ask for the good of our family.
Prince Zayir Moltenheart often regretted his long-ago promise to his twin sister, two minutes younger but twice as ambitious. He had sworn it to her when she made her move for the throne, risking the ire of their kin for such boldness. His promise was carved into his skin in faded scars and inked with his blood, long soaked into the shattered lands of the Shadowflight. His vow had once led him to secure a lucrative trade deal by seducing a pair of dragon nobles from House Stormhaze, which was an enjoyable, if somewhat bewildering experience for all three of them.
But this was beyond anything the queen had ever asked of him.
The prince leaned over the edge of his balcony, craning his neck to see the wide thoroughfare that neatly bisected the sprawling city of Ironhold. A gleaming, silver-ornamented carriage trundled down the smooth stone road amidst two lines of spectators trying to catch a glimpse of the prince’s betrothed. The carriage was pulled by a team of black horses with riders in deep red livery. Given his bride’s Edra heritage, he had to wonder if the beasts of burden were unfortunate servants who’d drawn the short straw for the journey or actual horses.
“Sir, please just sit down and stop pacing,” his maid, Netari, fussed. “You look quite handsome.”
“Of course I do,” he murmured, though he couldn’t even muster his usual bluster. He reluctantly turned from the balcony and walked back into his spacious chambers. With a sigh, he plopped down onto a silk-cushioned chair where Netari waited with a metal crown in her hand. She raked her fingers through his hair, sending a tingle down his spine. Cold bit into his forehead as she placed a thin circlet on his head.
Netari circled him, tipping his chin up to look at her. Her blue eyes gleamed as she nodded. “You look ready to meet her.”
“Why don’t you just marry me instead?” he asked. Caught in her grasp, he gave her his most winsome grin to conceal his anxiety. “You’ve seen me naked, it’s a logical step.”
Netari chuckled and gestured for him to stand. Well-trained by a decade of following her orders, Zayir raised his arms so the woman could flip up the tails of his embroidered tunic and adjust his trousers. Once she was pleased with the arrangement of his clothes, she fixed a wide sash around his waist. “Because it would do your sister no good to marry you into a house of seamstresses.” She picked a stray thread from his shoulder. “Also, you’ve got all the wrong parts for me.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
“For you, maybe,” she replied. She turned him around gently by the shoulders. “I, however, am quite pleased with my wife. Now, go meet yours.”
With Netari’s work done, Zayir walked out of his chambers to find two Ironblade soldiers waiting for him. Both men wore deep crimson garments with hammered bronze cuirasses that had been polished to a mirror shine. It seemed that everyone was on orders to look their best for the princess.
“Off we go,” he muttered. The two soldiers fell in behind him as he walked briskly down the hall. The room next to his was bustling with servants preparing for his bride’s arrival. Noisy scrapes rang out as they moved furniture to ensure everything was to her liking. Connected to his room by an interior doorway, the large bedroom had gone unused for decades.
As he descended the stairs, he considered finding the nearest balcony to simply transform and fly down to greet his bride-to-be. But the queen had strictly forbidden it, telling him he was not to frighten off the poor creature within moments of her arrival. He wasn’t sure if his sister was more concerned about Ohrena’s reaction to a massive red dragon or afraid that he would fly away and leave her with no groom.
Agreeing to marry a complete stranger had been easy enough when it was a mere abstraction, a ridiculous idea hatched over dinner that would likely drift into oblivion as so many of his sister’s ideas did. But Queen Tarim had finished the negotiations a month earlier, sealing his fate. Zayir had only been half kidding when he told her he felt like a piece of meat being auctioned to the highest bidder. He had lived within certain confines for all his life, always in his sister’s shadow, knowing he could never take the throne she set her sights upon decades ago. But within those restrictions, he made his own choices. Tarim had asked his permission, but he’d felt there was only one choice before him.
The lower floors of Ironhold were bustling as the staff decorated the halls with scarlet silk banners and glittering gold decorations. The faint scent of something sweet baking tickled his nose. Dozens of voices chattered from open doors, sharing speculation that ranged from the innocent to the borderline traitorous. He caught snippets of a conversation about what the yet-unseen princess would shift into. Some wondered what sort of strange hybrid children they might bear, while a hushed pair of female voices argued over how long it would be until the prince was caught with a mistress in his bed.
He ignored all of it, feigning ignorance as he passed one of the women who’d just been pondering his future fidelity. The main doors to the palace stood open, allowing the icy morning breeze to flow freely through the cavernous halls.
Beyond the doorway, his sister stood at the point of a triangular formation of Ironblade guards and well-dressed ladies-in-waiting. Her retinue all wore crimson and gold, creating a fiery display atop the palace steps. Two more guards in dragon form flanked her, while three red-scaled dragons circled overhead.
The queen was resplendent in a red gown and huge golden crown that caught the morning sun. She wore a treasury’s worth of gold jewelry, with ornaments glittering in her hair and talon-like adornments on her fingers.
She extended a hand to him as he approached. “Su’ud redahn,” he murmured. He kissed the back of her hand. “You look lovely.”
Her eyebrow arched as she surveyed him. “As do you, brother,” she said.
The general of the queen’s guard, the Ironblade, and Zayir’s closest friend, Kaldir Dawnblaze, stepped forward to stand at Tarim’s other shoulder. Like his subordinates, he wore c
rimson garments and hammered bronze armor, but a long mantle draped over his broad shoulders and his sheer size set him apart.
“You look like you’re preparing for war, serani,” Zayir said to his friend, leaning back to speak behind his sister.
Kaldir’s lips pulled into a faint smile, though his amber eyes remained forward, tracking the movements of the carriage. “I only wish to let the al-Katiri clan know that their precious daughter will be safe with us.”
“Of course. I’m sure that’s the only message you wanted to send,” Zayir replied. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were letting them know that an attempt at treachery would be ill-advised.”
“You might interpret it so if you didn’t know better. And if I were concerned that the Thorn might use this as an opportunity to strike at us from within, I would certainly want to discourage them,” Kaldir replied. “But the al-Katiri swear that they have no allegiance to the Thorn, and they are prepared to fully support our efforts to push them out of Mardahl. I would very much like to take them at their word.” He glanced at Zayir. “It pains me to ask for help, but with rumors of war on the horizon, we cannot turn down a powerful ally.”
“And all your peace of mind will cost is my freedom,” Zayir said with mock cheer.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Tarim replied, her eyes cutting to him. “We’ve discussed this.”
“And your wish, as always, is my command, sister,” he said. He drew a deep breath and pasted a smile on his face. It was a carefully crafted mask that conveyed a mix of arrogance and vapidity that served him well.
The entire palace and the city beyond were abuzz about the prince’s impending marriage. Dragons did not marry often. Some, like his sister Tarim, remained faithful to a lover for decades and eventually declared their bond eternal. Others never did, like Kaldir. But there was no expectation that Zayir would someday marry. If he did someday marry, it would certainly be to another highborn dragon, not an Edra noble. Instead, today’s proceedings would cement a political alliance with the shapeshifter nation of Firlanyn through Zayir’s marriage to the daughter of a wealthy clan.
Though their relations with the Edra had been peaceful for centuries, the dragons of the Ironflight had recently been under attack by a splinter group of Edra shapeshifters calling themselves the Thorn. Believing they were the rightful stewards of all the land north of the Azure Peaks, the Thorn had begun attacking Ironflight outposts and attempting to breach the city of Ironhold. They were an annoying threat, but one that had grown over the last few months. At Zayir’s recommendation, the queen had stayed her hand from swift and violent action, fearing that indiscriminate retaliation would turn more of their loyal Edra allies to the cause of the Thorn.
From their first blitz attack on an Ironflight outpost, Zayir had feared that the Thorn would eventually approach Firlanyn and appeal to their common blood to secure the allegiance of the shifter nation. While the dragons were fierce warriors and would likely win, a battle with the greater numbers of Firlanyn would be costlier than it was worth. Furthermore, the Kadirai had mostly been at peace for decades. History told him that this peace would not last, and the Ironflight could not afford to fight on multiple fronts. Though he did not care for the means, Zayir knew it was time to secure any allies they could to strengthen the Ironflight.
The carriage reached the foot of the steps at the castle’s southern approach and the rhythmic clopping of horse hooves halted. Zayir’s heart pounded as the carriage drivers climbed down to open the door. He glanced up at the sky, where three dragons flew in a graceful spiral around one another. It was his last chance to fly away. Perhaps one of them would take his place and marry the Edra girl.
He had made a promise. Tarim would owe him after this, but he would not break his word, not while his heart still beat in his chest.
A distinguished man with thick silver hair emerged from the carriage dressed in a long black overcoat in the fashion he expected of Firlanyn. His eyes flitted around, rising slowly until he saw Zayir and the queen at the top of the stairs. Then he offered his hand into the carriage.
A smaller hand grasped it, and he provided balance for the slender woman that stepped out of the carriage. Her freckled olive skin was accentuated by a fluttering gown of deep scarlet, leaving part of her midriff bare. His breath caught in his throat as she stood up straight. Glossy dark hair streamed over her shoulders in waves.
This was his betrothed.
Behind Ohrena, three women in simple, dark blue clothing scurried out of the carriage. A petite redhead adjusted her dress, fanning the voluminous skirt behind her, while a blonde woman carried a cloak over her arm. Holding out the cloak, the blonde whispered in Ohrena’s ear, but she shook her head and waved her off.
Ohrena’s frame was smaller than that of a Kadirai woman, though there was a pleasant softness to her with full cheeks and a generous bosom. Her eyes were lifted to him, but her expression was somber as she climbed the stairs. He started to approach, but Tarim spoke quietly. “Let them come to us,” she said. “And look at her. I told you she was pretty.”
“You were correct,” Zayir said mildly. Pretty women were hardly a rarity. However, he supposed he had been successful in encouraging rumors of his promiscuous reputation if even his twin sister thought all he cared about was a lovely body to mate with like an undiscerning animal.
The woman’s eyes flitted around, taking in the looming height of Ironhold, then the red dragons flanking him. It felt like the sun had set and risen again by the time she reached the top of the stairs. Her dark hair drifted over her shoulders as she bowed, one hand over her heart.
The older man who’d helped her out of the carriage mimicked the gesture, then rose to present her. “Su’ud redahn, It is my honor to be in your presence once more,” he said in thickly-accented Kadirai, the native tongue of the dragons.
“You are welcome here. I am pleased to see you again. Please rise.” She turned to Zayir and gestured. “My brother, Prince Zayir Moltenheart. We spoke of him.”
“Of course.” The other man bowed. “I am Marev al-Katiri, speaker of the council of Val Legarra, the pride of Firlanyn.”
“It is my great honor,” Zayir said, bowing deeply.
The man’s dark eyes swept over him, creasing slightly. “May I introduce my daughter, Ohrena al-Katiri,” he said. “A true gem in the crown of Firlanyn.”
At the sound of her name, Ohrena stood up straight, meeting Tarim’s gaze. “Su’ud redahn, I am honored to be in your presence,” she said in flawless Kadirai. If Zayir could not smell the distinct thread of Edra blood in her, he would have thought she was a native speaker. There was no trace of her father’s accent in her speech.
“It is my honor to welcome you to Ironhold,” Tarim said. “And to introduce you to my brother, Prince Zayir Moltenheart, descendant of our blessed High Empress Rezharani.”
Ohrena’s eyes drifted to him. “It is my pleasure, su’ud redahn,” she said. Her yellow-green eyes were heavily lined, nearly matching his sister’s, he noted. Her dress was of the current fashion in Ironhold, with flowing folds of crimson fabric that swirled around her legs and slashed sleeves that fell open over slender arms like wings. It seemed she’d dressed to please him. He wondered if that was her own doing or Tarim’s direction.
He didn’t care for being a plaything in Tarim’s schemes, but that was no fault of Ohrena’s. With a smile, he extended his hand to her. A shiver prickled down his spine as she placed her smaller hand in his, allowing him to kiss the back of her hand. “The pleasure is mine to behold such beauty.” As he lowered her hand from his lips, he noticed thin scars across her knuckles, along with a discolored purple scar along the inside of her index finger. Strange.
Her full lips curved in a gentle smile as she nodded to him. Though her bland smile made her look calm, he felt her pulse accelerating. Tension was etched around her eyes, betraying an undercurrent of fear.
You and me both.
“You have traveled
far,” Tarim said. “Please, come in and rest, and we will prepare for the afternoon’s festivities.”
And with that, his chance to escape was gone.
“What if his manhood is covered in scales?” Pamin asked as she braided another thin lock of hair.
Ohrena glared at her blonde-haired maid in the reflection of the large mirror. “It’s not covered in scales. They’re just like us. A bit bigger.”
“A bit bigger, indeed.” Her best friend, Inrada, burst out laughing. “She’s just jealous. The prince was quite handsome.” She leaned in closer to dust a glittering powder over Ohrena’s cheeks. Her flaming red hair hung in an ornate braid over one shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked quietly, her green eyes wide with concern. “We can still leave.”
After meeting the prince, Ohrena and her ladies-in-waiting had been shown to her new home in the palace. Hot tea and a platter of fresh fruits and dried meat were laid out on a table for them, while a young woman scurried about and asked what she could bring up for them. Inrada had finally dismissed the serving girl politely but firmly, leaving them alone to explore the massive room. A large terrace jutted out from one wall, overlooking the sprawling city of Ironhold. A narrow hallway led to a luxurious stone bath, then to another ornate door that went to the prince’s room. The room was twice the size of her rooms back in Val Legarra, though it felt cold and empty, absent of her belongings and the familiar scent of home.
Her third attendant, Zahila, had given them fifteen minutes to explore before insisting that they begin preparing for the wedding. She was laying out the long red dress and inspecting it with military efficiency while the others prepared Ohrena’s hair and makeup.