The Dragon Princess

by Paris Hansch

  “We’re having a banquet tonight, and this is the aftermath of the preparations. You two,” she pointed at Anton and Ban, “get to work. I want this done before sundown.” She walked off, leaving them to stare at each other. This was one of the few times when he would admit that he was wrong—it could get worse.

  Ban flung his arm around Anton’s shoulder. “This’ll be fun, won’t it?”

  “You have a rather warped definition of fun.” He could practically feel Ban’s eyes glittering. Not again.

  “You take that side, and I’ll take this side. Whoever’s done first wins.”

  “That’s—”

  “Afraid of losing?”

  Anton clenched his fist. This was all her fault. He turned to Vivian, ignoring Ban. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She nodded, not looking the least bit fazed by the amount of work before them. Vivian called over a few of her maids, instructing them to start toting and boiling water. Soon, they were buried arms-deep in soapy water, with Ban and Vivian delegating with ease.

  Anton edged back and forth, unsure of what to do. Every time he moved to help, another pair of hands was already filling the gap, while Ban worked seamlessly with the others, calling out instructions exactly when needed. An efficient, productive line. Anton sighed, backing away. He’d never washed a dish in his life, and he clearly wasn’t cut out for this.

  Ban glanced up at him, tilting his head. “Giving up so soon? Guess it’s my win.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You haven’t even tried.”

  Anton paused. This was none of his business, but Ban never left him alone. That was it. He headed straight for the back door. It didn’t matter what that girl said; he wasn’t listening any longer.

  “What they say about you is only true if you believe it, too,” Ban called out.

  Anton stepped out onto the castle grounds, shutting the door and all of the noise with it. The Celestine Forest hugged the edge of the grounds like a silent, living wall. Ban had no concept of what was happening, and he never would. It was one thing for his sister to play around with arrows. But the second-born lord emptying chamber pots and ironing delicates? It was humiliating.

  With the number of people who saw him doing menial tasks today, it was certainly a topic of conversation. The servants talked loud enough for him to hear, as if it hardly mattered if they were caught gossiping about the second born. And it didn’t matter, he was simply the spare. Alexander was the only one not being subjected to this, and he was off doing dragon knows what with that girl and her friends.

  Anton found himself wandering deep into the forest, traversing a trickling stream. The trees stretched their long shadows across the ground as the sun began to set, and he spied a foxen dashing through the bushes, its white bushy tail and almost clear, curved horns blending in with the surroundings. It was gone in an instant, the trail of pawprints lightly pressed into the snow the only evidence that it was even there to begin with. There were a couple of wild crowcodiles peering down at him from a tree, their beady eyes as unnerving as their many teeth. It was no wonder their presence was bad luck, but that didn’t stop some of their men from taming them.

  His head hurt, and he rubbed his temples, massaging them as he closed his eyes. What would happen if he kept walking and never returned? His brother would probably want to organize a search party, but his councilors would argue that they couldn’t spare the manpower. Anton’s duties weren’t essential, and neither was his presence. He could just disappear.

  He opened his eyes and stopped dead in his tracks. The babbling stream, the rustling leaves, the chirping birds—it had all stopped. It was deathly silent. Anton whirled around, looking for the little colored lights that were usually around when something odd happened. But there was nothing. He hadn’t left Anadrieth, but he was no longer there, either. It was as if nothing living had ever existed here at all—exactly as it had been in the arena. His heart was pounding. The emptiness was suffocating. He had to get out of here.

  Anton backed up, tripping over his feet. He fell into something warm, and a hand closed around his arm. A calm voice cut through the silence.

  “Are you all right?”

  Anton shook the hand away, scrambling through the snow. The world throbbed back into focus, and slowly, the other sounds returned. His head tilted back, and a pair of stunning turquoise eyes gazed down at him. Like pools of still water, they drew him in, almost as if he were in a trance. Blonde locks fell over the man’s forehead, gently cascading around his neck. A cloak was pinned around his shoulders, a waistcoat fitted around his lithe figure. That wasn’t Anadese clothing.

  Anton swallowed, standing up straight. The stranger was almost three heads taller than him.

  “Are you all right?” the man repeated, enunciating his words. His lips were a pale red, his skin tan.

  “I’m… fine.” Anton didn’t know where to look.

  The man suddenly reached for his hand, peering at the wound that was now scabbed over. Anton blinked. His large hands were surprisingly soft.

  The man frowned slightly. “Severe burn.”

  Anton was yanked sideways as the man strode toward the stream in one step, dragging him along. He firmly dipped their hands into the freezing water, and Anton yelped, his knees hitting the ground.

  “What do you think you’re—”

  The man paid him no heed, staring intently into the stream. Anton’s hand began to tingle, and he thought that he saw the little blue lights again, but they were gone almost immediately. As he lifted his hand from the water, Anton’s mouth fell open. The skin had completely smoothed over, and not a trace of a wound remained. It was the same healing magic that Elaine could do, only far, far better.

  The man stared at him, then brushed Anton’s hair away from his eye, his fingertips briefly touching the scar.

  Anton scrambled backward. “Don’t touch me.”

  The man shook his head. “It’s too old.” Anton thought that he saw a twinge of regret pass over his face, but the man stood, offering him his hand as though the situation were completely normal.

  Anton ignored the outstretched hand and reached for his sword, but it wasn’t on his belt. It shouldn’t have taken him this long to notice its absence, but his thoughts were more jumbled than usual.

  “Who are you?”

  The man seemed to study him for a moment. “Cynric.”

  Anton frowned. That was a strange name. “You’re not from here, are you?”

  “Calvera.”

  That explained the height. Anton’s muscles suddenly tensed. Had they already been invaded? He scanned the forest, but there was no movement. Perhaps the man was just a scout, though the stocky horse behind him didn’t appear to be the type for espionage. Then again, an enemy wouldn’t heal him. His mind raced over the possibilities.

  Cynric’s expression didn’t change. “I’m looking for Princess Mina.”

  The statement hit Anton squarely in the chest. Was everyone after that girl? She was nothing special. There was a good chance that Cynric wasn’t part of the war, then, but Anton wasn’t about to let his guard down. He pointed feebly toward the castle. If Cynric had hostile intentions, he was sure that his brother could handle one man, even if he did appear to be a half-giant.

  Cynric nodded.

  Suddenly, hands circled Anton’s waist, and he found that his feet no longer touched the ground. The next instant, he was atop the massive horse.

  “Wait a minute—”

  Cynric mounted behind him, nudging the horse to a canter. His chest was pressed into Anton’s back, and thick arms wrapped around either side of him as Cynric held the reins. Anton was frozen, trying to hold back a sneeze. He couldn’t.

  Cynric’s voice was close to his ear. “Horses?”

  Anton nodded. His mind wasn’t functioning properly. It seemed like an eternity until they arrived back at the castle. Upon their arrival, the guards had finally caught onto the situation, and they surrounded th
em with their weapons drawn. Cynric remained composed, once again offering his hand after he dismounted, but Anton quickly flung himself off of the other side.

  People were staring. The guards didn’t even bother to ask Anton if the stranger was a guest or if he had been taken hostage. They bombarded Cynric with questions, though it wasn’t long before the girl emerged.

  “Cynric!”

  Cynric’s mouth curved upward as she embraced him, and he put his arm around her shoulder.

  Anton stared at his feet, twisting his boot into the ground. Maybe he should leave.

  Cynric began unwrapping her bandages, reaching for the gourd on his belt and pouring water onto his hands. Like he had done for Anton, her shoulder was as good as new. He was a truly talented healer; he didn’t even look tired. The girl rotated her shoulder, grinning, and pulled Cynric inside.

  “You’re just in time for the banquet.”

  As if nothing had happened, the guards returned to their duties, and a servant took the horse to the stables. Anton trudged after them, keeping his distance. It wasn’t like he cared what the girl did. She did seem to be excessively tactile with her friends, but it wasn’t his business.

  As he stepped into the banquet hall, his eyes widened. Within hours, it had been transformed into a room fit for imperial royalty, the entire hall immersed in white and gold. Where they had gotten all of it, he couldn’t be sure. Dancers and musicians entertained from either side of the room, and rows of long tables had been placed in the center, piled high with smoked meats and other delicacies. Apparently, this was the type of occasion on which to waste a massive portion of their food stores.

  Anton couldn’t even tell the tables apart. Councilor Dallan sat beside Elaine, Master Raoul beside Jane. Men were with women, soldiers with servants, just as it had been all day. The girl stood at the front table with Alexander and Adelia, and Anton took his place next to them. He sucked in a breath as Cynric stood to his right. He hadn’t realized just how tall the man was.

  “Welcome friends…” the girl began.

  Anton tapped his fingers on the chair, tuning out the girl’s voice, no doubt spewing some formal niceties. He scanned the crowd’s attentive faces, each of them hooked to the girl’s every word. What a difference birthright and a title made. Were people really that subservient that they would go along with whatever she said?

  “—as we congratulate Ban. We are appointing him as your newest general.”

  Anton whipped his head to face her, then Ban, who slowly approached them. He looked just as shocked as Anton felt. His father, General Barret, was still with the others, staring down at the table.

  “I don’t understand,” said Ban.

  Alexander reached out his hand, shaking his. “The decision was mine. After watching you over the past few days, I can’t think of a better man to lead my army. You have the respect of not only the soldiers but also the rest of the household, and I know they would fight to the death for you. I look forward to riding out to battle with you.”

  Anton turned away. Of course, he should have expected that the girl would pull out something like that. He couldn’t disagree with the decision, however. Ban had a certain charisma that his father just never possessed. But if they were choosing a new general, why hadn’t he been considered, as well? He could have done the job just as well.

  He glanced at Ban and the crowd surrounding him, offering hesitant but warm congratulations. Anton let out a breath. No, he was only fooling himself. They wouldn’t have reacted that way for him. He wasn’t a leader—or their friend.

  Everyone was seated a few minutes later, and the celebrations began once more. Anton resigned himself to putting some food on his plate. Oddly enough, the banquet hall didn’t feel as awkward as he thought it would. People were passing plates around, chattering and laughing, just like they would do during the Celestial Dragon Festival. The only people who seemed irked were the councilors, but since they weren’t sitting together, they were eventually pulled into conversation like everyone else. It was sort of nice.

  Beside him, Alexander leaned closer to the girl, his hand running along the back of his neck. “About the other night,” he began. Anton’s ears pricked up. This should be good. “Circumstances have changed drastically, but I would like to… express my interest.”

  Anton stole a glance at the girl. Her expression was blank, well-practiced.

  “The imperial household has, indeed, taken many consorts. There’s nothing unusual about that. But I’m afraid I must decline, for your sake.” She was quickly pulled into conversation with Kakeru, who was downing mugs of ale like water.

  His brother looked perplexed. She was clearly the first woman to outright reject him. Anton almost considered that a point in her favor. Not many would have the dignity to reject a handsome lord like him.

  Anton stifled a smirk. “Tough luck.”

  Alexander narrowed his eyes. “Shut up.”

  Anton twirled his fork between his fingers, listening to his sister at the other side of the table talking with the Lysanthian woman, who was waving her arms around and regaling some grand tale about fantastical machines. Whatever that was. He could tell that Adelia wasn’t fond of their guests, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

  That little orphan girl, Scarlet, was sitting on Adelia’s lap, heavily engrossed in the food in front of her. Why she was sitting at the head table, he had no idea. Oddly enough, Scarlet seemed a little familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She had a slight orange glow around her that ebbed and flowed randomly. Anton concentrated on them for a little while, trying to ignore the man to his right. There were two empty chairs beside them, as well, as if those people had somewhere more important to be.

  Cynric sipped his drink, and even that movement was graceful. He wasn’t muscular like Ban or his other companion, Kakeru, but a fight with him surely wouldn’t end well. His homeland, Calvera, was built within the stonewood canopies themselves; he had to be considerably strong, even if he was a healer. Cynric tilted his head toward him, and Anton realized that he’d been staring.

  “Nice weather we’re having,” Anton mumbled, shoving a forkful of roasted foxen into his mouth.

  Cynric raised an eyebrow. “We’re inside.”

  Of course, they were. What a stupid thing to say. Anton took a long drink, fighting the reddening of his cheeks. He nodded to the two empty chairs.

  “You know who else was meant to be here?”

  Cynric nodded, taking a bite of the ice pear pie, but he didn’t respond. Anton awkwardly changed the subject.

  “Why were you so far away from the main gates? Your companions entered from the front.”

  “I’m Calveran.”

  “Oh.”

  He must have known about the upcoming war and wanted to avoid trouble, which was surprisingly considerate—and clever—though it had come across as suspicious when he first encountered the man. Anton squeezed his hand into a ball. It really didn’t hurt anymore.

  “So, why did you help me?”

  Cynric blinked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I could have been anyone for all you knew, an enemy or something.”

  “Exactly,” said Cynric. His eyes were soft, as though they were trying to convey a deeper understanding.

  Anton stared at his plate. Perhaps this man saw no difference between friend or foe, as long as they were people who needed help, but it was a naïve worldview.

  “Who gave you that idea?”

  “Princess Mina.”

  Of course. Anton closed his eyes for a moment. “If she’s so important to all of you, why have you only shown up now?”

  Cynric looked pointedly at Anton’s hand. “We have jobs that must be done.”

  “And what if she never made such a scene with that commander? How would you have found her?”

  “Our task is to help people and it hasn’t changed. Princess Mina is, as she keeps telling us, just one of those people.”

  It di
dn’t make any sense to him, but he wanted to stop talking about her. As he opened his mouth again, a loud bang caught everyone’s attention. The hall doors had been flung open, and a strange man stood alone at the entrance. From his hood to his boots and even to his gloves, he was dressed entirely in black, as if a shadow were engulfing him. He pulled the cloth from over his mouth.

  “Are you all having a feast without me?” he said.

  Guards caught up to him from behind, and some of the soldiers at the tables had drawn their weapons. Anton shook his head. Ban had his work cut out for him. Their men had some of the slowest reaction times he’d ever seen. Not like he could talk, though. Who was this man? Neither Cynric nor the girl seemed alarmed, so perhaps he was one of the missing guests.

  Kakeru stood, bumping the table. “Hey—where is she?” he half-slurred.

  “Sit down,” Sara hissed, yanking his mug from him.

  The man’s expression fell, and he sprinted up to their table. He glanced over all of them, the bags under his eyes evident.

  “Lord Tamar took Hanabi.”

  17

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alexander

  “You had one job,” Kakeru shouted, knocking his mug off of the table. “Of all the incompetent fools. I suppose it’s now my fault I paired Hanabi with Ryuko.”

  Alexander assumed that this Hanabi and Ryuko were more of Mina’s friends, or more accurately, her imperial guard.

  The man—Ryuko—removed his hood. Dark hair framed his face, tattered and scruffy, as though he hadn’t maintained it in months. He slammed a letter on the table and stared at Mina, blatantly ignoring Kakeru.

  “I also intercepted this as I was arriving.”

  Mina broke the seal of the winding sea serpent—the Elorian crest. Alexander swallowed, leaning closer to her as she tilted the paper toward him. It was an extremely short letter, and he suddenly felt faint. His words barely escaped his lips.