Fate of the Dragons

  No one could shift due to the green mist. This made them equals.

  She wrung her hands and swallowed. “Very well. I’ll see what he wants.” Her guards at least had their training and weapons. One lowly unarmed human couldn’t prove to be too much of a threat.

  Her heart rate quickened as they walked the palace halls. Once she arrived at the throne room, she drained her face of the fear she felt and replaced it with a cool smile. Years of training had made her an expert at this sort of tactic. She was Princess Noemie of Withrae, daughter to the late King Thorne. No one should have the power to make her feel anything less than pride.

  Head held high, she took elegant strides into the throne room. The ceiling was high and constructed so that Dragons could fly if the need arose. The banners hung on either side of the platform, navy and gold with black dragons wrapped around a single sword.

  One human man stood in the center of the long hall that led to the raised platform where two thrones were set. For a moment, she almost turned around and went back to Macana. Something about him was off-putting. He was tall, with broad shoulders and wore a cloak made of expensive fabric. He carried a cane, but not because he needed one. It was for show, to display wealth. This was a nobleman. That should have put her at ease, but something crackled in the air around him. She could smell it, feel it.

  But, she chose to purse her lips and keep it to herself. She knew he was a wizard, but such knowledge might work to her benefit if she pretended not to know. So, she walked up the side of the platform, up the stairs, and sat in Rickard’s throne.

  Her heart continued to thump in her chest, and she could feel her pulse in her throat. Still, no one would know by looking at her. Her face was serene, hands draped casually on her crossed legs.

  He bowed to her and once she got a good look at his face, her eyes widened ever so slightly. The stranger was handsome—albeit older by possibly two decades—with blue eyes and a strong jaw, and long black hair pulled back. As if he’d read her thoughts, he gave her a charming smile.

  “Sir Warwick Ludlow of Parean,” the palace announcer stated before backing away to stand beside one of the banners.

  “Good day, your royal highness,” he said, placing his hand on the bulb at the top of his cane and balancing it at his side.

  “Sir Warwick Ludlow,” she repeated. “Of Parean, is it? What brings you here? Come to present your king’s surrender?”

  His smile only widened, and her scowl only deepened. She would not be charmed by a human. Not today, or ever.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, actually, I’ve come to present you with the terms King Tilton and his brothers of Trinity will accept…for your surrender.”

  Rolling her eyes, she tilted her head and glanced toward the ceiling.

  “You do know where you are, Sir Warwick Ludlow, right? This is Withrae. Settled in the First Age by my ancestors who came from the Cascadian Mountains when Dragons used to live in caves. We are some of the strongest, most pure bloodlines to have ever been born from a curse—a curse the human wizards put on us. Do you think we will ever surrender to you? Or any human for that matter?”

  “I think you have to,” he replied, not skipping a beat.

  “And, why is that?” Noemie asked, leaning back in the throne.

  He charming smile faded from his face, replaced by a cold grin that chilled her bones.

  “Because, I’m the one who has cursed you this time, your royal highness. And, I’m the only one who can reverse it.”

  Chapter 7

  Noemie’s heart raced, and the palms of her hands became slick with perspiration. Still, though she regretted coming to the palace at all, she refused to show it. She did swallow, while smoothing the silky fabric of her dress.

  The man before her had devilish good looks, but they were deceptive. She sensed great danger, and by the way he looked at her with those azure eyes and knowing smirk, her throat began to close with each tense passing second.

  “Who are you, really?”

  Bowing, he lit a vibrant glow that emitted from his cane. It was as if all air in the room had been sucked out.

  Noemie shot from her seat, betraying her composure. It was too late to feign apathy. The light that flared from his cane and the shimmering ball that mimicked the shape and luminosity of the sun that hovered above it could only be one thing.

  She licked her lips, eying it and realized that the pole in his hand was no cane at all.

  A wizard’s staff.

  She knew this from the stories her governess would tell her when she was just a child. She’d paint pictures of the what she believed they looked like and store them in a box under her bed.

  Her eyes stared at the gold, and the blue light encircling it like heat. It was exactly how she imagined magic to appear.

  Clutching her throat, sweat beaded between her breasts.

  “What is this?”

  “You know what it is,” he said, a smirk coming to his lips as he stood to his full height and outstretched the staff to his side. He spun the staff in his hand and the very air swirled and wavered around him.

  “Magic, of course.”

  “Guards!” Her voice lost all of its measured dignity. It came out as a squeal that mimicked the cry of a slaughtered pig.

  The light of the staff intensified as did the blue of his eyes, and with a single command, a blast erupted from the sun-like orb above his staff. The popping sound nearly deafened her, and the scent of burnt hair and coal filled her nostrils.

  She sucked in a breath of the fetid air and everyone in the throne room was struck immobile.

  Noemie froze, a heaviness weighing her down as a wave of energy blasted into her. “Stop this,” she sputtered, struggling to move her arms, to run.

  She cried out as her body was lifted into the air and sent flying toward the wizard. As if a wind had blasted into the room from behind, she sped through the air. Eyes wide with terror, she struggled to find any words as screams escaped her lips.

  Her guards watched, unable to move, stuck mid-stride.

  This was not possible. This was the palace of her family and ancestors, and she was the one to let a wizard into the doors. Barely a day into her new station and she’d brought shame to the palace of Withrae

  Her body stopped just in front of Sir Warwick and her bones and muscles seemed to constrict as if she had been hugged tightly.

  Leaning forward, he touched her lips with the tips of his finger.

  A shiver scurried up her spine as she watched, unblinking, her heart thundering in her chest.

  “I did not come here to harm you,” he whispered, his hot breath on her ear. “I’ve come to make you an ally. It is the half-blood I want.”

  She sucked in a startled breath.

  “Come now. Don’t feign surprise. I know your ambitions. Your desires. You’d be glad to be rid of her.”

  “It’s not true.”

  He shrugged. “True or not, she is what I’ve come for. Let me have her, and I will leave your kingdom in tact.”

  “And, the human armies?” As soon as those words blurted from her lips, she regretted them, for he gave her a knowing grin.

  “See? I knew you’d see things my way.”

  She gasped as he released her and gently led her down to the ground. She clutched her arms around her body, unsure of what to do. A quick glance around the throne room revealed the guards were still stuck in place.

  “This way,” he said. “We shall finish our chat in private.”

  Chapter 8

  Princess Noemie stood before him, tense, unsure of what to do in the midst of a real wizard. So, she wrung her hands raw, and tried her best to keep the scream that itched within her throat from escaping.

  Alone.

  He paced her private quarters, tapping the staff on the stone floor with each step. She couldn’t sit in her chair, not after his display of power in the throne room. What had she gotten herself into?

  This human man, while lovely to lo
ok at, could kill her with the flick of his wrist and the reciting of a few simple words. She dreaded being in the same room with him. But, she figured that if he wanted to kill her, she’d be dead right now.

  That still didn’t bring her any comfort.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead and instead of waiting idle, she downed two glassed of wine and asked the pallbearer for another pitcher.

  “I will be frank with you,” he began, pausing before the window. He rubbed his chin and gave her a sidelong glance. “If you work with me, I would see you on the throne, at my side.”

  She swallowed the sharp lump in her throat.

  “You—”

  “Yes,” he said, as if reading her thoughts and anticipating her next words. “I want Withrae. As I said, I am a bachelor. To solidify my claim for the throne, I’d have you as my wife. My partner. My lover.”

  Her cheeks burned red and she had to turn away.

  To think, a human wanted her as a mate. She’d never imagined such a thing, and before this day, she would have vehemently resisted.

  “My brother?”

  Warwick lifted a brow. “Is probably dead as we speak.”

  Her shoulders dropped. That stung her heart. They might have never been close, but he was her blood. She did love him.

  “He is no match for the armies of wizards he is to face. Not as a lowly Dragon without the ability to shift—not against the Wizards of Myrity.”

  “Please stop,” she pleaded, but he went on as if he hadn’t heard her. Perhaps he didn’t. She wasn’t sure if she said it loud enough for him to hear.

  “He will die. It will be a noble death, I’m sure. But, it will be a death, nonetheless.”

  Tears burned the back of her eyes as she rubbed the heel of her palm against her exposed cleavage. Her chest suddenly ached, and her blood ran cold. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried real tears. It wasn’t when her father died, or Lawson.

  Her mother’s death, perhaps. No, the realization hit her like a bucket of cold water being doused on her face. She’d felt pain like this after her first heartbreak.

  Memories of Marius Rabat jolted into her brain. The man she’d wanted to marry, but was denied. Love was a cruel master, and she’d played its game with all of her heart only to have it ripped away.

  “I don’t understand how you expect the Dragons to accept you as their king.”

  He winced. “You aren’t very good at paying attention, are you?”

  She frowned.

  “I just said it, plain and clear. You will be my wife.”

  “That would make you a consort, Sir. Not a king.”

  “Semantics,” he said, tilting his head. “Let’s not get caught up on such things.”

  Another glass of wine went sliding down her throat, and dizzy, she wobbled on her feet a tad. Before she could stop him, he caught her in his arms, and held her steady.

  “Easy now, princess. I need you lucid for what comes next.”

  She could barely see straight as she looked him in the eyes. With his hands on the small of her back and cupping her bottom, a throbbing heat filled her loins. He was so close that they shared breaths.

  “No more wine for the princess,” he said to the pallbearer, never ripping his heavy gaze from hers. “Leave us.”

  Her breaths came out short, labored as he squeezed her tight and placed a hot kiss on her mouth. Her heart leaped as his hands reached up to get tangled into her hair, destroying the style that had taken nearly an hour to accomplish.What horrified her was that she didn’t care.

  She wanted more. She needed it.

  Stop, she told herself. You’ve had too much drink. It clouds the senses.

  The door to her quarters closed and with fear and a dose of excitement, she realized one thing.

  She was alone with a wizard…and enjoyed the taste of his tongue.

  Chapter 9

  Every nerve in Ophelia’s body was alert. Though she had been bathed, her hair tugged with hot combs dipped in oil, skin scrubbed with sugars and fragrant creams, and her face treated like a blank canvas with paints and pencils, she was still a prisoner.

  A beautiful, painted hostage.

  She may look like an elegant princess in the new gown she wore, but she knew the truth.

  The Trinity brothers may never let her go. Or worse, they might kill her if her sister and brother-in-law didn’t comply with their demands. She already knew they would face Tilton in battle, she just feared how that all would end. There had to be a winner and a loser.

  Ophelia now wore a Parean gown of silk and tiny precious gems. With a wide sash across her waist, and a deep neckline, she felt a bit naked. Mol led her to King Tilton, who requested to see her.

  Her nerves began to set in as she walked down the winding staircase to him. He waited at the bottom. Her throat grew dry as she lingered near the middle of the stairs and spied on him. At his back, sunlight shone onto his tall frame from the stain glass windows that lined the cylindrical ceiling above.

  His hair was long on the top, wavy, with short sides. When he ran his hand through it, she swallowed, heat filling her cheeks.

  Something about that simple gesture only made her more nervous. She wanted to touch his hair, and face, and feel the silky blond strands slip through her fingers. Feeling her cheeks grow hot, she cleared her throat and continued her descent.

  He nodded, slightly, when she met him at the bottom and gave a deep curtsy. When she rose, his azure eyes studied her.

  He wore a white and gold suit with golden buttons that went up and down the double-breasted waistcoat. With his sword and his side, he had an air of elegance and strength.

  One could look at him and tell that he wasn’t one to pick a fight with. Though, she wouldn’t mind a friendly spar or fencing session with him.

  The way his sharp glare flickered up to meet her eyes, she suddenly felt less sure of herself. She stood before him with one arm holding her other at the elbow, barely breathing under his intense gaze.

  “Right,” he said, breaking the silence. He lifted a hand toward the ceiling. “I hope you are enjoying Lothlorien Palace and the ladies I’ve picked out to attend to you so far. This will be your home for the time being.” He dropped his arm back down to his side and resumed his study of her features.

  “How long will I be forced to stay here?” Ophelia asked, crossing her arms as she met his gaze. She put on an air of contempt to hide just how nervous she was. “I am a prisoner, after all.”

  He lifted a heavy brow, a shade darker than his golden hair. “If that’s how you wish to look at it, I won’t attempt to stop you. But, as far as I’m concerned, you are my guest, and shall be treated as such. It’s up to you if you decide to accept my generosity.”

  Ophelia frowned. That wasn’t the response she’d expected. “Guest?”

  “Yes,” he said. “As you have already witnessed, I’ve chosen the best guest apartment for you to reside in during your time here. You will be well provided for. You and your lady, of course.”

  “A guest can leave,” she said with a sneer.

  He smirked. “You can explore the palace grounds at your leisure. Anything beyond that will require a private escort and approval from myself.”

  “I see,” she said, pulling in and releasing a slow breath.

  She wasn’t sure how to feel about this revelation. At least she had been pleased that she wouldn’t be sleeping in a dungeon as she’d imagined during their boat and carriage ride.

  “If you should need anything, you can ask an attendant,” he said, and paused to clear his throat. “And, I’m only a short walk away in the East Wing.”

  “I suppose I should thank you—for your kindness.”

  “If you were to, I would accept.”

  “Well,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He gave a quick bow and turned away. “Your gratitude is noted. You will join me for dinner. Or not. You can have your meal in your apartment if you prefer. No one is going to force y
ou to do anything.”

  Eyes widened, she watched him walk away, his shoes tapping on the floor as he left the hall and vanished once turning a corner. That was a drastic change of attitude from their friendly chat in the carriage.

  Had she said or done something wrong? The air between them had grown stale and awkward. She couldn’t begin to wonder why.

  “Well,” she said under her breath to Luca’Rosi. “I know what I won’t be doing this evening. I’d rather eat alone than with someone who clearly hates me.”

  “No,” Luca said, tucking her arm into her own. “You will go, and you will charm the king. He is the key to your safe return home.”

  “Home?” She shrugged. “I have no home.”

  “Your home is in Withrae, with your sister. We will get you there no matter what. And, besides that you will do it because it is the best way to keep his favor.”

  “Favor?”

  Luca’Rosi hid a grin behind her fingertips. “Yes, my lady,” she whispered. “The king clearly fancies you.”

  Fancy? Me?

  As they were given a tour of the palace she mulled over such a thing. The more she thought of it, the more the corners of her lips turned up into a smile that warmed her cheeks.

  Chapter 10

  That evening, Ophelia joined the king for supper. It wasn’t entirely different from the way they dined in Draconia, with the lords and ladies at long tables, the king and those closet to him at his side seated at a table that faced the dining hall.

  Her mouth fell open, and she quickly snapped it back closed.

  Kelton.

  He gave her a cocky grin and she hesitated when directed to sit between him and the king. While Tilton wore white and gold, Kelton was somewhat of an opposite, wearing a dark navy and gold, his long blond hair brushing his shoulders.

  She swallowed, dazed as she slowly lowered herself into her seat. She hadn’t been notified of his arrival. Then again, why would anyone tell a prisoner, or a guest anything of importance?