by Delia Castel
“She doesn’t know anyone here apart from us,” said Berrin.
“It’s young Miss Mulciber.”
Berrin tilted his head to the side. “Ella?”
“Indeed,” replied Nanny.
A shot of panic exploded across Marigold’s chest. She scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping over the burgundy rug as she rushed to the door. “Where is she? Is she hurt?”
Berrin’s hand crept over his mouth. “I hadn’t even considered the impact last night’s events would have had on the poor girl.” He turned to Nanny. “Does she need medical attention?”
Nanny’s brows crinkled. “She looked perfectly all right to me.”
“I have to go to her.” Marigold ducked under Berrin’s arm.
“You will do no such thing in that see-through scrap of silk!” snapped Nanny. “Even if the young masters don’t mind you parading around the mansion like a piece of dragon bait, I will not have my sons seeing their mistress in such a debauched state.”
She glanced down, only then remembering that the cups of her chemise were a transparent lace. Heat shot to her cheeks, and she peeked at Nanny’s stern face through her lashes. “Sorry. I’ll get changed.”
“I took the liberty of adding a few suitable garments to the wardrobe,” said the older woman.
Marigold shook her head. “No thanks, I think I like wearing breeches.”
They both scrambled into their clothes and bolted down the stairs to find Ella sitting by the window in the guest parlor in the same smart outfit she had worn on the stagecoach from Boreas. The morning sun shone on her long, blonde hair, giving it the lustre of corn silk. The young woman beamed. “Marigold! Is it true that you escaped the dance hall on the back of a dragon? I thought you were with Berrin, but Lady Brimstone says you’re stealing all her daughter’s suitors. And what’s this I hear about you going to the palace ball with Matheson to get the King’s Blessing? It’s all so confusing—”
“Ella.” Marigold strode across the room and held her friend by the arms. “Did you run away? Are you hurt?”
Ella tilted her head to the side, cornflower blue eyes wide. “I’ve been ordered to spy on you.”
Chapter 10
On the morning after their trip to the dancehall, Polaris strode through the hallway, ignoring the gold-framed portraits of the Auburn ancestors lining the walls. They seemed to be frowning down on him for desiring his brother’s mate. Marigold’s scent still lingered on his skin, haunting his thoughts and beguiling his senses. The feel of her body against his seared an impression on his skin, and nothing could remove her influence. Shaking off his burgeoning arousal, he hurried toward the grand staircase. Marigold and Berrin had not yet emerged down from their room for breakfast, and they didn’t have a moment to waste. In half a day’s time, the palace ball would commence, and Marigold still hadn’t learned how to curtsy.
He stopped at the parlor where Mother and Father had been slain and stared at the faint traces of smoke on the ceiling. Was there a deeper connection between Marigold’s escape from the House of Corrections and the murder of his parents? Uncle Hertz had been indirectly responsible for both, and both events occurred hours apart.
“Have you heard from the High Sheriff?” Matheson approached from the direction of Father’s study, looking healthier than he’d seen him in years. His hair shone like copper flames, and his eyes were as clear as the emerald lake he had shown Marigold the night before.
Polaris folded his arms. “He has already made his intentions clear. As soon as he sees that the King’s Blessing hasn’t killed her, he will be assured she isn’t a human fugitive.”
Matheson raised his brows and stood. “I was referring to Mother and Father’s bodies. We need to perform funeral rites to ensure their souls have moved on. However, I can see how you would forget about them in favor of the luscious she-dragon you wish to bed.”
His throat thickened, and he tightened his lips, turning away from his brother’s mocking gaze. In all the commotion about Marigold and Uncle Hertz, he had forgotten about their most sacred of traditions. “I will write to the High Sheriff.”
“Don’t bother.” Matheson breezed past, heading for the dining room. “You focus on plucking Goldilocks out from Berrin’s smothering grip, and I will tend to family obligations.”
Polaris clenched his teeth. “I see that the blade of your wit has dulled over your lost years. Let us hope you continue with the doctor’s regimen. You are far less destructive sober.”
He left Matheson red-faced and clenching is fists. Exchanging barbs with a tortured soul had been beneath him, but Matheson had a talent for plucking on one’s nerves. A few angry footsteps later, a heavy door slammed, and Polaris headed back towards the grand staircase.
Nanny emerged from behind. “Do the young master and mistress require breakfast?”
“I have not seen them,” he mumbled, turning away from the stairs. Berrin and Marigold were most likely being intimate, and he didn’t want to intrude and prove Matheson right. Once he reached Father’s study, he flung open the patio doors and stepped out into the gardens. The scent of burned vegetation filled his nostrils, which was a welcome change from scorched bear. He surveyed the blackened lawn and shook his head. Even if he had kept that final bear shifter alive for the King’s Inquisitor, he would have killed himself anyway.
A messenger swift glided down from the skies and landed on his shoulder. Resting on its white breast was a scroll, secured with the seal of King Vulcan. Polaris clenched his teeth. Not only was he on leave for Festival Week, the death of his parents granted him the customary period of mourning. After freeing the message, he broke the seal and read its contents. It was a summons to attend to the king immediately. Polaris balled the parchment and sent the bird on its way. “Of all the inconvenient times…”
He walked back to the house through Father’s study and back to the upstairs level to change into his uniform. He would have to tell Nanny what was on Marigold’s itinerary for the day.
Moments later, Polaris stepped out of the front doors to find an ebony carriage emblazoned with the four dragon royal insignia waiting for him outside the gates, beyond the gravel courtyard. He frowned. King Vulcan rarely sent out his own vehicles, so he assumed that the matter was urgent. As soon as he boarded, the vehicle sped through the streets. In a time shorter than expected, it was racing alongside the cherry trees lining the Rex Boulevard. He inhaled a deep breath, expecting to enjoy the floral scents typical of the road, but instead filled his nostrils with the faint smell of smoke.
He glanced out of the window and peered at the palace. Its architecture was similar to that of the Auburn mansion. Both buildings were symmetrical, clad in limestone, and boasting large, paneled windows. The only difference was the scale. While the family home was three stories high, the palace boasted six stories and four towers. And one of them was blackened by fire. Polaris furrowed his brow. As there was no smoke coming from the tower window, he had to assume that the fire had long been extinguished.
The carriage pulled into the cobbled courtyard at the entrance of the main building. Two dozen or so guards clad in the red uniform of the King’s Regiment stood around the grand entrance. Their Captain opened the door and saluted. “General Auburn, the King is expecting you.”
Refusing to show any trace of nervousness, Polaris inclined his head, passed the two dozen guards, and entered the palace.
He walked through the hallways, their ceilings high enough to accommodate even a female dragon. Tearful servants and grief-stricken guards scurried past, not making the usual eye contact. Polaris assumed that Princess Snowdrop’s trial for treason was responsible for the low mood. Normally, he would have questioned everyone he could on the subject, but the murders, Uncle Hertz, and Marigold’s impending introduction to the highest level of society occupied his thoughts.
Guards saluted him at the double doors of the throne room. It was customary at times like this to wait for the King’s summon. He stood in
quiet meditation, pondering what he could do to both help Marigold and to keep the home secure. He had no doubt that Uncle Hertz would attempt something nefarious this evening. Now that the reprobate had authority over Austellus, the number and scope of attacks he could perpetrate had magnified. It would not surprise him if Uncle trumped up a charge of treason to have Marigold arrested.
The double doors opened, and a courtier stepped out. “The King will see you now, General.”
Polaris stepped into the room. It was a large, carpeted space, lit by a series of chandeliers. Two dozen golden chairs, upholstered in red velvet, ran along the side of the left wall beneath gilded portraits of members of the royal family. A row of windows with matching curtains hanging from golden pelmets lined the opposite wall. Polaris faced the front of the room and bowed. Under a red, velvet canopy and on a raised platform sat King Vulcan on a throne made of dragon’s gold the exact shade of Marigold’s bracelet.
The red haired-monarch held out his hand. “I am sorry to learn of the tragedy that befell poor Ignatius and Hestia. How is the investigation going?”
Polaris knelt in front of the King and kissed his ring. “The high Sheriff has closed the case without completing the investigation.”
His brows rose. “Why would he do such a thing?”
Standing, Polaris let out a breath. Recently, King Vulcan had withdrawn from matters of state, preferring to concede to his new wife, Queen Grimalda. He didn’t know if speaking candidly to the King would result in anything but sympathetic words, but he had to try. “A group of bear shifters infiltrated the family mansion two days ago, attacking my youngest brother and my other brother’s mate. They claimed to have been sent by my uncle, Hertz.”
He tilted his head to the side. “The governor of Boreas?”
“And now governor of Austellus.”
“Which means that the high Sheriff is loath to investigate the crimes of his superior. I see the problem, dear boy.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.”
The King rubbed his temples, jostling his flame-red hair. A few strands of gray came loose, and Polaris narrowed his eyes. Dragons’ hair did not change color as they aged. The elders of their species lost their hair over the centuries, replacing it with scales. King Vulcan wasn’t even two hundred years old, which was young for a dragon. After several moments, the King spoke. “My memory is not as it was, but I will try my utmost to rectify the situation.”
Polaris’ stomach twisted. One of the first signs of papaver abuse was memory impairment. “Your Majesty, are you well? You seem to be—”
The double doors opened, and Queen Grimalda sauntered inside, wearing a dress of shimmering, white silk. White-blue hair, reminiscent of the hottest type of dragon fire, tumbled over her shoulders. Her violet eyes bore into his, making the room feel like it had been tilted to the side. Sweat broke out over his brow, and his knees trembled. Breathing hard to calm his roiling stomach, he held out his arms for balance.
“Polaris, dear boy!” cried the King. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing, your Majesty.” He tightened his stomach muscles and shuddered against the sweat trickling down his back. His hand twitched to pull at the collar of his heavy, wool jacket, but he forced it down. His gaze flickered to the Queen, who stood at the doors with one hand folded over the other.
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Perhaps you’re working the General too hard.”
“Grimalda!” King Vulcan stretched out his hand. “What are you doing all the way down there? Come, sit beside me.”
Her glossy lips spread into a smile. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Nonsense! Young Polaris was here to tell me of the terrible situation regarding his uncle.”
Her thin brows drew together. “Really, General. Can you not handle a family spat without reporting to the King? I do wonder the purpose of a Regiment that would elevate youngsters to levels beyond their capabilities.”
Polaris clenched his teeth. “Actually, the King summoned me.”
With a movement as fluid as a siren’s dance, she lowered herself to the second throne and placed her elbow on the cushioned armrest. Propping her chin on the palm of her hand, she lowered her lashes and grinned at the King. “Do tell.”
King Vulcan’s brows formed a deep V. Polaris’s heart jumped. Those expressions reminded him of Matheson’s reaction to being told he had brutalized Marigold on the day of the murder. The Queen tilted her head to the side, her face radiating serene patience. Polaris’ stomach dropped. Her lack of concern over her husband’s befuddled state of mind told him everything he needed to know. She or one of her courtiers had found a way to poison the King with papaver, presumably without affecting her own flames.
Silence stretched out until the only sound was Polaris’ pulse throbbing in his ears. He swallowed down a lump in his throat. As the self-claimed daughter of Old King Hydrus, Queen Grimalda could be anything up to nine-hundred years of age. That would make her far too powerful to confront. He needed to retreat and seek the advice of one of the elders who ran the King’s Regiment.
Polaris cast his mind back to Marigold. Would the King be right minded enough to give his blessing at the ball? Polaris got the impression that the High Sheriff would use that as an excuse to arrest her and hand her over to Uncle Hertz.
King Vulcan’s sighed. “Snowdrop.”
The Queen lowered her gaze and shook her head. “Such a tragedy.”
“I heard she had been trialled in absentia for treason,” said Polaris. “What did she do?”
King Vulcan opened his mouth to speak, but midway through, his face and posture slumped. “My memory of events is fuzzy.”
The Queen patted the back of his hand. “Two chambermaids found Snowdrop in her tower bedroom, standing above poor Vulcan’s body. She was holding a bloodied lance, appearing to protect a naked male. When the maids attempted to apprehend Snowdrop, she set the room alight with her lanterns and escaped on the back of a wolf.”
Polaris pressed his lips together and kept his body rigid, not wanting to show the Queen his incredulity. The Princess was one of the sweetest and most demure young ladies he had ever met. He turned to King Vulcan. “Your Majesty, why would she attack you?”
The monarch closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Obviously, she wanted to cover up her tryst,” said the Queen.
Nausea coated his gullet and slithered up to the back of his throat. Even in the unlikely event that Princes Snowdrop had a wolf shifter as a lover, she would not be so indiscreet as to bring him to the palace. And she certainly wouldn’t attack her own father, making matters worse.
King Vulcan pushed himself up from his throne and placed both hands on Polaris’ shoulders. “I need you to find my daughter.”
“I already have every single sheriff in the country looking for Snowdrop,” said the Queen. “What use is this young General?”
Still clutching Polaris by the shoulders, he said, “He will redeem her.”
She sighed. “How?”
The King let go of one shoulder and turned to the Queen. “Obviously, she’s reached that age where she seeks a mate. Many dragons have asked for her hand, but I refused because I wanted to keep her close.”
“I suppose,” she drawled.
King Vulcan turned back to Polaris, his sapphire eyes bright with unshed tears. “You are handsome and the strongest young dragon in my Regiment. Find her for me, and I will give you her hand.”
Polaris drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Your Majesty… I can certainly find Princess Snowdrop, but I cannot marry—”
“You are married to your job. I know. But should you find her, I will promote you to Field Marshall, enabling you to wed my daughter.”
The Queen sighed. “Darling, you’re forgetting the small matter of attempted murder and treason.”
“I don’t care about that!” he roared.
Polaris started. He had never seen King Vulcan in suc
h an upset state. Even Queen Grimalda’s expression of amused exasperation fell. She lowered her gaze. “Of course, husband.”
Blue flames shone in the King’s eyes, searing through Polaris’ defenses. “You will not refuse my offer.” His fingers, which had transformed into claws, tore through Polaris’ jacket and dug into his flesh. “My late wife’s ancestors were spirit dragons, and she could borrow mine and my brothers’ strength in times of peril. With you as her mate, Snowdrop will always be safe!”
Polaris stiffened, and all the blood drained from his face. As an officer of the King’s Regiment, he had sworn to obey his monarch. While King Vulcan had not given him a direct order, the force behind his words implied that he would not take kindly to a refusal. Polaris had never voiced this, not even to himself, but he had hoped Berrin and Marigold would be amenable to a haremage. It was not unusual, after all, for a she-dragon to be mated to a family of brothers.
His gaze drifted to a large portrait of Princess Snowdrop. Her gentle face smiled down from the canvas. The Princess’s skin was fairer than Marigold’s, her features more delicate, and her lips a shade of pink close to red. Hair the color of coal framed her face. She was a fragile, fine-boned beauty, lacking Marigold’s passion and spark.
Polaris sighed. “I will send out search parties to all the islands beyond the reach of the Sheriffs. That way, we won’t duplicate any effort.”
“That would be acceptable.” King Vulcan clapped him on the back. “I look forward to welcoming you into the family.”
His gaze flickered to the Queen, who grinned. “On the subject of families, I hear you have a new addition.”
“That is correct, your Majesty,” replied Polaris. “She will attend the ball this evening.”
“On whose arm?”
Polaris stiffened. “My younger brother’s.”
“Interesting…” Mischief glinted in her eyes, and her lips curved into a malicious smirk.
He held his silence, staring at a beauty mark high on the Queen’s cheekbone. Something about the she-dragon was off, but he couldn’t work out what. Her eyes danced, presumably waiting for him to break.
