by Tessa Dawn
If a mouse had scurried across the ancient stone floor, its footsteps would have resounded like the hooves of a thousand horses—such was the pervasive silence permeating the hall.
At last, Ari cleared his throat. “We would ask that you tell us everything, Prince Dante. Absolutely everything, including why you chose to reveal all of this now, why you kept it from us for so many years. But first…” He held up his palm in a regal, but respectful gesture, beckoning his sire to hear him out. “I thought I was Damian’s firstborn son, successor to the throne of Castle Umbras, that I would one day rule over this land of shadow-walkers should something terrible befall Prince Damian; but in truth, I am the heir to Castle Warlochia?” He posed it as a question. “Or am I heir to Castle Dragon? You are next in line for King Demitri’s throne, and our species is immortal, barring a catastrophic event.”
Dante understood the question clearly.
The dragon was not trying to be assuming or self-important; he was trying to understand his role—the order of the Realm—and their place in a world they each lived to serve. It did not slip Dante’s awareness that Ari had called him prince, not father, but he understood that as well. It would take the dragon some time, and at least he had not called him uncle this time. As for Ari’s other question, it was complicated now.
“Prince Ari, I see Dario as my son. I raised him as my own, and I love him as I love the three of you, although my dragon does not grow territorial at the mere scent of his blood as he does with the three of you. Be it known that I did my duty at each of your births—I tendered the dragons’ kiss and awakened your serpents. That is a very deep, blooded bond, and I’m certain that all three of you have felt it. With regard to Prince Dario, there is a reason I brought the warlock Aguilon to Castle Warlochia, a reason I elevated him to high mage and made him my personal advisor. I thought to slay him before he left Dracos Cove, but something stayed my hand. Once I learned of Cassidy’s betrayal, the fact that she was carrying King Demitri’s offspring, the foresight became clear: I needed to procure Aguilon’s eternal favor. I needed to secure his undying loyalty, and I wanted to keep him close.
“The night Cassidy and I took Dario to Castle Dragon to present our newborn infant to the king, Aguilon accompanied us, and he cast a spell in order to enter Demitri’s dreams. That night, under the guise of sleep, King Demitri tendered the dragons’ kiss to Dario, believing it to be a dream. Cassidy was none the wiser; she does not fully understand what makes a dragon immortal, what makes our species one day shift. I have never shared with her as much as I’ve shared with Mina. That said, Prince Dario is an immortal dragon, one of the most powerful creatures in all the Realm, and he remains the heir to Castle Warlochia, should something happen to me.” His angular jaw grew taut with tension. “Indeed, he may have to govern sooner than you think.”
He flicked his wrist in an imperious gesture that commanded both dismissal and silence before his sons could pepper him with further questions.
“It goes without saying that Prince Damian will remain the sovereign over Castle Umbras, and since he has no heirs…” He glanced askance at Damian, and the prince of Umbras nodded—the dragon did not intend to take a Sklavos Ahavi, no matter how Raylea reacted to the news, and she could never give him a son. “Should something happen to your father-uncle Damian, one of you would be assigned in his place for the good of the Realm. As always, that would be in order of your birth. However…” He straightened his shoulders and linked his hands behind his back—this was as serious as any conspiratory conversation had ever been, or possibly ever would be. He glanced at each of the massive stone archways—reaffirming that the five of them were alone—and then he lowered his voice to a veiled whisper.
“However,” he repeated, “I feel as if we are discussing a game of chess, for soon all the pawns will be shuffled around.” While they did not descend, his fangs throbbed to the pulse of his heartbeat, tingling in his gums. “Come the second day of July in the 206th year of the Dragonas’ Reign, the season of the diamond king, I intend to usurp King Demitri’s throne. I intend to appoint Prince Dario as ruler of Castle Warlochia and to take the three of you with me to Castle Dragon. And yes, Ari, you will be next in the line of succession for the whole of the Realm when I take my place as supreme dragon and king, with your mother as my queen beside me.”
Chapter Six
Princess Gaia Percy strolled about the bedchamber at the end of the upper hall in Castle Warlochia examining the lavish appointments: The bed itself was a magnificent artisan original with its opulent elm canopy, massive hand-carved headboard, and thick, exquisite curtains tied back with royal-blue riggings. It sat in the corner of the suite atop a low two-tiered platform, and the heavy elm paneling that flanked it on both sides had been carved into vines of roses, grapes, and autumn leaves. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high, adorned in similar panels of wood, and painted just beneath the decorative moldings were two wall-length murals depicting landscapes from Warlochia: a lake and a couplet of rolling hills.
The fireplace burned bright in the hearth, and just to the left of its stonework and mantel stood a heavy, arched wooden door which led to a dressing room—connected to a hall—which led to another heavy door: the entrance to Prince Dario Dragona’s royal suite of rooms.
Gaia’s stomach twisted into knots, and she pressed her hand against her lower belly to quell the fluttering butterflies. She had studied both Umbrasian and Warlochian architecture in her youth as part of her tutelage on trade, artistry, and wares, and she knew enough to recognize her suite, albeit lavish, as the chamber often slated for the Blood Ahavi—the space allotted for the prince’s dalliances. On the other side of Prince Dario’s suite there would be a similar bedchamber, only twice as large and even more opulently appointed, for his Sklavos Ahavi, assuming the chosen female didn’t share his bed.
So Gaia had been given the status of a mistress: Prince Dario’s second consort, above his slaves, but beneath his chosen broodmare.
She blinked away the thoughts.
On the opposite end of the castle, Prince Dante would possess a suite of rooms similar to Prince Dario’s, only the lord of the manor’s apartments would be twice as large and far, far more lavish.
Princess Gaia sighed.
At least she could take solace in the fact that Prince Dario was a male of some honor, and he had chosen not to use her so callously. Her life would be one of comfort. A curious tingle assailed her lower spine, and she shivered—that deep, sonorous voice, those crystal-blue eyes, all that lush, honey-gold hair…
Princess Gaia was not at all certain that she wanted Prince Dario to leave her alone.
If only things could be different.
If only dragons could bear sons with other females, those who were not Sklavos Ahavi.
“Princess.”
A tall, thin shadow rising almost six feet tall loomed in the doorway, and Princess Gaia spun around with a start. She placed her hand over her heart and gasped. “You startled me.”
The handsome human male with stunning hazel eyes and short, curly blond hair declined his head in apology. “Forgive me, Princess Gaia. I did not mean to catch you unaware.” He waved his hand in a gentle arc, indicating her bedchamber. “Are your accommodations to your liking?” He leaned against the doorframe. “You may make any alterations you choose.”
Princess Gaia smiled, taking note of his relaxed, informal posture. “Ah, thank you. Thomas, is it? Prince Dante’s regent?”
He dipped his chin again. “One in the same, but the Dragonas call me Thomas the squire; feel free to do the same.”
She raised her brows in a curious gesture. “And why would that be? The name, that is?”
He chuckled softly. “It’s…it’s just a childhood designation, the role I served at Castle Dragon.”
“Ah,” Princess Gaia mused, “I see.” She shrugged and smiled. “Although I imagine you are still a squire and a talented scribe, if not by trade, then by ability.”
&
nbsp; “That I am,” he said, and his brilliant eyes sparkled.
And in that fleeting, jovial expression, Princess Gaia garnered even more information: From what she understood, the regent—Thomas the squire—was around forty summers old, but he didn’t look a day over thirty, which meant he was either blessed with youthful good looks, or he was quite dear to Prince Dante. The prince was feeding him dragons’ blood, and that would explain his easy confidence. This man was more than a servant to the Dragonas; he was a friend.
A moment of silence lingered.
It wasn’t awkward, yet it wasn’t companionable, either.
It was something between the two.
“Well…” Thomas cleared his throat. “If you have need of anything, let me know.” He glanced toward the end of the hall. “And you understand the meaning of each golden rope, correct? How to call for assistance?”
She gulped at the thought of the cords.
The squire was referring to the square panel, filled with braided gold chains, at the end of each significant hall, those the dragons could use to call for assistance…or an Ahavi. Those Princess Gaia could use to call for a maidservant or a meal. Yes, she understood. “I think I’m becoming acclimated,” she said softly.
All at once, the temperature in the hall dipped down as if an icy wind had blown through the castle, and power radiated all around them. Dario Dragona strolled to the door, placed a familiar hand on the squire’s shoulder, and peeked into the room. His golden hair was mussed in the front, and his eyes were alert with purpose. “Princess,” he said in that deep, sultry voice. “Is everything well? Are you settling in?”
Thomas patted the hand atop his shoulder, turned leisurely on his heel, and took his leave. Not a word was spoken between them—such was their mutual level of comfort.
Princess Gaia forced a tentative smile. “This room is quite lovely.” She turned away and scuttled toward the doors of the balcony, suddenly feeling like she needed fresh air.
“But?” Dario asked, entering the room and strolling purposefully toward her—she could feel his powerful presence as it enveloped the space behind her.
She shook her head, fumbling with the ties on the curtains, anxious to get to the doors. “But nothing. I just…I just…”
His strong arm snaked around her waist, grasped the luxurious panel, and pulled the drape aside. He pushed the door open and stood at her back. “You just…what?”
Princess Gaia licked her lips in a nervous swipe of the tongue. “I just…I realized this is the chamber of a mistress.”
“Do not,” he drawled, the utterance, a command.
“Do not what?” she challenged.
“Do not revisit what is not your fate.”
She shivered and drew a deep breath, her chest visibly rising and falling. “No…of course not. I just meant—”
“Princess Gaia…” His smooth, melodic censure cut her off. “Have you ever seen a cat with a satchel of catnip, how it stirs the feline’s instincts?”
She angled her head to the side to listen more intently. “Of course,” she said warily.
“Dragons are similar creatures. Your nervousness, your fear, your desire, however innocent—these are all heady perfumes. You will need to learn to contain them, to conceal them from my dragon.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
He was breathing into her ear, and she froze like a terrified mouse.
He backed away, and she couldn’t help but turn to watch him as he sauntered to the dressing room door, reached for the iron lock, and slid the long, oval bolt into the catch. “Keep this latched,” he said, without further explanation. And then he crossed his arms in front of his chest, raised one knee so that the pad of his foot rested against the dressing room door, and leaned lazily against the panel, looking for all intents and purposes like the feline he had just described.
Princess Gaia nearly swooned.
This would never do.
She could not occupy a bedchamber so close to the scintillating prince. “You know,” she said, raising her chin with resolve, hoping to simulate more confidence than she felt, “if you and I are to be honest, then I must speak my piece: It makes no sense for me to occupy this suite.” She swept her gaze around the room, regarding everything—but him. “It would not hurt my pride to be relocated to another bedchamber, perhaps on another floor of the castle. And if this is a room you might use for…for whatever private purpose…I shouldn’t really be here.” Oh…ancestors…why had she said that last piece? She prayed her face was not flaming red.
Dario Dragona chuckled in a deep, raspy growl, and she wanted to blend into the woodwork. “Your father,” he drawled, “King Thaon of Lycania, gave you to me for a reason, and the gift came with conditions. I think it best that we at least keep up appearances, that your status is…displayed by your proximity.” He dropped his voice to a silken purr. “And if you and I are to be honest, then what difference does it make to you how I do—or do not—use this room?” He shrugged a cocky shoulder. “You and I are not to be lovers, and I am an unmated male—so any inconvenience to me in matters of private purpose should not be your concern…unless I’ve missed something.”
Princess Gaia was going to be sick.
She may as well have been a schoolgirl, the same fourteen-summers-old child who had flirted dangerously with a dashing prince. This was the same folly that had sealed her fate with her father. Only now, she couldn’t blame the king of Lycania for the idiocy. “Forgive me, my prince.” She curtsied like a servant. “I overstepped my bounds. You are right; it is none of my concern.”
Prince Dario stared at her like he was trying to read her soul, and a small wisp of smoke drifted from his nostrils—his dragon was riding the edge—filling the chamber with the masculine scent of sandalwood.
Princess Gaia shielded her face with one hand, trying to block the visage and mask the aromatic trace. She licked her bottom lip once more, and he was all at once standing before her—she hadn’t even seen him move.
He placed one hand on the swell of her hip and bent to capture her gaze, removing her palm from her face with his unencumbered hand. “Look at me, Princess Gaia.” She peered dutifully beneath her lashes, and he studied her decorous gaze for what felt like a dragon’s reign.
And then, just like that, he raised his chin and peered beyond the top of her head in the direction of the balcony. “Unpack your trunks, take some refreshment, and settle in.” He spoke in an easy, casual tone. “Then meet me in the castle foyer; I would like to introduce you to the rest of the staff and show you the Warlochian gardens.” He took three generous steps back. “We may not see that much of each other as I stay busy with the district’s affairs, and while I realize it will take some time, I want you to feel at home. Find that which pleases you. Pursue your interests. Make a life that suits you here, Princess Gaia.” Without further ado, he turned on his heel and strolled out her bedchamber—he didn’t even look back.
Princess Gaia felt oddly bereft.
Stunned by the shift in his mannerisms.
Had the prince just dismissed her like a common maid?
Had he taken her measure and found her wanting?
She closed her eyes and leaned against the gathered, open draperies, trying to catch her breath. It was exactly what she’d wanted, Prince Dario’s retreat. And maybe he had seen that truth in her eyes.
She bit her nail in a nervous malaise.
Or maybe he had seen through her lies.
Maybe the prince, who was thirty summers in age, a mere pittance in the lifespan of a dragon, believed himself to be Gaia’s senior in maturity as well as years, and he had no intention of trifling with a confused, inexperienced girl who behaved like a tentative maiden.
Maybe he had assessed her behavior and determined she was playing games.
She was not.
Yet and still, the prince had more or less dismissed her.
And once he introduced her to the castle’s servants and showed her around
the gardens, that would be all there was—he’d be done with her.
Scanning her extravagant surroundings, she appraised everything in the room: the empty doorway, the locked bolt on the dressing room panel, and the luxurious platform bed. And then she shivered all the way down to her toes.
Princess Gaia was in a foreign castle…
She was in a strange and ominous land.
She was frightened, she was overwhelmed, and she was alone.
And if the racing of her heart—or the emptiness in her soul—told her anything about her plight, she was smitten with a fearsome dragon.
Prince Dario Dragona.
And what was worse, so much worse, was the fact that she was in way over her head, and she had already pushed him away.
Chapter Seven
Later that night
Titan, son of Thunder, and Vrega, son of Wind, both loyal legionnaires of Thieves, slinked along the trader’s pier in the neutral territory of Merci, concealed beneath the cover of fog. There was a double shadow hovering about the moon’s pedestal this night, and the legionnaires were eager to take advantage of the eerie darkness to stow away inside the large merchant vessel, containing barrels of the finest wine, harbored along the Mercian docks. Disguised as laborers, heavily muscled workhands who moved such heavy crates from the vessels into cities, they were keen to become part of the innocuous cargo as it made its way back to the main port of Lycania.
They hoped to slip into King Thaon’s castle undetected, for it was the king who had ordered this freight.
And to this end, they wore long, hooded cloaks made of wool: sleeveless, to display their bulging human biceps; hooded, to conceal their serpents’ heads from watchful eyes; and flowing to the ground, to mask their scorpion tails from other laborers. While it may seem odd to the average passerby, the Mercian sect of Purists—those who served the Mercian deity of light with hourly prayers, prolonged bouts of silence, and the complete absence of vanity, thus concealing their appearances—grew larger every day. And as the sect expanded, the more common it was to find them moving about the neutral territories, to find them strolling along the Mercian docks.
