by Tessa Dawn
Prince Damian Dragona, whose powers of telepathy were some of the strongest King Dante had ever seen, audibly snickered from the right of the dais—the prince was truly enjoying the show. Hell, he was relishing every scandalous moment.
King Dante lowered his hands in three separate gestures, urging the crowd to calm down. “Silence!” he bellowed, allowing his sapphire dragon to punctuate the command with a snarl.
The crowd reluctantly obeyed.
“Now then,” he continued, “give those who have fallen some space and some water. Gossip if you must later; but as for right now, deal with it—we are moving on.”
He turned his attention to Prince Dario Dragona, who was at least ten shades of pale, and his heart went out to his illegitimate heir. “Prince Dario Dragona,” he called, ushering him forward with his hand and indicating the center stair, just below the dais.
Prince Dario raised his chin and strolled forward with manufactured confidence, stopping where Dante had bid him, though the unspoken pain was stark in his eyes. Glancing askance, King Dante made certain that Thomas the scribe was recording this next proclamation with scroll and quill: “On this, the tenth day of July, in the two hundred and sixth year of the Dragonas’ Reign, the season of the sapphire king, I, Dante Dragona, one and the same, hereby set forth into law for all perpetuity the following decree: To my second-born son, fathered with the Sklavos Ahavi known as Cassidy Bondeville, I bequeath the province of Warlochia, the castle, the court, and all the lands therein, and I place him at the head of the Warlochian army to lead his soldiers as he sees fit. Effective today, this decree shall supersede any prior appointments.”
Prince Dario’s vivid blue eyes widened in astonishment, and King Dante knew exactly what the dragon was thinking: No, the appointment to Castle Warlochia had not come as a surprise, but claiming the prince as his own flesh and blood at the risk of appearing a scoundrel…at the risk of tarnishing Queen Mina’s reputation as his beloved and only consort?
That, Prince Dario had not expected.
Still, King Dante could have done no less.
He loved Dario as his own, and as long as Dragons Realm existed, history would record the dragon as Dante’s son—to hell with rumors, gossip, and courtier judgments. He glanced askance at Mina, and she nodded in reassurance and pride.
Truly, the female was a blessed enigma, a pure and beautiful soul.
Noticing the lost, somewhat disoriented look on Princess Gaia’s face, King Dante moved right into his next proclamation: “Furthermore, as my son takes his appointment at Castle Warlochia, I hereby free him from his royal obligation to take and sire children with a Sklavos Ahavi. When the time comes to choose a mate”—he locked his gaze with Princess Gaia’s—“the choice shall be Prince Dario’s.”
More chaotic murmurs as King Dante finally turned his full attention on Prince Damian. He owed this brother the world, and while he couldn’t give him back his body, there was something else—two something elses—he could give him this day. “With regard to Prince Damian Dragona, my noble brother and the sovereign lord of Castle Umbras, I am inclined to make two unusual concessions. First, it is often commonplace in Dragons Realm for parents to give children more than one name—the name they are given at birth, and a permanent appellation, bestowed upon them at the sacramental to Lord Nuri, when the child’s soul is consecrated to the supreme deity of fire, vengeance, and rain, the creator of us all.” He regarded Prince Damian with profound respect. “I have found my brother’s current name to be wanting, not up to par with his bravery, his courage, and his loyalty, and thus, like a child at consecration, I hereby bestow upon Prince Damian a new sacramental name: Matthias Dragona, which means gift of the gods, favor of Lord Nuri. From this day forward, you will refer to the prince of Umbras as Prince Matthias, and you will bury his old name along with its memory at risk of corporal punishment.”
Prince Matthias’ face grew slack, and King Dante felt a large measure of self-satisfaction—the dragon was no longer snickering.
Good.
This was good…
He cast his gaze on the entire Louvet family and pressed on: “And second, as I have done for Prince Dario, so shall I make an exception for Prince Matthias.” Despite his unshakable determination and steadfast resolve, he sighed wearily. “As you have undoubtedly deduced by now, Prince Matthias has yet to sire sons of his own. I hereby relieve him of that duty to the Realm. From this day forth, until death shall part them, I bestow upon my brother Prince Matthias the maiden from the commonlands district of Arns known as Raylea Louvet. May she faithfully honor her lord, Castle Umbras, and the Realm, and may the gods bless them with many joyous years together.”
This time, Margareta Louvet cried out audibly, and both she and Soren collapsed to the floor. Dante waved his hand at his three sons with Mina, as they were closest to their grandparents. “Help them up. Get them some water.” He watched as Raylea was the first to scramble, her rosy cheeks visibly drenched with tears, and between her ministrations, assisting her parents, she couldn’t help but exchange several smiles with Prince Matthias.
And, Blessed Spirit Keepers, this was getting out of hand.
The court was in another uproar, just moments away from mayhem or mutiny.
Truly, King Demitri had commanded a tight, rigid ship: a ship filled to capacity with fundamentalists, stiffs, and purists.
Tossing back his head, Dante called his dragon’s fire and sprayed the top of the dome with deafening orange-and-red plumes, careful not to burn the ceiling. “Silence!” he roared for the second time. “I will not remind you again.”
As the hall fell silent, and courtiers shuffled back into place, he slowly reined in his dragon. Despite his benevolent spirit and his generous proclamations—the soul of unity and restoration that drove him this day—there could be, and should be, no confusion: Dante Dragona was every bit as lethal as his savage father. He was a primordial predator at his core, and his dragon could not be tested too many times. While he would not rule with an iron fist, he would rule with absolute authority…and fire.
He would preserve, protect, and defend the Realm.
But he would also see to its order, and he would rule as the dragon he was.
And right now, he needed to get through two more proclamations.
“Moving onward!” he barked, reminding the court of the business at hand. “Beyond myself, my queen, and my regent, the three most prominent positions in Castle Dragon are those of my counselor Aguilon Jomei, my witch and seer Willow Leaya, and the governess to the Sklavos Ahavi, for the Ahavi carry the future of the Realm, quite literally, within their sacred bodies.” He narrowed his gaze on the aging blonde he had spent the last thirty-one years with, and his voice instinctively softened. “I hereby appoint Cassidy Bondeville, the previous mistress of Castle Warlochia, as head governess to the Sklavos Ahavi, both at Castle Dragon and the Ahavi’s Keep, where the maidens receive their training. You will honor, esteem, and show her the deference her position warrants, for she is now the sixth-highest ranking official in Castle Dragon.”
Cassidy’s eyes shot to Dante’s, and her mouth dropped open in surprise, even as numerous courtiers strained to get a look at her, all declining their heads in deference.
King Dante smiled faintly.
He knew what she must be thinking…
After everything she’d done—after all the mutual lies and betrayals between them—Dante had still chosen Cassidy for a very important and prestigious position.
“You are a good mother, Cassidy.” He spoke openly and without guile, not caring if the entire court heard him. “You have earned the position, and it suits you. Treat the Ahavi as you treated Prince Dario, and the Realm will be grateful.”
She placed one hand on her stomach, the other over her heart, and curtsied slowly in gratitude, and in that rare, intimate moment, as mutual respect passed between them, her eyes said everything she couldn’t say: Her life would not be one of obscurity and banishment. She
would finally have the admiration and the attention she had always craved.
Prince Dario sidled up to his mother and placed a loving hand on her shoulder, and King Dante sighed with relief—he had finally done right by the Sklavos Ahavi King Demitri had given him. He had well and truly separated his character from his father’s.
Dante could be tolerant.
King Dante could be forgiving.
And soon, his queen would make sweeping changes in the lives of the Ahavi. To be sure, these rare, precious females were critical to the Realm, and they would continue to be raised at the Keep, to be trained in the ways of the dragon. They would continue to bear dragon sons for the Realm—the tradition was as old as antiquity—but they would not be treated and used as property. They would not be kept apart from their families. The Blood Ahavi, those who were trained to serve but unable to bear dragon sons, would be compensated like any other castle employee, and the princes would not have entitled use of their bodies for pleasure at the princes’ discretion. Such dalliances, should they occur, would be mutual and consensual.
King Dante figured his sons—and his nephews—were all handsome, virile dragons. If they wanted the company of women, if they needed to feed all their primordial appetites, then they could find and court lovers on their own, prior to being mated.
Just like any other male…
Just like any other human.
And to that end, Mina would make sure that the Autumn Mating was not a life sentence for the Sklavos Ahavi. Indeed, the nine females chosen this October—eight, if Prince Dario mated Princess Gaia—would first be brought to Castle Dragon, not to be terrorized into servitude, but to meet the princes, to be courted by the same, and to mutually select the dragon that suited them best…the mate they actually wanted. Those who could not see their way to accept any of the princes would be given the choice to serve as Blood Ahavi, instead. Such service was still a necessity, for the dragons must remain strong, the Realm must remain protected, and no single Ahavi could bear such a burden alone. Nevertheless, the princes not chosen would simply wait for the next Autumn Mating, and King Dante would pray that the Realm continued to produce these rare, valuable women.
And Willow the witch continued to divine their identities.
He sighed inwardly…
A ship as old as the Realm did not change course overnight, but the transformation, however slow, would be good for the kingdom’s progress.
Pulling himself out of his musings, King Dante took a deep, cleansing breath. Yea, it was time to do something that should have been done centuries ago. He drew back his shoulders and hardened his voice. “To the descendants of slaves, the Malo Clan, who reside in the province overseen by Prince Drake: For eight hundred years, there has been acrimony between us. Although many of you have left the resistance and conformed to the laws of the Realm, there are still a handful of rebels who cling to their bitterness, and unlike my father, I understand this full well. For centuries, your ancestors toiled under the yoke of slavery. You built our villages, our schools, and our roads, even as you were denied the privilege of using them: of learning a trade, receiving an education, or bequeathing property to future generations. As giants, you were useful to the Realm. As slaves, you built the lives and wealth of others. And once freed, you wandered through a land that had left you behind, struggling to divide the remaining scraps you were now forced to fight over. Only a fool would consider that justice, or call that even. For unlike all those around you—those who still benefited from your service—you were free but possessed nothing.
“That changes today. To every head of household in the Malo Clan, I bequeath thirty acres of land, two gold pieces, and a five-year apprenticeship with the mentor of your choice, learning whatsoever trade you desire, to be paid out of the Castle Dragon treasury. Rest assured, this is not a gift. It was earned by the sweat, blood, and toil of your ancestors, and had they not been slaves when they earned it, you would already possess it. Let us forever bury the acrimony between us.”
If someone had dropped a goblet on the throne-room floor, it would have resounded like crackling thunder.
Such was the pervasive silence.
And as a horde of fearsome giants—males known for their brutality and savage fighting—placed their fists over their hearts and bowed their heads to King Dante in true, unabashed fealty, perhaps for the first time in the history of the kingdom, Dante knew that all the sacrifice, plotting, and treachery had been justified.
Just the same, he was standing at a crossroads.
Lest the people find him soft-hearted, believe he was weak, or misinterpret the dragon behind the proclamations…
He gestured with his chin toward the throne-room doors, and two armored sentries shoved them open. Another two guards, with swords at their hips, dragged a Malo Clan giant into the throne room, even as the crowd before them parted.
It was King Demitri’s captain…
One of the two savages who had patrolled behind Demitri’s throne for as long as Dante could remember, the one with the pointed black goatee—the one who had captured Mina so long ago in the storeroom and dragged her to the king for a whipping. And while his partner, King Demitri’s lieutenant, had been killed by Prince Drake during the insurrection in the castle gardens, this particular Malo Clan Guard had been captured.
He had spat in Prince Drake’s face.
He had begged Prince Drake for his death, a martyrdom that would be viewed by his clan as an honor, whilst swearing all the while to one day seek vengeance against “that bastard Dante,” should the prince succeed in his treason.
Prince Drake, ever the thoughtful, analytical one—and possessing the talent of forethought—had bade his soldiers to lock the brute up in the dungeon. The prince had calculated the political and symbolic significance of executing King Demitri’s last protector in public.
“This man,” Dante said icily, “is a traitor to his kingdom. He has refused to submit to his sovereign or to pledge his fealty to the sapphire dragon. And frankly, I never liked the filthy jackal.” Without hesitation or further preamble, Dante released his tail, cracked it through the air like a whip, and wrapped it around the giant’s torso like an undulating, coiling snake. He raised the Malo Clan guard high into the air, suspended him just beneath the lavish dome ceiling, and then snapped back his tail, the echo resounding like thunder as he callously released him. While the Malo Clan giant plummeted toward the floor, Dante carved his stomach open, dug out his intestines, and wrapped them around the giant’s throat, all in the space of two heartbeats.
He caught the convulsing body before it struck the floor, and brought it back to the ceiling, where he hung the giant from a rafter and let him dangle above the audience, kicking, choking, and squirming, even as he tried to pack his guts back into his stomach.
In an equally stunning display of power, dexterity, and speed, King Dante removed the restraints from the giant’s throat, wrapped them around his feet, and flipped him upside down, instead. As the courtiers below ducked and screamed and gaped, King Dante slashed his tail once more and beheaded the male as he dangled.
His head fell to the floor.
His blood rained down like crimson hail.
And King Dante cleared his throat. “Is there anyone else in this hall who has an objection to my rule, who would like to challenge the sapphire dragon?”
The people cowed and simpered.
“Then fall to your knees and pledge your fealty!” King Dante thundered.
Every soul in the throne room—with the exception of the princes, who had already proved their loyalty—obeyed in an instant, shrinking before the might and fury of the sapphire dragon.
King Dante cast a sideways glance at Queen Mina, who was gaping at him in shock, and extended his hand in her direction, even as he retracted his tail and smoothed his robe. “My queen,” he murmured.
She hesitated, eyeing his hand warily.
“Come to me, Ahavi,” he said.
And just
like that first day in the castle courtyard, Mina forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, to simply keep her eyes on the path before her, as she stoically padded to the dragon and placed her hand in his. Only this time, she wasn’t coming to him as a slave. And she wasn’t obeying out of duty.
She was giving herself to King Dante out of love, and she was meeting him on the dais as his imperial queen.
“Six years at the Keep, one month at Castle Dragon…thirty-one years at Castle Umbras, and you still do not understand authority?” he asked tersely before following the inquiry with a wink. He knew it was cruel, but he was teasing her with the words he had spoken so long ago, reminding her of how far they had come.
Mina lowered her dark, heavy lashes and sucked in air through her nose. “Your sense of humor needs some work, my king,” she retorted. “Blessed Nuri. That was brutal, Dante.”
“Relax,” he drawled, once again making light of their first encounter, and despite her censure, Mina chuckled softly.
Together, hand in hand, they strolled out of the throne room.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Only a select few guests were allowed in the grand receiving hall within the castle foyer following the imperial coronation, and that list of dignitaries included Soren and Margareta Louvet, who were huddled next to a pair of golden wing-backed chairs beneath a priceless piece of artwork.
Mina gathered her skirts, bunched them in her fists, and scurried across the marble floor the moment she spotted them. “Papa! Mother! Over here…over here!” She raised her right hand and waved it wildly.
Soren Louvet, now seventy-nine years old, squinted to get a glimpse of his daughter. Though his raven-black hair had receded to gray, his keen brown eyes were as alert as ever. “Mina…Mina!” He ushered her forward with arms held open.
Mina fell into her papa’s embrace and held him like she had been wandering in the desert and he was the Giver of Rain and the Bringer of Water.
