The Dragon Princess

by Paris Hansch

  He moved toward his room, but Adelia stepped in front of him. “Why won’t you ever listen to me?”

  Alexander ran his fingers through his hair. “All right, all right.”

  Her demeanor shifted, and she happily chattered on for a while, pulling out pieces of parchment from dragon knows where and speaking in complicated riddles. Something about art and the Plains of Scoria. He just nodded his head. At times, he admired his little sister’s creativity, cleverness and devotion to her studies, but today was not a good day. He could practically feel the minutes slipping through his fingers.

  “So, what do you think?” She looked at him, her eyes wide and hopeful.

  Alexander blinked as the setting sun flashed in his face. It was too late to steal a few moments of rest now.

  “I appreciate your hard work, and I’ll take it into consideration. If you’ll excuse me.” He gave her a warm smile and walked off. With the amount of time she spent talking about the rest of the empire, he was sure that she would be happy in Eloria. There was no doubt about it. Alexander scratched his stubble. She certainly didn’t seem happy here, not after their parents were killed, at least. It had undeniably changed all three of them.

  Alexander went through the rest of his duties in a slight daze, like he was doing training drills again. Throughout it all, he rested a hand on his sword. Despite his schedule, he needed to make time for practice. After all, if it truly came to an all-out war, his people would be looking to him to lead.

  He shuddered. Would he be able to do that? To stand in the face of certain death and knowingly lead his people along with him? He was sure that the fights he had been in were nothing compared to a real war. Alexander gripped his sword, heading straight for the training grounds. It didn’t matter if he could or couldn’t do it; he had no choice.

  His soldiers were done for the night, and the grounds were quiet, a large, open expanse littered with various wooden structures and targets. Alexander let out a breath, the fog swirling in the air. In one swift movement, he lopped off the head of one of the structures, then hit the body of it again and again.

  His Golden Dawn struck true each time, simply named from the many early mornings that he had spent alone with his sword. A new dawn to protect his people, his siblings, his family. Sweat rolled over his lip as he dashed around the grounds, practicing his movements. Without a doubt, he was one of the best swordsmen in Anadrieth. He could do this. He had this situation under control—his siblings would be fine, and his people would be safe.

  “You’d fare better with a partner.”

  Alexander whirled around. It was Mina. He quickly wiped the sweat from his face and fixed his hair.

  “How long have you been there?”

  She tilted her head. “A while.”

  Alexander dusted off his shirt and sheathed his sword. He must have been so focused that he didn’t realize that she was standing right behind him. She stood there with her arms crossed, evidently having been dressed by his sister again. It suited her far better than the servant’s uniform, almost like she was meant to wear finery like that, but it wasn’t exactly practical. Her leg was exposed, her bare skin at the mercy of the frosty breeze. Alexander swallowed, unhooking his cloak and holding it out to her. He was staring again.

  “Let’s go inside. You must be freezing.”

  “I’m not cold.”

  Alexander paused awkwardly, his cloak still in his hand. He was rarely cold himself, but he was well accustomed to Anadrieth’s perpetual wintery state. As far as he knew, their home had always been like that. It was probably where his ancestors had gotten their family name from, as unimaginative as it was.

  “What are you going to do about the war?” Mina prompted.

  He had almost forgotten that he’d told her. “Oh, right. Councilor Dallan came up with a plan.” Alexander gave her a confident nod.

  Mina raised her brows. “And?”

  “And…” Alexander walked past her. “And there’s nothing to worry about. We’ll have an alliance with Eloria in no time.” He bit his lip. For some reason, he didn’t want to tell her about marrying his little sister off. Talking to his councilors, it had felt like a good idea—the only option to save his people—but with Mina, he felt uneasy about it all. He knew that she would give him that disapproving look of hers.

  “An alliance with Eloria…” Mina mused. She didn’t seem too convinced, as though she was waiting for him to say more. It was hardly fair. As clever as she was, Mina didn’t know what it was like to have this kind of responsibility.

  “What would you do about it, then?” Alexander half-snapped, but he instantly regretted it. He shouldn’t take it out on her.

  “Find the cause.”

  Alexander frowned. “The cause of what?”

  She waved her hand. “The war, of course. You told me before, you had no idea why Lord Tamar was hostile toward you.” Mina nudged a small, thorny growth poking through the snow with her foot. “All weeds are killed by pulling them from the roots, not by plucking a few leaves off or breaking the stem.”

  “I have investigated, but that man refuses to speak at all. Councilor Dallan has returned on many unsuccessful diplomacy trips.”

  “Then maybe you weren’t looking in the right direction.”

  “There’s not enough time,” Alexander rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know when the Lanadese will be on our doorstep, and I can’t afford to run around looking for whatever thorn he’s got in his foot.” He kicked the weed, sending chunks of snow flying, but the plant stayed firmly in the ground. “Even if we find it, there might be nothing I can do about it, and there’s nothing to say that there is a reason in the first place. He could just be a greedy man who wants more land or wants to be violent for the sake of being violent.”

  Mina was quiet for a moment. “Have you met with him?”

  Alexander stared at her. “Surely, you’re joking. He would have me killed the instant I stepped foot in Lanadrin.”

  Mina shook her head, meeting his gaze. “All I’m saying is that an alliance is a temporary solution. Even if it does deter them from war initially, there’s nothing stopping them from bringing Calvera into this, as well. You’re involving half of the empire in your problems.”

  Alexander slapped his forehead. “I’m just one man, for dragon’s sake!” It wasn’t his fault that Lord Tamar had turned into a lunatic. He turned away from her. Why she was suddenly pinning all of this on him, he couldn’t fathom. He was doing the best he could, but there were very few moves left on the board, and sacrifices had to be made for the good of everyone.

  “Exactly,” said Mina. She whirled away from him, throwing her last words over her shoulder. “And that’s your biggest problem.”

  Alexander stood there in stunned silence. He always seemed to make the mistake of thinking that she’d agree with his decisions, or at least pretend to. But no, she always caught him off guard, and he could never read her. He exhaled, shrugging his cloak back on. As frustrating as she was, Mina usually had a point—of course, if he could have gotten to the bottom of this earlier, they might not be in this situation, but there was very little information on Lord Tamar in general, almost suspiciously so. There was no use in worrying about it now; he just needed to wait for Eloria’s response.

  Alexander couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. No other woman would have the courage to speak as freely as Mina, and even if they did, he hadn’t met anyone who thought the way she did. He trudged back to the castle. She was mystery itself. Each time he thought that he had unraveled a thread, he would only become further entangled. Just like when they had first met two years ago—what a strange day that had been.

  Two years ago — Year 2159 of the Fey Dynasty

  Alexander spurred his horse through the forest of silverlight trees, their glass-like branches creating a myriad of illusions. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as the crisp air caressed his cheeks, breathing life into his weary body. Hooves hit the snow, the wind
almost immediately covering their tracks. Veer left to dodge the hidden root. Curve at the forked tree to avoid the cliff. Alexander grinned, racing forward at top speed.

  The Celestine Forest encompassed the majority of his territory, creating a protective shroud around his city. Even his own men weren’t game enough to ride here at more than a trot, as the white landscape tricked the eye and sent many a horse flying, their riders soaring with them. But he had to make sure that he could navigate blind. Heavy galloping came from behind him, and the rider was clearly struggling in the terrain. Alexander sighed, slowing his mare. Unfortunately, he was never alone for long.

  “Brother, you must learn to communicate with your horse, or you’ll always be left behind.”

  Anton pulled on his reins a little too sharply, causing his horse to toss its head back and shake its feathery mane. “I can’t.” He clutched his chest, gasping for air. “This has to be the hairiest horse in all of Anadrieth. My nose won’t stop running, and my throat is on fire.” He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

  Alexander frowned as the ugly sound interrupted his serene environment. “Go home and consult Elaine. The Calveran nettlefern might have arrived, and she can make a poultice.”

  “Don’t be—” Anton sneezed violently several times,” —ridiculous. I’m not letting you run off by yourself. I can’t believe you’d just leave at a time like this.”

  “Have faith, little brother. Times are tense, but there hasn’t been a war since the empire was forged. I’m certain Lanadrin will back off soon.” Lanadrin had come out of nowhere, threatening Anadrieth with war. Lord Tamar refused to speak with him or any of his representatives, but he was sure that diplomacy would come through in the end.

  “I don’t think—” Anton’s hand went for his sword as a rustling came from their right. “A bearion?” he hissed.

  Alexander motioned for silence. A moment later, a small, four-legged creature emerged from the bushes, its fur almost translucent, with two curled horns and a bushy tail. “Just a foxen,” he said. “Don’t be so jumpy.”

  “Oh, right. Bearions should still be hibernating,” said Anton, wiping his watery eyes. “Everything always blends in…” he muttered, snapping a twig from the frostberry bush and watching as it melted into his palm.

  Alexander kept moving. He wanted to at least make it to the river. They rode in relative silence, apart from his brother’s incessant sniffling and occasional bouts of sneezing. Soon, they came to a halt as the water stretched forward like a sea, partially frozen against the edges of the bank. The Moonstone River was a central feature in the empire, passing through every region and serving as the main border between Anadrieth and Lanadrin. The barbarians would have to take the long way around to reach them on foot since no one could cross the treacherous river.

  Alexander peered along the bank. The pristine landscape was marred by a small black shape. Scanning his surroundings, he spurred his horse toward the figure, drawing his sword. He could hear his brother shouting behind him, but he didn’t wait for him to catch up.

  As Alexander approached the shape, he realized that it was a young woman, collapsed face-down on the riverbank, her slender fingers locked in a claw-like pose. Deep gashes exposed the earth beneath the snow, as though a bearion had made its mark. Sleek ebony locks draped themselves around the length of her body, still glistening from the river, and dark blood trickled from the back of her head, partially dried and matting her silky hair.

  Alexander sheathed his sword at once, diving toward her. Her smooth skin was slightly colored compared to his pale complexion, a standard characteristic of the northern regions. Pressing his thumb to her wrist, his eyes widened at her strong pulse—she was still alive.

  A horse whinnied behind him, and his brother dismounted, though less gracefully than Alexander had. He pointed his sword at the woman.

  “Get away from her!” Anton shouted, raising the blade above her head.

  Alexander whirled around to catch his arm. “Stop it! She’s alive,” he said. “I’m not about to kill a defenseless girl.”

  Anton pursed his lips. “It’s probably a trap. You know how these woods are.”

  “This is nothing like that,” Alexander muttered as he carefully turned her over. He sucked in a breath. She was beautiful. Her long lashes closed over her eyes, and her hair fell across her forehead. A petite nose sat above her full and inviting lips, tinged blue from the cold. His thumb brushed the flecks of snow from her face.

  Anton coughed. “If you’re going to insist on rescuing some damsel in distress, you might want to stop gawking and start putting pressure on the massive, gaping hole in her chest.” His brother threw a bundled cloak at him.

  Alexander blinked as the material hit his face, then fell into action.

  “Right. Yes, that’s what I was about to do if you hadn’t interrupted.” He hooked his arms under hers, pulling the rest of her body from the river. Upon closer inspection, the wound wasn’t large but was far from clean, as if a jagged blade had been thrust into her chest, creating a messy exterior as it was pulled out. He immediately pressed the cloak against the wound, turning his face away to calm his stomach.

  Who was this woman? She wore what appeared to be a nightgown. No Anadese woman would be wearing anything this thin. It was obviously expensive—a noble’s cloth. No identifiable marks, jewelry or insignias. She was far too short to be Calveran, her skin too unmarked to be Lanadese. Her figure was slender but well-fed. There was evidence of muscle, as well as callouses on her hands, suggesting a life of hard work that could only come from a commoner.

  Perhaps she had been kidnapped. Or worse. He suddenly wanted to hold her in his arms. Whoever she was, she must have been through a terrifying ordeal. Alexander removed his cloak and wrapped it around her, glancing at his brother, who stood to the side with his arms folded.

  “Aren’t you going to help?”

  Anton turned his head, bringing the scar over his left eye briefly into view. “Only if you command me, my lord. Nothing good comes from things like this. I hope you’re planning on leaving her at the nearest infirmary.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be personally ensuring the culprit is brought to justice. No one gets away with this in my region.”

  Anton sputtered but quickly turned it into a cough. “You can’t be serious. Surely, you haven’t forgotten.”

  Alexander lifted her, signaling his horse to lie down. “I haven’t.” He cradled her in his arms as the horse stood. It would be a miracle if she were still alive by the time they made it home.

  “Move out,” he called to Anton, leaving him to grumble a series of curses at his retreating brother.

  They hurried back to the castle, causing quite a stir amongst the servants as they rushed toward the infirmary. His little sister was there, as usual, chattering to Elaine. Alexander pushed past her, setting the young woman onto a bed.

  Elaine’s sharp eyes were on her immediately. “What happened?”

  “We found her unconscious at the river, a fatal wound to the head and stomach,” said Alexander. Anton trudged in afterward, lingering by the door.

  Elaine waved them off as she turned away. “Talk to the gravedigger, then.”

  Adelia shook her head rapidly, pulling her back. “No, she’s still alive.”

  Alexander glanced at his sister, but there wasn’t time to question it. “She’s got a pulse.”

  “You said fatal,” grumbled Elaine as she examined her. “Now, the lass is in a pretty bad state. I sense there’s something off in her blood, probably some kind of poison or disease. Are you sure—”

  Alexander hit his fist on the bed frame. “Yes. Do everything you can.”

  Elaine raised an eyebrow. “She important or something?”

  “No,” muttered Anton. Alexander cleared his throat.

  “I’m sure she’s no one special. But I don’t like unnecessary loss of life, especially in my region. I’ll track down the culprit, so make note of anyt
hing you find.”

  Elaine began pouring water over the young woman’s wounds. She usually saved her abilities for serious injuries, but he was more concerned about whether the woman would make it.

  “That’s it. Get out, all of you,” said Elaine. “You,” she glared at Adelia, “are getting your hair in the wound, and you,” she elbowed Alexander in the chest, “are breathing down my neck. And your brother is just making the room miserable.”

  His brother threw up his hands, storming out.

  Adelia jolted backward, gathering her hair. “But—”

  Alexander straightened himself. “I should really supervise—”

  “Out!”

  “I’ll let you handle it.” Alexander made it to the door in a few strides, but not before he heard Elaine mutter, “Damn kids.” Of all of the people in his castle, sometimes, she was the scariest.

  It was a few days later when the young woman had awoken. The moment Alexander heard word of it, he marched straight to the infirmary. His brother had insisted on coming, too, though it probably wasn’t for the same reasons. The door was ajar, and the infirmary was strangely quiet as they approached. He slowly pushed on the door, his hand on his sword. A chill drifted through the air, and he spotted a broken window barely hanging onto its remaining shards.

  Elaine was sprawled out on the floor, resembling an insect that had been flipped onto its back. The other nurses seemed to be collapsed, as well. Crouching in the corner was the girl, her posture like a wounded foxen willing to escape by any means necessary. She clutched a large glass shard in her hand, a trickle of blood running through her fingers. Her hair partially covered her face in a dark shroud disturbed only by the breeze.

  “I told you she’d be nothing but trouble,” Anton hissed.

  Alexander ignored him and entered the room with his palms showing. “We don’t mean you any harm. My name is Alexander, and I am the Lord of Anadrieth. You’re safe here.” He took a step forward, and she bunched her muscles at his movement.