Crown of Dragons: Dragon Blessed eBook #1

Not Quite Eighteen Years Ago

The child was born with two colored eyes: muddy earth and summer sky. The dragon clans believed her a gift from the Gods, a blessing bestowed on the new generation and a promise of royal strength. He thought it superstitious nonsense, another way the unholy beasts justified their elemental blasphemy.

He traveled under the cloak of night, pushing his fatigue to the breaking point—he had to move fast. Once the child and mother were deemed healthy enough to travel, they’d be relocated to the castle, and if that happened before he got to her, he’d miss his chance.

The village smelled of filth, of cattle and moody winter and crops gone sour. He curled his lip, slipping between long shadows and past the sentries without trouble, breaking into the hovel and finding her fast asleep. She was a tiny thing, pink cheeked and bowed lipped, with a wisp of raven hair. Some might say she was innocent. Pure. He knew better.

He scowled at the sleeping parents and the child tucked between them, imagining ways he could execute all three—end them while he still had the chance. But no, another Dragon Blessed daughter would be born with heterochromia to take this one’s place. That baby might be born of better circumstances. Unreachable.

This one was right here. It had to be her.

The spell was nothing save for a few quick utterances. But he still had to procure the blood. So he cast the second spell, the one that would leave all three inhabitants lost in slumber until sunrise. Their breathing relaxed into the magic and the night grew impossibly quiet. He raised the bed sheet and found the child’s foot. It was as small as a baby bird and blushing velvet to the touch. He felt no remorse as he pricked her heel and drained the blood. He let it run, much of it sopping onto the sheets, until his vial was filled. With a flick of his long finger, he erased the mess and wiped her clean.

Tomorrow, the trio would wake, fully rested and surprised at their good fortune. Tomorrow, he would take the blood to its intended target and cast the final spell. He held the warm vial as he would a precious gem and smiled for the first time in weeks. One day, this blood would prove to be the killing blow against the dragon clans, ending their reign—ending them. It really was a shame the baby had to be born with two colored eyes.

She never had a chance.

Chapter One

Hazel

A woman with a butcher knife sticking out of her back is pulling my hair. At least, she’s trying to. She hasn’t quite figured out that I can’t actually feel her, so she’s gone from the polite ask, to the shoulder tap, to full-on hair pulling.

It’s a new low, even for me.

I shift away, biting back an annoyed growl, and attempt to focus on the classroom whiteboard where Dr. Peters is scrawling something about Aristotle. I blink, hoping to tune out this obnoxious lady who’s now flashing images of her medicine cabinet at me like she’s going to die if I don’t help, and I’m seriously about ready to punch her in her dead, pasty face.

Not that it’s even possible. But seriously!

     “You okay?” Macy whispers from the seat next to mine.

I sink into the padded chair and refocus on the lecture hall as I nod, hoping she’ll forgive whatever horrible nonverbals are morphing my expression at the moment. Macy is kind and cool and pretty, and dang it if I don’t want her to be my friend.

Yup. I’ve turned into that girl. 

It’s only been a week since I started my freshman year of college, and I’ve already managed to join what’s turning out to be our dorm’s “in crowd.” Don’t ask me for tips. Considering that I graduated a year early from high school over what Mom so lovingly calls “The Regina George Situation”, I don’t have any tips.

     I moved into my dorm last Sunday, only one day before classes started, because I didn’t want to be noticed. I didn’t have visions of grandeur, of being tossed a frisbee my first day by my future husband or something equally moronic. Quite the opposite. I was awkwardly trying to blend in with my oversized hoodie from the sales rack at Target, my dirty blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing the barest of makeup (no contouring here), and hiding behind my nerdy and totally fake black-rimmed glasses. Which, by the way, I love—I’m proud to call myself a nerd.

I shouldn’t have stood out, and I definitely shouldn’t have made friends effortlessly. But did that stop the other girls living in my dorm from sticking to me like white on rice? No. No, it did not. And so far the “Mean Girls” group in our dorm is turning out to be the opposite of mean. They’re like the glittery unicorn group of girly friends I’d always dreamed of having but only thought existed in cheesy made-for-TV movies. Who even knew pretty and popular and kind was possible at our age? But Mom promised college would be different, and so far, she wasn’t lying.

     The dead lady is still hovering right in my eyeline, distracting me from whatever’s going on up front with Doctor Peters. It’s pretty clear that she was a drug addict and she’s going through some major withdrawals. I don’t quite understand how that works considering she no longer has a body, and I feel bad for her––I do. But I’m also trying to focus on Peters as he goes over the origins of anthropology, and she’s making herself rather difficult to ignore. I catch my other new friend Cora’s raised eyebrows from across the room, and she points to her phone before turning back to the lecture. Discreetly, I check mine to find her text.

     Wanna study for Friday’s quiz together at lunch? My treat ;)

     I smirk. The dining hall is included in our dorm fees, so it’s not like Cora’s going to treat me to anything other than the pleasure of her company. I quickly text her back.

Sure. So generous of you ;)

         I’m lucky this class has my two newest besties in it. Okay, they are the only true friends I’ve made so far, but still, it’s best friend status at this point with the three of us. We’ve spent nearly all our time together over the last few days since we met. I wish all my classes had them, but no, that’s not how college works. We just caught a break with Anthropology. Yay for General Education, or something like that. 

Cora waggles her eyebrows with a cheeky grin when she reads my reply, and I’m hit with this surreal feeling of imposter syndrome. I’m suddenly cool, aren’t I? How is that possible? It won’t last and I hate that I care. This stint at popularity is a total farce that hasn’t done a thing to change how I feel inside. I still feel out of place. I still have anxiety every single second I’m around these “normals” because deep down I know these people won’t understand me and will probably mock me once they figure out my secret. Because they will figure it out. Given time, everyone does. Try as I might, I can’t help my freak flag from flying high and following me wherever I go.

Actually, they follow me wherever I go. They’re my stupid freak flag.

But I can’t very well go around telling my new friends the truth about them, can I? I can’t just announce, “I see dead people,” like some kind of female Haley Joel Osment. The kid was a loner in that movie for a reason. And yeah, I guess these days it’s cool to be weird and different, but not that weird and different. It would be one thing if I read tarot cards and wore a pretty rose quartz on a dainty chain around my neck; that would be passable. That might work.

Talking to the air? No. Definitely not okay to be babbling into the empty aisle, all like, “Oh, hey crazy lady, get off me! And spoiler alert, you’re actually one of the dead people. I’ll just send you on your way. Go be with Jesus!”

Can I do that right now? Hell to the no.

     So that’s why I’m about ready to spontaneously combust right here in this padded seat. I should be paying attention to the anthropology lecture. Peters is a campus favorite for a reason, and I actually really like this class if our first lecture was anything to go by.

But there are a lot of dead people hanging around campus. I purposely chose a small liberal arts college in a backwater West Virginian town so that spirits wouldn’t bombard me like they do in big cities. Lucky for me, I don’t see ancient ghosts, so I wasn’t worried about the Civil War history here. It’s the recently dead who appear to me. And as it turns out, Hayden College has its fair share. They seriously won’t leave me alone now that they’ve realized I can see them. Even though I’m not talking to them or acknowledging them whatsoever, they sure aren’t scared to bombard me.

It’s like this: I can see the spirit realm. The ghosties sense that about me and send images to my mind. Sometimes it’s moments from their lives, or people they love, regrets they have, but usually, it’s random objects that make no difference to me. It rarely makes sense. But they do it all the time regardless of whether I’m busy—like right now, in the middle of class. And oh goodie, I’m supposed to be answering a question.

     “Umm, sorry, Dr. Peters, what was the question?” I ask, voice cracking. My face burns as everyone in the classroom, living and dead, turns on me. It’s a smallish lecture hall, but all fifty seats are filled. Lucky me.

     Peters raises a bushy eyebrow, notices the phone tucked in my palm, and turns to another student. “Mr. Ashton, perhaps you could enlighten us?” The heavy gazes of my classmates turn from me to someone sitting in the back, and I let out a stilted breath. That could have gone better.

     A brief silence is followed by a deep silky voice dripping in exasperation. He has a slight accent that for the life of me I can’t place. “Anthropology comes from the Greek words anthropos, meaning human, and logos, meaning logic. That’s an easy question, Dr. Peters. If people would listen instead of being glued to their phones, perhaps we could all move on to the more interesting bits.”

     A few students snicker. Shame washes over me, along with that awful feeling of being the butt of the joke. I can’t believe he called me out like that! And it’s not like I didn’t know the answer. I just didn’t hear the question because of this crack-baby ghosty hovering over me—who by the way, is still on my case, sending image after image of prescription medicine bottles. The shame burns up quickly, consumed by anger as I grit my teeth. I continue to tune out the dead lady’s hysterics and turn back to glare at the know-it-all in the last row.

         I’m stunned at what I find. An icy chill creeps over my body.

     Whoever he is, he’s glaring right back, his expression venomous, and with eyes so dark, I swear they’re black. It’s unsettling to the point of making my pulse race. He sees me looking but he doesn’t turn away. A jolt of electricity shoots up my spine. His jaw is clenched tight, accentuating the sharp lines of his cheeks and the fullness of his pink lips. I take him in, this man with a face made of daydreams and nightmares. He’s the kind of attractive meant for Photoshop and glossy magazine ads, not real life. And from his brazenness, I’d guess the good looks come with a crap load of arrogance. Gross. Also, total eye-roll.

     The marker squeaks against the whiteboard as Peters continues the lecture, bringing the class back to focus.

     But I don’t turn back. Not yet. Instead, I sneer at the guy who’s still openly staring at me with complete and utter disdain. Like, I’m sorry, but what does he want? He’s probably used to women fawning over him, but I refuse to be so predictable and lame. I also don’t want to be the first of us to break eye contact. It’s as if we’re playing a game of cat and mouse, but guess what? Cats are my favorite animals. I have two back home. Plus, I have claws. So back off!

     Okay, I don’t really have claws. I bite the crap out of my nails if we’re being honest. But what I’m trying to say is I’m the cat in this scenario—I’m the winner.

     He tilts his head, curls his lip, and averts his gaze.

     Ha! I knew I was awesome!

     Satisfied, I whip back around and resume my attempts to pay attention. I’m here to learn, dang it! The back of my neck heats all throughout the lecture, like a laser beam is being directed right at me. It’s even more distracting than the ghosts all up in my business. But I don’t turn around again. Not because I’m afraid of the jerk in the back, but because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s bothering me. For whatever reason, the hatred between us is instant and mutual. I smile. It’s a nice distraction for a haunted girl.

         And lo and behold, a half hour later I find him waiting for me after class.

     “Mr. Ashton” leans against the wall in the hallway and the moment he sees me, he pushes off it, stalking toward me like a lion about to attack an innocent baby gazelle. Yeah, I am well aware I just went from awesome feline warrior goddess to a baby gazelle.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, the accusatory tone slamming right through me.

     I stop, Cora and Macy at my side. All three of us seem to be momentarily blinded by both his attractiveness and that continued brazenness. I blink rapidly, downright baffled by this behavior. It was one thing to challenge me in class, but to wait for me afterward so he can yell at me? Who does that? It only takes a second for that stunned feeling to evaporate into one of indignation.

     “Back off,” I snap, stepping forward in challenge. I almost can’t believe my fearlessness. I’ve always been so afraid of the bullies, so ashamed of my curse, my self-esteem weakened by something I couldn’t change no matter how hard I tried. I let the kids at my old school walk all over me to the point of graduating early and running away. But not today. Not with him. Something about this feels oddly different.

I glare up into his face, voice tight, “I don’t even know you.”

     He scoffs and shakes his head, pointing at me until his index finger pushes against my shoulder. “Don’t play dumb. I know what you are.”

     My whole body lights up with recognition, but not in a good way. I step back, nerves rushing through me like electric currents. He knows what I am? He knows I’m a medium? How?

         “Don’t touch her!” Cora bursts forward, her voice an angry growl. She’s the kind of person I wouldn’t want to mess with, but he doesn’t even give her a second glance.

     “This is my territory,” he says, leaning in closer, hateful eyes trapping me in.

My inner voice is screaming at me to run far, far away. But something else inside me, something base and primal, wants to destroy him, to tear him limb from limb. Who does he think he is?

Our classmates have begun to form around the two of us, mixed expressions of shock and outrage and curiosity and even delight glued to their prying faces. But nobody intervenes. Go figure.

“Your territory?” I question with a laugh. “What is this, Westside Story? Like I said, I don’t even know you. And don’t you ever lay a hand on me again.”

He pauses for a second, looking me up and down like I’m half diseased, like I smell bad or something. Do I smell bad? I quickly inhale and catch his scent; it’s campfire and spice and oddly intoxicating. He’s dressed in the kind of laid-back black t-shirt and jeans that cost a fortune to look like he doesn’t care about his wardrobe. Typical. I’m wearing butter-soft black leggings and an oversized Gryffindor hoodie. And proud of it! His nostrils flare and that “could cut glass” jaw tenses again.

The moment stretches out between us, taut as a wire. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. I suddenly grow hot. A ghostly gurgle of water streams across the floor, pooling at our feet an inch thick. I look down and stare, panic rushing through me. Not now! It seeps into my high top sneakers. Nobody else sees it. Nobody feels it. Dread sweeps over me. Where did it come from? 

“Pack your things and get the hell out of this town,”  he hisses under his breath, the venom in his tone meant to sting. I blink up at him, out of my element. Then he pushes past me, his broad shoulders nearly knocking me to the tiled floor, into the ghostly water that only I can see.

I’m speechless.

Macy rushes to steady me, her face pale and her wide eyes twinkling with worry. “Are you okay, Hazel? What was that about?”

“I don’t know,” I croak, confused as ever. Blood rushes to my cheeks as my adrenaline begins to fade, and I realize that everyone is staring at me. Why is this crap always happening? Seriously, I cannot handle another bully, especially one that looks like that. Good Lord, he’s sexy and scary and I don’t even know what to do with this situation.

Cora slides her ebony arm through mine, tugging me close. The water sloshes around my ankles and I refuse to look at it for too long, to search for whatever spirit is doing this to me. Cora’s a physically affectionate person in general, and something about her vanilla perfume and warm skin relaxes me a fraction. I can get through this. With friends like her, I’ll be okay.

“Dang girl,” she sighs dramatically. “What on earth did you do to piss off Dean Ashton?”

Chapter Two

Khali

I fly ahead of Owen, dipping close enough to crest the water and fling an icy spray into his face. If he were in his human form, he wouldn’t cough or cry out, he’d laugh. And then he would send it right back. But in his dragon form, he relishes the water. A loud splash echoes throughout the darkness and the flapping of our wings goes from two sets, to one. He must have gone under, his water elemental magic eager for a ride. I push harder, flying as fast as I can, sticking to the air. While I have an affinity for all four elements, air is my favorite. I’ll need the advantage if I’m to beat him to the outer wall.

         A torrent of water shoots up, and I crash straight into it. It’s quick to twist around my body, dragging me down into the murky lake. Water floods my throat and dulls my senses, and I instantly draw on my water elemental. The magic springs to life, giving my dragon self new life underwater. I thought it was dark above, but below the surface, it’s black as ink. Fear clamps down on me, despite my efforts to push it away.

         Where are you, Owen Hydros Brightcaster!? I yell at him through our telepathic link. I am going to murder you! You know I hate going under, especially at night. It’s creepy down here. But it’s not only creepy, it’s filled with terrible memories that I’d rather not revisit. Ever. 

         I’m met with a sly laugh. Don’t be such a baby!

         I’m almost a grown woman, you twit, I challenge. I don’t even bother to search for him down here. Our jet-black hides camouflage too well in the watery darkness. I tug at my fire elemental, just enough to warm my limbs so I can swim faster to the surface.

Oh, believe me, he replies with that same laughing tone, everyone has noticed. His words ring through our link and send my heart skittering.

If I could blush in my dragon form, I would. Not because he and I have anything between us other than a deep friendship, but because there’s no hiding the way my body has blossomed. I’m beginning to resemble my mother, who wears her curves like a badge of honor. I could never be like that, walking around court like a prize to be won.

Even though that’s exactly what I am.

The moment I crest the lake to greet the late summer air, my fear washes away with the water. I hate going down there, night or day, and my dragon side doesn’t like it much either. Everytime I do, logic vanishes and the animal within demands I get out before the merfolk sense us. Not that Owen and I couldn’t fight them off. He’s not the least bit afraid of sea monsters, but I’d rather not face those particular demons ever again. As a child, they used me to get what they wanted from the dragon royals, and I’ll never be able to let that watery experience go. No matter how hard I try, the trauma follows me.

         The familiar shapes of our towering castle home and the surrounding village rise like hands in the distance. The village spreads out over the landscape for miles with a looming stone wall circling the entire thing. The sun has yet to break the horizon, thank the Gods. Owen and I have to be back in our beds before morning, with no one the wiser to our midnight escapade. I stretch my wings to their absolute fullest and push every muscle to maximum effort. I can almost taste my forthcoming victory.

Once a week, for the last year, Prince Owen and I have snuck out at night to race around the territory and practice our magic. The sentries and guards don’t mind him, he could walk right on through the gates if he wanted. Princes can do almost whatever they want. Almost. It’s my presence that requires our secrecy. I’ve gotten caught out here before and the reprimands cost me dearly. But if he were caught with me? There are some things even princes cannot overcome. And yet Owen insists. He’s my best friend at court and understands how much I crave to fly. He risks everything to give me the chance.

I love him for it. It’s because of his friendship that I’m here, wind rushing off my scales, night shrouding my dragon form, the thrill of the chase nipping at the tip of my wings.

         This is the happiest time of my week. Always. 

         Owen swoops up next to me, and having left his beloved lake behind, he’s faster than ever. Sometimes I wish he’d let me win, but I know he won’t. He’s far too competitive. And I wouldn’t be satisfied if he did. I could use one of my other elements to delay him, just as he did with the wall of water, but I don’t. I never do. It wouldn’t seem fair to use the wind or earth or fire when he cannot. I’m just as competitive as he is and a level playing field is half the fun. So we stick to water and flight.

         He’s inches from gaining the lead and the outer city wall is closer now, Stoneshearth’s Castle rising beyond it. The first one of us to land along the edge and shift back to human form wins. We advance, neck and neck, our wings slapping the wind, until he presses ahead. I quickly veer to the right and knock into him, hoping to jar him off course, but he’s bigger than me and it proves futile. Something foreign ripples through me, pulling me down, like weights clinging to my scales. I baulk, confused, tumbling to the rocky ground. Did I just lose my power? No. Not possible. I quickly push the thought away.

         Owen circles back, landing next to me with a thud. We shift back, our clothes half drenched. My long hair is a matted mess down my back that will be its own cruel punishment come morning, but still worth it.

“Are you okay?” Owen asks, crouching down next to me. “What happened?”

My breath catches in my throat. I bite back the worry and force a smile onto my face. “One of these days, I’m going to beat you.”

         “I have no doubt.” He winks. His eyes are the brightest blue, even at night. It’s impossible not to stare. But there’s still something unsettled in his gaze. He’s also worried about me, but he lets it go for now.

         We sneak back into the castle through one of the many underground passageways. It’s musty and cramped. The floor is worn dirt and the damp stone walls are so low we have to crawl in some spots. There are a few places where we travel close to public spaces. We take extra care to go slow here, and even still, every sound sets us on edge. But we’re also used to it and, as far as we know, we’re the only ones who’ve found this particular passageway.

We take this risk week after week, knowing that if we get caught together, he’ll bear the brunt of our punishment. I’m selfish for it. I know that. For a prince to be caught sneaking around with me is prohibited, and if caught, he—or any one of his brothers—would be given a very public and very painful lashing. But its effect wouldn’t be lasting, wouldn’t be life or death, and perhaps that’s why we tempt fate.

No. It’s my kiss that is deadly. Should anyone be caught kissing me, they’re to be sent into immediate exile. And should they foolishly try to return? Executed. Owen has never kissed me, and I pray he doesn’t. Because two years ago, his older brother did, and we haven’t seen him since.

“Lady Khali. Please, hold still,” my ladies maid, Faros, says with a great deal of exasperation as she tugs my corset’s strings. I catch her eye in the gilded mirror and shoot her a chagrined smile, but I do what she asks, wincing as she finishes tightening, dressing, and primping me for the day. Faros has been with me for as long as I can remember. I consider her my second mother, though she’s much kinder than my real mother who took to court life like a knife to venison, cutting her way to the top.

“Does it have to be Friday already?” I complain. “Let’s just skip right to Saturday so I can rest.”

The missed sleep from last night weighs heavily on my limbs. That and the pressing worry about what happened. I’ve never once struggled with my dragon form like that. It was as if one second she and I were together, and the next, we were separated into two different beings. The thought of it leaves me hollow.

Faros clicks her tongue. “You have to give all the princes equal time. You know the law.”

I frown. “Yes, I do.”

Some of us choose our fate. Most do not. But in my seventeen years, I’ve come to realize that we all have control over what we believe. Our lives may not be ours to mold, but our thoughts are ours to own. Do the Gods have their hands in our lives at every moment, continually directing us on a course of their choosing? Or is fortune left to chance, left to ambitious men and women, willing to take what they want?

Or perhaps it’s both.

I was placed here by the Gods. My past, present, and future are clay between their fingers. There was a time when I rebelled against my fate, but I’ve since accepted the truth. And that acceptance was my choice. My one choice. My path was bestowed on me the day I sparked life in my mother’s womb, and, from the moment my eyes fluttered opened as an infant, it was known that I would be the next queen. My status from commoner to royal has never been questioned.

No, the question was, and still is, this: which of the four princes is to be my husband?

I brush my hands along my robin’s egg blue bodice, admiring the crushed velvet. Velvet is my favorite fabric, even in summer, and it makes me smile. There’s little I get to choose, but this dress is one.

Still, I sigh, returning to the truth of the day ahead. “But why does Bram have to be so boring? He never wants to do anything I want to do. It’s all study, study, study with him.”

“You would do well to read a book every once in a while.”

I fake a gasp of outrage. “I read!”

“Only to satisfy your tutors. I’m talking about taking a real interest in your responsibilities.”

I roll my eyes, even though I’m not surprised. This kind of advice is constant. Ask anyone, and they’d tell me to be grateful, to embrace what I’ve been given. “You sound just like Mother.”

“Oh hush,” she replies with a twitching smile, breaking her orderly façade.

As if her timing couldn’t be any more impeccable, my mother sweeps into my room. Her chestnut hair is neatly done atop her head in a sort of silly bird’s nest design and her dress is perfectly pressed silver silk against her tanned skin. She’s beautiful and cunning, and I steel myself for whatever she has come to demand of me.

“Tonight is an important night for you,” she says coolly, her eyes landing on me like I’ve already begun to argue.

I roll my eyes. “Aren’t they all? You know, I’m tiring of all this fanfare at my expense.”

She looks at me like I’ve gone insane, gathering her thoughts. “Then I’ll make this quick. I’ve come to encourage your courtship with Silas,” Mother says. She glides across the room to stand in front of me, placing cool hands on my shoulders and peering into my eyes. “Silas will take good care of you and this kingdom when the time comes. You should be nicer to him and stop paying so much attention to the childish twin.”

I shrug her off me. “Owen is my best friend, and why does it matter who I pay attention to? The king will choose my mate anyway.”

“It matters because people talk. So you’ll give Silas extra attention tonight. Do it for your family.”

I fake a smile, but inside I’m boiling. “As you wish, Mother.” I want to argue with her, but it’s so much easier to give in to her demands.

Not for the first time, I wish my father wasn’t gone so often. She never does this kind of thing in his presence. He’s too protective of me, and she’s too enamoured of him. He’s the kind of person who brings out the best qualities in all of us. I miss him terribly, like an emptiness is in my heart and only he can fill it up.

She raises a perfect eyebrow and then leaves me to Faros without another word. The second she’s gone, I groan and Faros shrugs, a look of regret passing over her eyes. There’s no point in talking about it. These are the kinds of conversations I’ve been having with my mother for years. She only has a place in this castle because of me and she’s desperate to make sure that everything I do stays in her control so that she can keep things the way she likes them. 

 Faros ushers me to the hallway as if the previous scene never happened. I wish she’d stand up for me, but I forgive her for not quite understanding me, because I love her, and at least she doesn’t try to control me. It’s like that with the people I call my family. With Father and Mother and Faros—even when they try to put me into the tightest of places, even when it hurts me to contort to their ideas for my future, my forgiveness is automatic. Perhaps that’s foolish, or perhaps that’s normal when it comes to family.

Faros stays close as we walk down to Bram’s chambers on the other end of Stoneshearth’s Castle. The staff step out of our way as we pass. Courtesans smile and offer cheerful greetings. Around us, the stone floors and walls are polished to gleaming gray. Giant arched windows line the long hallways, letting in rivers of golden light, brightening the glittering dust particles suspended in midair. Beyond the windows, countless dragons swoop and swirl in the distance. Some of our dragon army is practicing, their training drills sending a pang of pure want through my body. I long to be out there instead of cooped up in here, but I know that will never happen.

It doesn’t take long until I find myself standing outside of Bram’s door. I release a breath and knock against the oak. I hope he doesn’t answer. I know he will.

Every day it’s a different prince, except for Saturdays, which belong to me, and Sundays which belong to the Gods. Prince Owen is my best friend, and we always have loads of fun together, joking and lounging around with our pals. Prince Silas is witty and intense. He likes to play chess and talk about war strategy. Sometimes we’ll go for strolls in the hedge maze, which I quite enjoy. He’s fairly easy to talk to, but he doesn’t have many friends; he’s too critical, too barbed. Nobody stays close for long, nobody wants to get cut. And there’s something about him that scares me, something about the way he sees the world, like it’s another one of his chess boards. Everything can be won or lost.

But it’s Bram whom I struggle to connect with the most. He’s as dull as a butter knife. All he cares for are his books and tutors. Whenever I spend the day with him, we barely speak, let alone leave the musky library attached to his chambers. I suppose that’s to be expected of someone who isn’t Dragon Blessed. It’s not his fault, really.

In a matter of seconds, he opens the door, nods once, and goes back to his desk.

“Your majesty.” I bow and Faros and I stride into his chambers. All the princes have their own studies and sitting rooms for our meetings, and when we’re together, we’re never to be alone. At least not until one is crowned King and I’m married off. 

Bram’s sitting room is dark, with thick curtains drawn over the window, dripping candles burning in the candelabras, and stacks of books piled on every available surface. True to form, he doesn’t even bother to look up from whatever he’s studying today. I eye the tome in his lap, catching sight of the name of our greatest enemy: The Sovereign Occultists. I shudder and swallow down the instant burst of fear. The warlocks are terrible in every possible way and, worst of all, they want to eradicate elemental magic. The dragon race is top of their list.

I drop into the closest chair. It smells like dust. Faros shoots me a pointed look and I sit up straight, resting my hands on my knees and smiling meekly. “Do you have any novels in here?” I pick up a book about the Jeweled Forest and toss it aside. Geography is no fun for someone who’s never allowed to go anywhere. Not that I’d go there, not from the way people talk about it like it’s sure to lead to a gruesome death.

“Like what kind of novels?” He doesn’t look up. 

“Action and adventure,” I respond. “Romance, too, of course.”

That gets Bram’s attention. He peers up at me with mossy eyes like I’m one of the puzzling science experiments dissected in his books. “No,” he clips.

I roll my eyes and reach for the nearest history text, absentmindedly thumbing through the worn pages. Neither of us wants me here. There’s no way Bram will be named King and we both know it. A Non-Blessed prince has never been king. But the law requires us to spend this time together and so we suffer through it.

A photograph in the text catches my eyes and I gasp.

Bram jumps forward, ripping the book from my hands. “You can’t have that,” he snaps. But my heart is racing so fast I hardly care what he has to say about it.

“That’s not our history,” I challenge, “that’s from the other realm.” My mind reaches back to what I saw. A city of glass buildings towering into the sky like giants, glinting in the sun. I’ve never seen anything like that here, but I’ve heard stories of the non-magical realm where people aren’t dragons or wizards or seers, but are instead slaves to technology. I don’t quite understand what that word “technology” means, but I’ve had good enough sense not to ask. Whatever it is, it’s not for our realm.  “Are you allowed to have that?”

Bram’s eyes level on mine. “Yes,” he says plainly. I don’t believe him. But I don’t press him on it either. He sighs with exasperation and stands, rummaging through books for a while, until he drops a novel into my lap.

The title says, A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

“What’s this?” I ask, running my fingers along the spine. It’s smoother than any book I’ve ever seen before and glossy in the sunlight. It doesn’t seem to belong with the rest of the books in his library.

His eyes dart to Faros, but she says nothing. She sits in the back of the room, busying herself with her needlepoint work, feigning that she’s giving us privacy. She’s not. But even then, she can be trusted.

He swallows hard and levels his gaze back on me. Something foreign shoots up my spine and I sit up taller. “It’s a play. Just read it,” he finally says. “You’ll like it.” Then he settles back into his own text.

I’ve nothing better to do so I begin reading. The words are lyrical and somewhat difficult to understand, but I soon find myself drawn in, laughing through the tale of mischievous fairies and unrequited love. It’s the first time today I’m able to stop thinking about what happened last night with my wayward magic. Finally, after a few hours of nothing but comedy playing out in my mind and my occasional laugh to break the silence, Bram speaks. It catches me so off guard that I jump in my seat.

“Pardon me, what was that you asked?” I close the book but hold a finger between the pages. I don’t want to lose my place! 

His gaze pins me down. “I said, I’d like to talk to you about what happened with my brother.”

My heart jumps and my eyes dart to where Faros sits in her chair along the edge of the room. But she’s just as startled and can’t help me. “Which brother?”

He raises a dark eyebrow, calling my bluff. His voice is dry as sand, “Who else but the one you got exiled?”

Tears warm my eyes. My lips press together. I knew this day would come eventually, but now that it’s here, I can’t remember all the lies I’d so carefully prepared.