I dearly want to go to Queen Magritte and pull her into my arms, but she’s not mine to comfort. I make myself stand as still as stone, fighting down all the treasonous deeds I wish to commit against the king. A dead King Aylard serves no one. The crown prince is still young and foolish, and if King Aylard were to die now, there’s no guarantee that Maledin would fall into better hands. Every time I speak with him, the only impression Zabriel leaves on me is that he’s an idiot.
“You’re right, dragonmaster,” she says, as if I have given her any kind of answer. “I must accept the will of the gods. We all must.”
I am learning to loathe the will of the gods.
The queen brushes tears from her cheeks. “Tell me about Alin of Vierforn’s daughter. I believe she arrived recently in the city?”
Zenevieve’s face fills my mind.
“Oh, she’s lovely,” I say at once.
The queen’s brows rise in interest at my abrupt answer. “Lovely? I’ve never heard you call anyone lovely.”
I clear my throat. “The princes are both vying for Zenevieve’s attention. She’s competent on a dragon. More than that, I cannot say.” I’m sure Zabriel will make a fool of himself over her, but it’s not only the princes who have taken an interest in Zenevieve. I’ve noticed several of the young, unmated dragonriders observing my lessons with the youths, and it’s not because they’re curious about the royal children or Onderz.
The queen smiles. “I hope to meet the lovely girl soon.”
She dismisses me, and I’m sunk in dark thoughts with anger tightening my muscles as I walk down the corridor past the royal apartments. If it wasn’t for the dragons, I think I’d leave the capital. Royal life is exhausting.
I’m startled out of my reverie by a sudden shout.
“Father, no!”
There’s an almighty crash from inside the room I’m passing, followed by the sound of glass breaking and heavy things falling to the floor.
The door is wrenched open, and King Aylard storms out. When he sees me, he roars, “Take my son down to the barracks and teach him to be a proper Alpha, dragonmaster.” He thrusts a righteous finger into the air as he marches away, long robes flying behind him. “Beat it into him if you have to.”
Inside his bedroom, the young prince stands amid wreckage. There’s an astonishing quantity of books, plants, and glass vessels all over the floor, awash in different colored liquids, with strange, wet, unidentifiable objects from broken jars floating among the mess. It looks more like an alchemist’s laboratory than a hopeful young dragonrider’s quarters.
Emmeric notices me, and his bereft expression turns to embarrassed fury. He comes out into the corridor and glares at me like he wants to pick a fight. He can try. The boy might be a burgeoning Alpha, but he’s still growing, and he trains very little.
Emmeric swerves away from me and shoves a nearby guard, a Beta who daren’t raise a hand to the prince. “What are you looking at? What the hell do you think you’re looking at?” Emmeric screams in his face, shoving him repeatedly while standing over him.
“S-sorry, my prince,” the Beta replies, going pale with fright. He can’t raise his weapon or defend himself against the king’s son. Emmeric draws a dagger from his belt and brandishes it.
I grab Emmeric’s wrist and wrench it behind his back, digging my fingers into his flesh until he gasps in pain and drops the dagger.
Emmeric struggles back and forth in my grip. “Get your hands off me, you prick. You’ll rot in the dungeon for this.”
If I twist just one inch higher, I’ll break his arm. “Will I? Call your father back and explain how you were attacking his guards. Or shall I do it for you?” I take a deep breath and raise my voice. “Guards, send for King—”
“Shut up. How dare you touch me!”
I let him go and shove him back into his room, where he can’t hurt anyone. He slams the door in my face.
Emmeric has always given me a bad feeling. He reminds me so much of his father, but with a calculating, ambitious streakthat’s worrying in a younger son. I wonder what the hell he gets up to in his bedroom.
It’s alwaysa proud day for me when a dragon brings her hatchlings out from the nesting caves and introduces them to the world. Yersia is one of the flare’s most experienced dragon mothers, who’s raised several broods already. This time, she has just two hatchlings, but they are very beautiful, strong, and healthy young dragons. The hatchlings twine around Yersia’s taloned feet as she paces out of the cave mouth at dusk. One is a black female with green eyes, and the other is a deep, deep blue with gold speckles in his eyes. The hatchlings are only a few feet long, but very energetic, and they keep up with their mother as she circles the flare, showing off her babies to the others.
I notice a small figure off to one side. Zenevieve has come to watch the flare settle down for the night. She’s sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees and her back against a rock, keeping a respectful distance.
I catch her eye and tip my chin up, indicating that she may come closer if she wishes. Zenevieve doesn’t have to be asked twice. She scrambles to her feet and joins me. The hatchlings are wary of us, and so I sit on the ground and indicate to Zenevieve that she should as well.
Yersia’s two hatchlings are overcome by curiosity and eventually patter over to us. I keep still, but I can’t help my smile as the midnight blue dragon chews the toe of my boot. My legs are extended in front of me, and he and his sister romp back and forth over my thighs.
The black and green dragon goes up on her hind legs with her front legs on Zenevieve’s shoulder so she can sniff the girl’s hair, making her laugh.
“Why are you always down at the dragongrounds?” I ask Zenevieve. “Do you have nothing else to do?”
