Page 35 of Courting the Dragon King

From all over Necros, children would be sent to these camps. There they would be trained to fight. If the child proved themselves, they would then be granted entrance into the eternal army when they reached young adulthood. These were the Chosen.

It was the transition from living human to dread knight where Wraith came in. Many times throughout the war, Wraith had stood on a large wooden dais at one of these camps during a grand ascension ceremony.

The Chosen lined up by the dais. One by one, the Chosen walked up the stairs onto the dais. They’d stand in the middle, completely naked.

The trainees, hoping one day to be one of the Chosen too, hollered, cheered, and stamped their feet. The Chosen then lifted an ornate dagger and plunged it into their own heart. Blood gushed. The individual collapsed. A metallic scent wafted in the air. The soul and body of the Chosen split.

Wraith stepped forward. And in that moment, he’d yearn to summon the Bone Door and lead them through. Or at least explain to them that there was another path, one of peace and rest and the great beyond.

But that was not his role here. Nor was it what the dead even wanted. So instead, he’d prick his own hand with his ceremonial dagger and whisper an incantation. He’d shove the willing spirit back into their body, binding them together, even though it went against all Wraith’s instincts.

Then the corpse stumbled to their feet to thunderous applause. Blood still wet on their skin, they’d pledge themselves to the eternal army. Then Wraith would stand before them, reciting incantations, and bind the dread knight to serving Necros.

By the end of the day, they’d have gone through the same ritual over and over again. The faces blurred together. Blood soaked the dais and his shoes. His hand would feel like a bloody pincushion.

Wraith hated the ascension ceremonies.

The worst part, for Wraith, was the knowledge that there was no true death for a dread knight. The spirit was bound to the body, no matter what was done to it. Severe injury that would kill a living person would not give a dread knight the release of death.

If they were hacked to bits, those bits would just lie there until a necromancer, trained to create and release those bonds, came along and helped them. In some cases, they would have to wait an age. Or perhaps no one would ever come to release them. Then they would wait forever for a release that would never come.

The thought made Wraith sick.

Once after an ascension ceremony, he’d approached a newly reborn dread knight. Unable to stop himself, he’d offered to break the bindings, so their body would no longer be tied to their corpse and they would no longer be bound to serving Necros in death.

“I can help you move on,” Wraith had said.

The dread knight had stepped back, panic in his eyes.

“No!” He’d shaken his head. “Your Highness, please do not take this from me. I have worked my whole life to become a dread knight. I will serve Necros well. I will prove myself. Give me a chance. Please!”

Wraith had never made the same offer to another dread knight.

Wraith re-entered Konrad’s room. He froze.

Konrad sat up in bed. A candle on the bedside had been lit. “Who were you talking to out there?”

Wraith had had little to do with non-necromancers, but he got the sense that his husband would not appreciate him talking to his dead father. After all, he’d reacted terribly when Wraith had spoken to the dead old woman during their couple’s quest, and Konrad had not even known Susan.

“No one,” Wraith said. “Just talking to myself.”

Konrad frowned, clearly not believing him.

“I should probably head back to my room.” Now that Konrad had awoken and had lit a candle, Wraith would easily be able to dress.

“In the middle of the night?” Konrad hesitated. “You should just stay here. No point going back. Especially since there are those who are plotting and attacking people. You should not wander around on your own.”

Wraith supposed that made sense. Still, Wraith was so unused to others being concerned for his well-being that he did not know how to respond. Although, Konrad probably only cared because Wraith dying before the peace treaty was finalised would be inconvenient for him. He’d probably have to marry a different necromancer.

Still, Wraith knew that Konrad could not really want him to stay. But honestly, Wraith did not wish to traipse through the monastery in the middle of the night. So he said, “Okay. Thank you.”

He climbed into bed. Konrad blew out the candle. The bed shifted as Konrad lay down. Wraith remained completely still, not moving a finger or toe as he tried his best not to disturb Konrad. He did not want Konrad regretting letting Wraith stay. After a couple of minutes, Konrad’s breathing evened out.

But Wraith remained awake, remembering. He thought of all the young people, all just twenty years of age, who’d so willingly become dread knights and joined the eternal army. They’d looked so young and full of life, their cheeks flushed and blood pumping through their veins, in the moments before they stabbed themselves.

How many times had he hesitated before binding the souls to their corpses? Instead he’d wished to offer them an alternative, a chance to move on to the other side. Or just force them on. But that had not been his duty.

And now he would never have to create a dread knight again. He wondered what his duties would be as king consort of Draconia.