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The treaty signing was more symbolic than necessary, reaffirming the Dragon’s alliance with the Faieara after they’d just won back a portion of their kingdom, thanks, in part, to the Okora clan.
“Very well,” Tristan replied, his chest twisting at the memory of his father falling from the sky, dead before hitting the ground. The Kayadon ship that had taken him down, the one Tristan had failed to disable, shooting off into the distance and leaving his world crumbled in its wake.
The sharp burn of failure that had lived in his gut ever since reignited with a flourish, spreading along his sternum and attacking his heat. He swallowed the searing pain and focused on his own reflection.
“I understand your brother, Lear, is off preparing to run Phase Nine,” said Orik, “but I feel like Gavin should have come.”
“He abdicated the throne,” Tristan reminded him. “He has no obligation to partake in these political ceremonies.” Tristan held no ill will toward his eldest brother, who’d made it clear from an early age he had no interest in taking on the role of king. Which was why their father had focused on grooming Tristan instead. However, Tristan had expected his father to live many centuries more and had wrongly assumed he’d had plenty of time to absorb his father’s wisdom. As a result, much of his youth was spent in the pursuit of idle amusements: drinking, fighting, and women.
“Didn’t you have a fling with the Faieara queen?” asked Orik, blunt as ever.
“That was a long time ago.” Tristan shot him a stern look. “Her demon mate will not appreciate the reminder.”
“Oh! I remember her.” His mother sighed, smiling at the remembrance. “Kyralyn. She was a lovely young lady. Your father and I had hoped the two of you would one day wed. It would have been marvelous, politically speaking.”
“Fear not, Mother,” he returned, tone lackluster. “It looks as if I will still wed for political reasons.”
She picked invisible lint from her shoulder. “Aye, the daughter of Prince Gideon. What was her name? Princess Leanora?” Prince Gideon was brother to the king of a dragon clan that resided beyond the hills of the Okora clan. Over the years, there had been some bickering between their two clans, mostly over territory and resources. There were also burgeoning blood rivals. A royal marriage would help put an end to the tension.
“They’ve been staying at the castle,” informed his mother. “Making themselves quite comfortable. As though the engagement is already settled. Tell me, have you accepted the girl yet?”
“Do you oppose the arrangement?” Tristan asked by way of avoidance. “I figured you would approve.”
His mother lifted one delicate shoulder. “I just want you to be sure that it’s what you want. A favorable marriage could lead to a stronger kingdom than ever. On the other hand, a miserable match could ensure the downfall of a nation just as surely as any war.”
Tristan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “To be honest, I hardly know the girl. We met a handful of times. She seems…amiable.”
“She’s rumored to be one of the most beautiful creatures in the land,” Orik inserted. Tristan did not discount the claim. Leanora was extremely attractive. And she knew it.
“Remember, son, your father courted me for years before I agreed to marry him.” She loved recounting the tale of her courtship with King Mar, how she had made him work to win her heart. Constantly his father would refer to his wife as one of the most stubborn women he had ever encountered. She’d refer to him as the most persistent brute she had ever met. Tristan and his brothers used to roll their eyes at what was clearly unwanted parental flirting; now he’d kill to hear his father call his mother stubborn one last time. His mother’s eyes turned down, as if she were thinking the same.
His heart twisted for her loss.
Her sorrow, my fault.
“I may not have years.” He’d already been challenged by an upstart young buck looking to usurp the throne—on the day he’d returned to announce his father’s death. Tristan had been outraged by the lad’s lack of decorum and had taught him a lesson. The young dragon had retreated from their battle with an ego-check and more than a few wounds to lick.
Still, others would try. Tristan had not spent as much time exhibiting his strength to his clan as his father had, which was why no one had challenged King Mar. His dominance had been unquestionable. No one knew what Tristan was made of yet. Many might suppose he was weak, an easy target, softened by a life of privilege. If he had a strong mate from an equally formidable family, his crown would be solidified. Challengers would think twice.
As king, it was an option he must seriously consider, though his desire for the beautiful Leanora was lukewarm at best.
An alarm began to squeal. Tristan called to his pilot, “What’s happening?”
“Your Majesty”—cue the gut burn—“the ship’s sensors have picked up a single Kayadon ship approaching from the rear…fast.”
“What are they doing all the way out here?” Orik pondered aloud. “A scout, you think?”
Belinda replied, “If so, they are foolish to be this far out with no backup.”
“Whatever they’re up to, you can be sure it is no good. Battle stations!” Tristan called. “Hail them.”
“No response,” said one of the crew.
“They aren’t slowing,” said another.
Tristan ordered, “Send a warning shot.”
Seconds later, a pulsar torpedo made contact with the Kayadon ship. Whoever was controlling the ship made no effort to avoid the blast.
