Tatiana shot her a furtive glance. “How do you know this?”
Once again, Mina shook her head. “It’s not important.” She shrugged. “And as for where I was earlier—I’ll tell you later.” As the crowd grew around them, courtiers filling up space, Mina tugged Tatiana by the arm and shuffled several paces back until they were both leaning against the far western wall. She took the opportunity to survey the hall, to observe its occupants, and to gather information. She was preoccupied with thoughts of Raylea and Matthias, terrified of Damian and his sadistic behavior, and she was anxious to get this mandatory meeting over with so she could concentrate on her much more pressing concerns.
As always, the king was perched like a god on his throne, but he wasn’t leaning back in that grand, relaxed manner that told the whole world he was in control. On the contrary, he looked more than just a little uneasy—he looked equal parts angry and determined, as he sat suspended on the edge of his seat, rested his elbow on his thigh, anchored his chin on his fist, and leaned forward to speak with his sons. Dante, Damian, and Drake surrounded the king in a loose semicircle, and Mina couldn’t help but notice that, for the first time ever, King Demitri’s crown looked too heavy for his head.
As for the princes, they cast a powerful, uneasy visage of their own: Unlike the first time Mina had viewed the throne room, they were not standing in a lesser, symbolic position, staring dutifully at their father from the bottom of the dais, displaying a quiet, perhaps even resentful, reverence. They were each standing tall. They were offering the king counsel. And they were functioning as a cohesive unit. The thought gave Mina chills. It was hard to see Damian as anything more than a vicious brute, a rabid dog that should be put down by its owner.
She shivered, watching as the two familiar Malo Clan guards paced back and forth behind the throne, throwing off a lethal energy of their own, and then she turned her attention to the greater hall.
Standing toward the front of the room, about twenty-five feet away from the bottom of the dais between two mighty columns, was a virtual entourage of important dignitaries: the high priest in all of his ceremonial garb, the king’s chief regent, and the royal scribe, who was carrying the official seal of Castle Dragon, a quill, some ink, and two trundled scrolls, along with three small vials of mysterious liquid, all placed on a velvet-lined tray. Serving the dignitaries were several servants of lesser importance, including Thomas the squire.
“Are you looking at that?” Tatiana whispered, tugging on Mina’s hand. “What’s on the tray?”
“I have no idea,” Mina said somberly, yet her stomach began to churn as she stared harder at the small mysterious vials. Their shape and color were vaguely familiar, reminding her of something she had seen at the Keep: a hand-drawn picture, stuffed inside an ancient tome, about the fertility rites performed at the Autumn Mating. The Sklavos Ahavi were born with a rare gift of fertility, the ability to produce dragon sons for the Realm, but this gift did not blossom unassisted—the females were given a sacred, magical elixir that awakened their reproductive potential for thirty-six hours at the time of their formal mating. And that mysterious potion was stored in bottles that looked an awful lot like the ones sitting on the royal scribe’s tray.
Mina shook her head. Nah, that couldn’t be right. It made no sense. The Realm would soon be under siege; the king was worried about an imminent attack; and his sons were involved in the kingdom’s defense—not exactly the right time or place for fertility rites. Mina sighed and dismissed the thought.
“Are those generals?” Tatiana asked, pulling Mina away from her curious, unsettling thoughts.
Mina blinked several times and followed Tatiana’s gaze to the center of the hall, where she tried to make sense of the various males in their military regalia. There were humans, warlocks, Malo Clan loyalists, and shades, all congregating together, with one important distinction; they were loosely separated into four distinct clusters, each group gathered by a huge jutting column, each column festooned by a familiar district flag: the banner of Castle Umbras; the standard of Warlochia; the pennant of Castle Commons, and of course, the over-arching emblem of Castle Dragon, raised higher than all the others.
“Sweet goddess of mercy,” Mina whispered. “They must account for half the warlords in the kingdom.” In addition, a host of the king’s private guards were milling around the throne room, releasing mysterious latches and tugging on thickly corded ropes. The king was clearly preparing for battle, and his guards were clearly preparing to open the mighty dome.
Tatiana fidgeted with her tunic, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other. “Are we in real danger, Mina?” She glanced toward the top of the dais. “I mean, beyond the usual, the obvious?”
Before Mina could formulate a reply, Cassidy Bondeville sauntered in their direction, elbowed her way through the crowd, and sidled up to Tatiana’s free side. “Afternoon, ladies,” she said in her usual haughty tone.
Mina regarded Cassidy sideways, peeking around Tatiana, grateful that she wasn’t standing right next to the witch. Trying hard not to roll her eyes at the utterly ridiculous formal gown Cassidy had donned for the somber occasion, she forced an insincere smile. “Hello, Cassidy.”
Tatiana nodded her head in kind. “Hi, Cass.”
Cassidy curtsied, more likely than not to show off her gown, and gracefully inclined her head. “Any idea what’s going on?”
“No,” Mina and Tatiana lied in unison.
“Well, whatever it is,” Cassidy persisted, utterly unaware, “it must be bigger than life.” She shifted her crystal-blue gaze to the top of the dais, quirked her rosy lips into a smile, and feigned like she was going to swoon. “By the gods, those dragons are gorgeous, are they not? Especially Damian, don’t you think?”
Mina struggled not to cough, even as Tatiana visibly flinched.
Lord of Agony, Mina thought, Cassidy is such a clueless dolt. “Well,” Mina whispered, trying to conceal her disdain, “perhaps the gods will smile upon you, and you can have him in the autumn.”
Cassidy cocked her shoulder in a dismissive gesture. “Perhaps,” she mused. “Although I have to say; I guess it doesn’t really matter. I’ve already fed them all, and while Damian is certainly the most dark and deadly of the three, Drake is far from a pushover. And Dante? Could the Bringer of Rain have created a more fearsome, sexual creature? He makes my knees weak.”
Despite her heavy heart and her overburdened mind, something in Mina’s stomach tightened as Cassidy’s words set her teeth on edge.
Cassidy had already fed them all?
Which meant she had fed Dante, too?
Really?
When?
Why?
She shook her head in disgust.
Who cared…
It wasn’t like it really mattered, or that the process didn’t still scare Mina senseless. As far as the princes were concerned, all the Ahavi were interchangeable in that regard. They were slaves with a practical purpose, and even if Dante chose Mina at the Autumn Mating—even if the king agreed—that didn’t mean he would never feed from another Ahavi. If anything, Mina should be thanking Cassidy for serving Drake and Damian.
The shrill sound of a tubular horn, the bugler calling the gathering to order, brought Mina’s attention back to the royal dais. Like everyone else in the hall, she grew instantly quiet as she strained to see the king above the throng. She was prepared to hang on his every word, content to be safely ensconced in a corner, at the back of the room, watching with the rest of the room.
The king wasted no time getting down to business. He stood and cleared his throat. “As all of you have surely heard by now, the kingdom is facing a very grave threat. Not long ago, while manning the watchman’s tower, Titus Beckham sighted a distant fleet of Lycanian ships sailing southeasterly toward the port of Dracos Cove. He believes the ships will begin to arrive this night, that all shall arrive by dawn on the morrow, and based on the size of the fleet, the formation of the vessels,
and the display of several dark-colored flags, we can safely assume the Lycanians are not coming here to parley or to trade. They are here to invade our realm.” He paused to let his words sink in, and then he gestured toward the center of the hall, indicating the myriad of high-ranking soldiers clustered beneath the four district flags. “I have already discussed strategy and defense with my sons and my generals, and we will be dispatching an army from Castle Dragon forthwith”—he held up a finger to emphasize his next point—“but that is not all. By sundown this eve, several militias from the remaining three provinces will make their way to the beach. It is our hope—it is our conviction—to contain the shifters when they dock before they have a chance to spread out from the port of entry.” His aquamarine eyes flashed red with anger and maybe a bit of angst. “I don’t have to tell any of you what would happen to this kingdom should the likes of these immortal shifters spread out like locusts across our land—the devastation would be immeasurable, the loss of life, immense.” He pointed toward his chief regent. “I have asked my proxy to join us for one purpose, to reside over matters of court in my absence for the next several days.”
The crowd grew enigmatically quiet, waiting for King Demitri to explain. A barely audible growl rose from the dragon’s throat, and the rafters above them began to shake as the king stood even taller. “Because of the serious nature of this threat,” Demitri continued, “I will not wait until my kingdom is under the sword and ablaze to summon the wrath of the dragon.” He spoke over a collective gasp. “This night, as the full moon rises and the ocean tides ebb and flow, I will feed and call forth the primordial beast that guarantees each man, woman, and child in this realm their ultimate protection. And come the break of morn, I will meet our armies and our enemies on the sands of Dracos Cove, and the easterners—should any survive—will write legends about the slaughter.”
A chorus of shouts and fearful bellows rose in the hall, even as two armored sentries threw open the massive throne-room doors, and another pair of castle guards began to lead a bedraggled group of prisoners—men, women, and children, all shackled by the wrists, feet, and throat—into the hall. Some were enemies of the state; others had simply failed to pay their taxes; yet others…Mina just couldn’t tell.
All were of lowly status, whether commoners, witches, warlocks, or shades.
Tatiana squeezed Mina’s hand so hard it felt like she might crush her bones. “What’s happening?” she asked, her voice growing frantic. “What are they going to do with those people?”
“Mm,” Cassidy murmured, before Mina could answer, leaning over to whisper in Tatiana’s ear. “Looks like the dragon king’s dinner has arrived.”
Mina grinded her teeth and whirled around to face the insensitive wench. “Would you shut up, Cassidy!” she snarled. She watched as three familiar Blood Ahavi, women who were not born as Sklavos, nor slated to bear sons for the Realm, raised their chins in misplaced pride and led the haggard bunch toward the throne. The women were all wearing sacrificial garb. “Dearest goddess of sorrow,” Mina exhaled.
She was at a complete loss for words.
“What is the king going to do?” Tatiana asked, pressing the subject. She turned toward Cassidy for an answer, evidently uncaring who supplied the information. She just wanted an answer.
“He is going to feed his beast, my sister,” Cassidy said in a dispassionate voice. “He is going to take their blood, their heat, and their essence until nothing sentient remains. He is going to bleed them dry, the entire lot of them.” She shrugged. “How else could he summon a fully formed dragon?”
Mina gulped. She felt sick to her stomach.
“And the Blood Ahavi?” Tatiana said. “They’re going willingly? Why?”
“What choice do they have?” Mina said.
Cassidy frowned. “Makes that womb of yours—of ours—a bit more precious, does it not?”
Mina pressed her hand to her stomach and fought not to puke, and that’s when she saw the human male at the end of the line, dressed in prisoner’s rags. His legs were hobbled and bleeding. His wrists and his ankles were chained, and his eyes were hauntingly familiar:
Matthias Gentry.
Her childhood friend.
The boy she was supposed to marry before the entire world had flipped on its axis.
“Oh gods,” Mina blurted as her vision swam. She stared up at the dais, trying to lock eyes with Dante. He had to do something. About all of it. The feeding, the soon-to-be slaughter, the inevitable war. She knew her thoughts were jumbled, that none of it made sense; after all, what could Dante possibly do to stop it, any of it?
Yet and still, everything inside of her was crying out against the injustice…
And that’s when the bugler sounded his horn once more, and the king commanded the court’s attention. “Silence!” he bellowed into the clamoring hall. “We are not done with our most important business.” And just like that, he had dismissed the presence of the slaves, the meaning of their sacrifice, and the visual reminder of what was to come.
The king ushered his scribe forward, and the young man hurried up the dais with the tray containing the vials, the quill, and the scrolls. Demitri reached for the first of the two cylinders and unfurled the parchment. Without preamble, he began to read. “On this, the twenty-fifth day of May, in the 175th year of the Dragonas’ Reign, the season of the diamond king, I Demitri Dragona, one and the same, hereby set forth into law for all perpetuity the following decrees: First, to my eldest son, Dante Dragona, I bequeath the province of Warlochia, the castle, the court, and all the lands therein, and I place him at the head of the Warlochian army to lead his subjects in battle as he sees fit. Effective today, this decree shall supersede the autumn coronation. Second, to my next-eldest son, Damian Dragona, I bequeath the province of Umbras, the castle, the court, and all the lands therein, and I place him at the head of the Umbrasian army to lead his subjects in battle as he sees fit. Effective today, this decree supersedes the autumn coronation.”
The king continued to read the proclamation, bequeathing the commonlands to Drake, his youngest son, and also placing him at the head of the corresponding army. It was clear to Mina that he wanted each of his sons to have absolute sovereignty for the upcoming battle, and he was willing to circumvent the autumn ceremony in order to make that happen. So what did that mean for them, the Sklavos Ahavi?
As if the king had read her mind, Demitri Dragona stepped forward to the very edge of the dais, his long brocade robe flowing down the top two steps as he scanned the crowd and briefly locked gazes…with Mina. Turning back to the general audience, and ignoring the doomed slaves before him, he raised his imperial chin and gestured lavishly with his right hand. “I will not send my sons to war, where they may die at the hands of perilous shifters, without first bestowing upon them their birthright and their selected mates, the chosen Sklavos Ahavi. Both their castles and their females are now theirs to claim, and they may take them to the port of Dracos Cove as they see fit. Should the Bringer of Rain choose to claim one—or any—of my children, may He first bless them with a dragon son.” He nodded at the scribe, who glanced down at the vials on the velvet-lined tray, and Mina knew—oh gods, she knew—they were indeed the fertility sacrament.
The scribe opened the second scroll, which was apparently unmarked, raised a quill, and dipped it in ink, waiting for the king’s final proclamation. King Demitri then turned to face his sons and nodded at Drake. “From this day forth, until death shall part them, I bestow upon my youngest son, Drake Dragona, the Sklavos Ahavi known as Tatiana Ward. May she faithfully serve her lord, Castle Commons, and the Realm, and may the gods bless them with many sons.”
Tatiana swayed on her feet with relief, and Mina had to reach out to steady her—her own heart was beating like a clay tambour in her chest. Gods of the underworld, the princes had not had a chance to petition their father for their chosen mates…
Or had they?
Wavani, the king’s witch, had yet to make
a recommendation.
Or had she?
Maybe that was good.
Mina held her breath and waited as the scribe finished penning the first matrimonial proclamation, and the king turned his attention to Dante. “From this day forth, until death shall part them, I bestow upon my eldest son, Dante Dragona, the Sklavos Ahavi known as Cassidy Bondeville. May she faithfully serve her lord, Castle Warlochia, and the Realm, and may the gods bless them with many sons.”
Mina’s face flushed with heat, even as her arms and her legs began to tremble.
Wait…
What had she just heard?
Dante and Cassidy?
No, that couldn’t be right.
That wasn’t right.
Time seemed to stand still, and everything around her spun in befuddled circles as the king continued to speak: “From this day forth, until death shall part them, I bestow upon my second son, Damian Dragona, the Sklavos Ahavi he has requested, known as Mina Louvet. May she faithfully serve her lord, Castle Umbras, and the Realm, and may the gods bless them with many sons.”
Mina’s jaw dropped open, but she couldn’t form an articulate sound. She stared up at the dais, her gaze desperately seeking Dante’s. Was he trying to say something to his father? Was he asking for a private word?
Yes—yes—of course he was, and surely the king would hear him out.
There was a short exchange between the two Dragonas, and then King Demitri held up his hand, cutting Dante off, abruptly. The monarch flicked his wrist in sharp dismissal, and that was…that was…what?
The end of it?
No! It couldn’t be the end of it.
“Noooooo!” Mina’s soul was screaming. “Dante, please…help me.”
Nothing was real.
“Be quiet!” A sharp slap. Cassidy’s hand? On the side of Mina’s cheek?
“Mina. Mina! Can you hear me?” Tatiana bracing Mina by the shoulders?