Dragon Awakened (Dragon Heirs #1)

Prologue

If Elouan Thorne had his way, he’d never leave the familiar comfort of smooth stone walls, the sleeping furs piled in the corner, and the hoard of books he preferred to most people. The only furnishing in his room that he didn’t care for currently reflected his too-formally dressed image.

He hated mirrors. And formal dress.

His dragon hated clothes of any kind: ugly, itchy obstacles to shifting.

Elouan glanced longingly out of his window, over the snowcapped mountains in the distance.

Oh, to be flying right now instead of being held to duty.

This side of the castle offered breathtaking views, while the opposite side connected to the caves his ancestors once lived in, mostly used for storage now as the royal family and other nobles dwelled in the stone addition, and the townsfolk lived in stone houses down below.

If he leaned over the window ledge, he could glimpse the town.

The mountains cast shadows over the valley below, the sun sinking behind their bulk. Not long now until full dark. He really should hurry.

A momentary flash of consciousness from the beast within suggested a nice long nap on a sun-warmed rock. Elouan’s dragon had the best ideas.

He adjusted his chin, allowing Teron to tie a leather thong around his neck, suspending a silver, talon-shaped amulet over his heart.

His leather trousers creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his silk shirt filmy against his skin.

He could handle the trousers and shirt. The flowing cloak, tight vest, and bejeweled circlet Teron placed on his head, not so much.

Garnets to match the rich burgundy of his shirt.

An ostentatious gemstone caught his hair, pulling a strand free from the braid Teron had toiled over. “Ow!”

“Careful,” Teron warned. “That scowl could frighten bears from their dens.” He slapped Elouan’s fingers away none-too-gently and patiently worked the dark strands from the circlet. Elouan let him. Of the two of them, Teron had much more patience.

Unwanted finery? Check. Public smiling face? Not here yet, but conjurable. Total desire to be anywhere else but at a formal gathering? Check.

“This is a big day. There’s a fine line between fashionably late and showing disrespect,” Teron said in a mock-scornful voice while playfully shoving Elouan’s shoulder, “and you’re skirting the edges.” Teron: part bodyguard, part conscience, part valet, all friend.

Elouan didn’t make Teron’s unofficial job of ensuring he kept appointments easy.

Teron tapped a finger against his full lips, strolling around Elouan, assessing him with critical eyes.

“Leather, silk, and velvet? All in the same ensemble? Be still, my beating heart.” He’d dressed more simply in shades of gray, with less silk, soft hide instead of firm leather, and a greater ability to move without creaking.

The entire ensemble seemed designed to blend him into the background.

“I’d tell you to smile, but I don’t enjoy wasting my breath. ”

Elouan emitted a resigned sigh, tugging at the vest. “At least you can breathe.” Not fair.

Teron didn’t have to stay and keep Elouan company after one scowl too many sent his official valet running.

Besides, why all this fuss? “While I’m thrilled at the reason for tonight’s celebration, scores of people fawning over me and my family grows tiresome.

” He pushed a few loose dark hairs from his face—inky hair nearly a match for Teron’s dark shade.

The errant strands immediately slithered back across his cheek.

Teron turned Elouan by the shoulders until they stood face to face, a customary smirk on his handsome face.

He kept his hair cropped tightly to his head, and his oddly colored violet eyes flashed with mischief.

“Aw, the heavy curse you bear, being the handsome heir apparent to a powerful king.” Teron dropped an unnecessarily loud kiss on Elouan’s nose, then laughed and danced out of swatting range.

Elouan let out a snort worthy of scandalizing the tutor of his youth—or of his dragon form.

“We both know no one would talk to me with you in the room if I weren’t the crown prince.

” And wearing a monstrosity of a crown, or circlet rather, twinkling with garnets, all designed to scream, Look at me!

Elouan gently dug his fingers beneath the gold band, attempting to scratch his scalp without further mussing his hair.

“True.” Teron grinned, forcefully grabbing Elouan’s wrist to minimize the hair damage. He’d always enjoyed Elouan’s discomfort at being royalty far too much. “If I weren’t an outcast from another court, you’d have no admirers at all.”

This old argument? “Your court is gone, so you’re not an outcast but a part of High Reaches now.

” They wouldn’t talk about the massacre that killed most of Teron’s family, leaving the poor orphan to be taken in by Elouan’s father.

Father often treated Teron as another son.

He might’ve even suggested a match between Elouan and Teron if Teron still held a noble title.

Oh, who was Elouan kidding? He and Teron would be miserable together, and helping someone fit into their new environment wasn’t reason enough to take a mate. Besides, two alphas? While such pairings existed, Elouan and Teron would kill each other within a fortnight.

In addition, even Elouan—while not overly observant of the drama of others—couldn’t ignore the blatant stares and the soft sighs when Teron looked upon a specific omega, an omega Elouan had every reason to want happy.

“Whatever. I’m going to be a late guest if we don’t hurry.

What’s fashionable for you is insolence from me.

” Teron adjusted Elouan’s collar with a quick tug.

Teron’s didn’t need tugging. His garments dared not creep one iota out of place.

Being seen as an outcast meant he tried hard to be perfect so none of his adopted court could find fault with him.

Some still did, the unmitigated snobs. Nobles were an especially disapproving group of outsiders, particularly of one who’d once outranked them.

Elouan cast a longing glance at his sword, resting in a place of honor by his desk.

While he could never hope to defeat a skilled warrior such as his brother, Daire, he rarely went anywhere without his sword, or at least a few knives.

Only the edict of no weapons at formal gatherings kept him from arming himself.

“Don’t even think about it,” Teron growled, showing his uncanny ability to know what went on in Elouan’s head. “Now, let’s get moving. You know any wrongdoing by the court’s darling prince gets blamed on the foundling, who everyone knows is a bad influence.”

“But you are a bad influence,” Elouan assured him. “It’s one of your most endearing qualities.”

Teron grinned, elbowing Elouan in the ribs. “And don’t you forget it. Need some mayhem in your life? I’m your dragon.”

They trudged side by side down seven flights of stairs.

“Why do you have to live on the seventh floor?” Teron groused, which happened every time they used the stairs. Much easier to land on the roof in dragon form, shift, and drop through the trapdoor in the ceiling. “I mean, there are six other perfectly good floors.”

Yes, there were, some with vacant rooms—rooms once occupied by extended family and visiting dignitaries from other courts.

Countless wars took their toll, decimating many other courts and leaving few visitors.

The royal family now consisted of Elouan, his two brothers, his father, an aunt and uncle, and two cousins.

“Hush your whining. Would you want to live closer to my uncle?” Uncle Urien’s family consisted of only four dragons, but he still demanded half of the fifth floor to house them. An entire floor separating them from Elouan still didn’t seem enough.

Teron gave a mock shudder, mimicking the posh accent used by some of the more class-driven dragons. “On second thought, the seventh floor is lovely in autumn, wouldn’t you agree? The unobstructed view of the Swamp of Sorrow? Magnificent!”

“Agreed.” Elouan ignored the sarcasm and led the way down the stairs to the servants’ entrance, his dragon receding to the depths of his mind. Looked like the human half of their shared existence would navigate the next few hours.

Teron stopped Elouan with a hand on his chest. “Wait right here.” He exited the door, staying gone for a few moments before returning. “No one’s about.” He waved Elouan toward the door with an exaggerated flourish of his hand.

Elouan raised a brow, folding his arms resolutely across his chest. “You know that’s not necessary, don’t you?”

“Ah, how quickly you forget. Not a ten-day ago, ruffians lay in wait for you at the front entrance. Ruffians of the worst sort, I might add.”

“Those were my brothers, Teron.” And total pains in Elouan’s ass when they chose to be. Wanting to bash their heads together occasionally didn’t keep him from loving the scoundrels fiercely.

“Aaaand what did they do?”

“Pelted my new tunic with overripe tomatoes. You should know, since you were there and didn’t offer to help. You even snickered, if memory serves.” Teron might’ve lobbed a tomato of his own to impress Anrai.

“It was more of a full-blown belly laugh, but I believe I’ve made my point.”

Actually, Teron had fallen to his knees, doubled over, roaring with laughter. A few tears might’ve even made an appearance.

Elouan would never admit to laughing over the incident himself later.

His brothers were nothing if not creative.

No one would dare pull such a prank this evening, though, with Elouan expected to look his very best. At least he hoped not.

He followed Teron out of the door, glancing from side to side for any sight of Daire and Anrai.

The troublemakers should be safely ensconced at the meeting place by now.