Prologue #3
Elouan wended his way through assorted court members, all resplendent in their finery, making his way toward the imposing figure waiting near the center of the bowl, his ruby-bedecked and seldom-worn crown serving as a beacon.
Elouan let out a relieved breath at the sight of the man he’d spent his life idolizing.
Men and women alike watched Elouan, some with envy, some with feigned admiration, others still with cold calculation. Fickle lot they were, but all moved aside for the crown prince.
They were Elouan’s people. He’d one day take his father’s place as king. Therefore, he’d treat them all fairly, regardless of his personal opinions or whether they were even members of this court. A ruler must avoid favoritism at all costs.
He didn’t engage in conversation, or they’d converge, demanding his time.
Elouan would mingle after the official ceremony, and bear their insincere fawning.
His leather pants and vest, dyed a deep shade of green, weren’t exactly comfortable, but he could tolerate them for a few hours and then dash back to his room to change.
The cloak? He’d happily drop the richly embroidered garment off a cliff, trappings of his station or not.
His father’s official mien softened when he spotted Elouan.
“Son!” King Locryn Thorne clapped his hands on Elouan’s broad shoulders, snuffling his hair in a dragon greeting reserved for family and close friends.
They were far enough from the crowd for Elouan to distinguish his father’s scent, breathing in the familiar comfort.
Elouan’s dragon gave a rumble of contentment.
“I’d wondered where you were,” Father mused, stepping back to study Elouan’s appearance.
He gave a slight nod of approval. “Your brothers are here already. Though I daresay I’d expected Anrai to be late.
I believe he detests crowds of fawning courtiers more than you do.
” He gestured toward Daire and Anrai, each huddled nearby with their friends.
Their cheerful presence lifted Elouan’s mood.
Anrai, an omega and the youngest of the three Thorne princes, shamelessly flirted with an alpha he’d likely become enamored with last week.
The infatuation would last a month at most. Young hearts were notoriously fickle, Anrai’s doubly so.
As a king’s son, he could have his pick of admirers, which he apparently intended to do by working his way through most available alphas with his flirting, including those visiting from other courts for the occasion.
Dragon society assured Anrai of his place.
Then again, omega nature dictated much of Anrai’s personality.
For all his love of alphas, he didn’t once look Teron’s way.
Teron released a gusty, familiar exhale.
Anrai still turned Teron’s head. Too bad Father wouldn’t agree to a mating between the two as Teron’s father’s actions had cost him the Mountain Meadows court.
No throne awaited Teron’s coronation; his court had fallen, and his people had scattered to the winds.
Elouan placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. Teron slowly shook his head. He bowed to Father and placed himself behind Elouan, playing the role of protector, since Elouan didn’t want an entourage of guards constantly shadowing him.
Daire, the second son, drank with his friends and sparring buddies, all betas like himself, men and women of High Reaches’ defense forces.
They’d drink, one-up each other with lies, then pick partners for the evening whom they’d disclose details about at the next gathering.
The partners wouldn’t mind, since gaining a reputation for sexual prowess earned them more invitations.
The beta warriors’ momentary lovers were, to borrow a word used in Terra, groupies.
While Elouan wore finery, as did Anrai, Daire wore his guard’s uniform of deep blue trimmed in gold. What a strange prince, insisting on staying in the barracks with the other warriors instead of using his perfectly comfortable rooms in the castle.
“Happy Anniversary, Father.” Elouan inclined his head to his slightly taller father.
“It's hard to believe you’ve ruled the court for so long. You just passed seventy but could pass for a human in their mid-forties.” Little gray marred Father’s inky hair, and his dark blue eyes remained clear and perceptive.
Elouan and Anrai shared their father’s coloring, while Daire inherited their mother’s light brown hair and amber eyes.
The crown gifted by the Goddess of Fire adorned Father’s head; the central ruby, as large as Elouan’s palm, caught the light.
Father huffed out a breath. “Yet sometimes I feel every minute.” He, too, wore unaccustomed finery rather than his usual simple clothing.
Not that he needed adornment to stand out, and he seldom wore the crown he referred to as ostentatious, proof of the Goddess’s sense of humor.
His mere presence proclaimed him the court’s alpha leader, confidence leading many to believe him far larger than life.
“I only wish your mother could be here.” Sadness stole the smile from Father’s face.
“She would be proud.” Elouan embraced the man he admired more than anyone he’d ever known.
Yes, he still missed Mother after seven winters, and though he didn’t want his sire to be alone, Father not choosing a new queen said a lot about how much in love they’d been.
Father nearly died at her passing. Would Donovan of Sandy Shoals survive without his mate?
Elouan must pay him a visit one day soon.
“Shall we take our places?” Elouan asked.
Father laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know. You want this over with so you can get out of those clothes and back to your books.”
Elouan returned his father’s laugh. “I plan to go flying with my brothers tonight.” At nineteen, Anrai still needed practice with his shifting and wings.
Flying with his brothers meant less embarrassment for the lad and opportunities for bonding away from outside influences.
Elouan, Daire, and Anrai didn’t have the time together like they once had before they’d grown old enough to assume the hereditary responsibilities.
Any foibles would become fodder for good-natured teasing, but nothing more. Maybe Elouan should include Teron in the adventure. Would Anrai appreciate the gesture or face embarrassment from Teron witnessing any errors?
The latest books could wait until later. Maybe Elouan should speak to Father again about Teron and Anrai. Though Anrai pretended otherwise, he was smitten by Teron, as Teron was by Anrai. They’d be good together.
“Then, by all means, I shall attempt to be brief.” Father led the way downward toward the very center of the bowl, the crowd growing quieter.
Teron nodded once to Elouan before sitting with a group of alphas, close enough to look out for Elouan, but far enough away not to be too obvious.
Elouan would’ve invited him to join the family for dinner if he thought his friend would accept.
Soon. He’d speak with Father soon.
Many leaders would have sat upon a throne, having their subjects approach one by one, some waiting for hours for a mere second of the king’s time.
Not Father. He’d never held with such pomp.
Instead, the royal family made their way to a raised dais in the center of the bowl, set for an evening meal.
Father sat first, followed by Elouan to his left, then Daire and Anrai.
Mage Sakaris sat to Father’s right, leaving five places vacant.
“Where is Uncle Urien?” Daire glanced to the far side of the table, Uncle Urien’s usual place. “It’s not like him to miss an opportunity to remind everyone he’s the king’s brother.”
“Be nice, Daire,” Elouan scolded, though he wasn’t wrong.
The empty chairs created a bit of a mystery.
Uncle Urien, his mate, and two sons were noticeably absent, as well as Gwythyr, Uncle Urien’s pet mage.
Not that Elouan minded an evening without Gwythyr’s company.
The arrogant mage put his dragon on alert.
Something about him simply seemed…wrong.
Father studied the empty chairs, then turned toward the wizened old mage seated to his left, someone already of advanced age when Father took the throne.
Some said Sakaris hadn’t been young even back when the Goddess brought this world to life.
He’d long ago lost his ability to shift, but what he lacked in dragon prowess, he more than made up for in magic. Or so the rumors said.
Father asked, “Sakaris, do you know of my brother’s whereabouts?”
“I’m afraid I do not, Your Majesty,” Sakaris answered in an accent only ancient dragons spoke these days. “However, his loyal lapdog, Gwythyr, is noticeably absent as well.”
Father sighed, raising his hand before lowering it again. Had they been in private, he’d have palmed his face, a gesture Uncle Urien often inspired. “Is my brother still going on about how he should’ve been king and not me? You’d think he'd find something else to talk about.”
“You are both alphas. He was first hatched, Majesty. In human society, the first is generally the heir by right of birth.”
Dragon society dictated that alpha children receive precedence in the matter of titles. Elouan sometimes wished he’d not been an alpha, but he wouldn’t wish so much responsibility on either of his brothers.
Father and Uncle discussed this topic repeatedly, always with the same outcome. Why did Uncle even bother anymore? The Goddess herself selected Father as the better leader. End of story.
Father blew out a frustrated breath. “We are not human. The Goddess saw fit to declare me king over my brother by awarding me this crown. You'd think he would have accepted his circumstances by now, especially as my alpha son puts him farther down the line of succession.”