Prologue #4
Thank the Goddess that Sakaris kept the area spelled. Only those sitting at the table could hear the conversation, unless the speaker willed otherwise.
“I know, Your Majesty. I’ll dispatch someone to find him.” Sakaris rose, bowed, turned on his heel, and shuffled up the steps from the bowl. And shuffled. And shuffled. He might get to where he was going by midnight.
Some claimed Sakaris might live forever, while others suggested Father should assign an apprentice to prevent the ancient dragon from taking valuable knowledge with him when he passed on. If he passed on. He’d already outlived at least three apprentices. One to run errands like this might help too.
Would that Father could live and continue his reign for so long.
Elouan would gladly go his whole life without the heaviness of a crown upon his head, and even worse, everyone’s conflicting expectations.
Only the thought of letting a vain peacock of a dragon like Urien assume control made him rethink his priorities.
He could never subject the court to his uncle’s thirst for power.
Another glance around showed still no Urien. If Uncle Urien refused to fulfill his role….
Elouan rose to perform his uncle’s part. “High Reaches Court.” His voice echoed against the bowl’s walls. “We have gathered together this night to celebrate King Locryn Thorne’s fiftieth anniversary as your king.”
Shouts and clapping thundered from the crowd.
“Instead of having you all swear fealty to him again, as is tradition, he has planned this feast to share with you, for he feels this honor isn’t only his, but yours.
We have enjoyed fifty summers of peace under his reign.
” If Uncle Urien had his way, he’d drag them all into the unrest devastating many other dragon courts.
Sakaris said Urien’s greed and incompetence were the reasons the Goddess blessed Elouan’s grandparents with a second alpha son, whom she later made king.
Uncle Urien would’ve brought them to ruin.
Elouan took his seat, and servers descended the bowl’s steps, some laden with dishes and cups, some with trays of the wonderful food he’d scented earlier, and still others with flagons.
The enticing aroma of roast venison permeated the air.
More servers mounted the dais and served Elouan’s family. Good food and rich wine flowed freely.
The first course was venison seared to perfection over open fires, served with roasted potatoes covered with herbs, though most dragons left the potatoes alone in favor of the venison. Elouan retrieved a crusty roll and set about slathering the inside with butter.
Oh, how he appreciated the omegas who raised cows and chickens outside the city, where the poor creatures wouldn’t be on constant alert for predators. Omegas were skilled at projecting I’m not a threat to lesser creatures. Thus, butter on the table.
A string quartet serenaded the diners during the meal. Elouan had always been partial to the violin, though he possessed no skill with the instrument. He might as well have worn his talons instead of fingers whenever he tried. Still, he could enjoy the talents of others.
Anrai received all the musical gifts in the family.
Elouan had just finished eating when a smiling servant retrieved his plate, setting another before him. Apple pastries. His favorite. He took his time with his dessert, catching snippets of conversation from those closest to him. The volume seemed muted somehow.
He turned to survey his surroundings. Some families continued to lounge while others made their way out of the bowl. Strange. Since when did anyone turn down more food and wine or a chance to mingle with the royal family?
Even some who’d sought Father’s favor bustled out of the space, some nearly running. His hackles rose. What was going on?
The slumbering dragon within him took notice.
A rustling sounded behind Elouan, and he turned to the second opening in the bowl’s walls, an arched doorway overlooking the cliffs, with a ledge large enough for several dragons to land long enough to take human form.
Servants kept clothing handy in case someone shifted and entered that way, a rudeness beyond measure during such an auspicious event.
Uncle Urien strode through the doorway, followed by some of his closest allies, all dressed in leather armor. Ice plunged into Elouan’s belly. They’d ridden other dragons to get here.
“Brother,” Urien proclaimed, voice overly loud and arms spread wide. “My apologies for missing your feast.”
Elouan reached for his missing dagger, for all the good such a small blade would do. His instructors had taught him to fight in both his forms, but few of Uncle Urien's men possessed experience with human-style weapons. Daire tensed beside Elouan.
Only Anrai remained blissfully unaware of the rising tension. Teron slunk toward Elouan, keeping his gaze fastened on Urien.
“It was our feast, brother, belonging to the entire court.” Father rose, crossing the distance to his brother. If Father didn’t sense the wrongness in the air, there must be no threat. Nevertheless, Elouan couldn’t seem to relax. Too many dragons stood nearby to gather information from smell alone.
His dragon coiled within him, ready to strike. But no. The wards wouldn’t let him shift.
Something about Urien’s smile, more of a sneer, sent unease squirming through Elouan’s belly. The sneer changed to a smirk as Urien embraced Father, sleeve falling back to reveal a gleam of… a knife blade?
Soldiers flooded through the entrance behind Urien and down the steps from above. Some wore the familiar High Reaches court uniforms; others wore strange garments Elouan had never seen before. A chorus of screams echoed around the bowl. The sound cut off abruptly.
“Father!” Elouan screamed, lunging for his uncle.
Two soldiers grabbed Elouan’s arms. “Let go of me!” He struggled. “Father!” he shrieked again, throwing off an attacker. Two more tackled him to the ground, where Elouan could only lie on his belly, clawing the flagstones to reach his father.
Inside, his dragon roared, demanding release to shred these men who dared hold him down.
Time stilled. Urien grinned, pulling back his hand. Oh, Goddess, no. This couldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t let this happen, would she? How had weapons gotten past the wards?
Gwythyr stood a few feet away, staff raised, answering the question.
Urien plunged the knife into Father’s back.
Elouan screamed, “Noooo!” His dragon thrashed, nearly tearing Elouan’s throat with its attempt to manifest.
Father’s eyes went wide. “Why, brother, why?”
Urien spat, “You’re in my way.”
Father crumpled to the ground, still reaching for his brother.
Urien shrugged him off, stepping back from the pool of blood gathering at his feet. “Look at your king! How weak! So easily defeated.”
“Only because he trusted you!” Elouan bellowed. No, no, no, no, no! I’ll kill him! I'll make him regret ever being hatched!
“Kill him,” Urien ordered his guards.
“No! Stop!” Elouan fought, watching in helpless horror as a guard he didn’t recognize brought a blade down.
Father screamed. Blood dribbled from his lips. The guard raised his blade again, now dripping with Father’s blood. A heavy thunk, then Father gurgled, head lolling to the side.
“No! Get off me!” Elouan rolled to his feet and head-butted the first man holding him down.
Blood spouted from the bastard’s nose. The man let go, stumbling back while clutching his face.
Elouan wheeled, slamming his fist into the other soldier’s gut.
He didn’t let go. Another soldier took the first soldier’s place.
These were Father’s guards! Why didn’t they defend their king?
If only Elouan could shift! No one could hold his dragon!
He threw his cloak to the side. “Get off me, you traitors!” Elouan couldn’t see his father, but Urien’s gloating face said all Elouan needed to know.
Elouan might be too late to help their father, but by the Goddess, he’d save his brothers. He spotted Daire slashing at two attackers with a knife more suited for dining than combat.
Elouan’s dragon roiled with impotent rage. Apparently, the wards still worked on him.
Teron yanked a guard out of his way, slamming a fist into the faces of any who got in his way. Another stood in his path. Teron lowered his head like a raging bull, charging straight for the man. The impact threw the man to the ground, his head hitting hard. Still, Teron pushed forward.
There was no sign of Anrai.
“Teron!” Elouan cried as yet more attackers pulled him down. “Save Anrai!”
Pain filled Teron’s face, but he nodded once, slapped an arm over his chest in salute, and turned away.
Elouan head-butted the guard holding him, driving the spire from his circlet into the man’s cheek. The circlet clattered to the ground. Elouan grabbed the bastard’s knife and rose, fighting his way toward his father. Father had to be alive! He had to be!
Elouan fell onto his knees beside his father’s still body. Blood poured from the gashes in his neck and chest. “Father! Father!” Elouan threw the knife aside, covering the wounds with his hands. “Hang on, Father. I’ll get you help. The mage can save you.” Where the hell was Sakaris?
The crown on Father’s head faded from view, leaving only an afterimage of the massive ruby. “Father! No!” Elouan clasped his father to his chest, pain ripping through his insides. He screamed his agony.
“Where is the crown? What did you do with it? It’s mine!” Urien bellowed, kicking Elouan in the ribs.
Elouan glared, laid his father on the ground, and launched himself at Urien. “I’ll kill you, you bastard!” Red clouded his vision, fury boiling in his veins. How dare this worthless example of an alpha kill his brother and king? He would pay. He and anyone who helped him.
“Silence him!” Urien barked, a touch of fear in his voice. He’d better be afraid.
Elouan barely had time to register an object fast approaching his head.
All went black.