Chapter 12
Soren
As my teeth rip through my current challenger’s wing, I wonder how my princess is doing.
I haven’t seen her in hours, though the regular updates from her guards have left me satisfied both with her comfort and her security.
The drawing is going well, Your Majesty.
She has taken her midday meal.
A request was made for pomegranates. It is being fulfilled now.
My challenger—Alnen? Arten? Something of the sort—leaps back, his eyes widening with shock at the sight of his tattered wing. He’s barely past fledgling age and suffering from a terrible case of hubris, which suits me fine just now.
It gives me plenty of time to imagine tonight.
She’ll be there, sitting cross-legged on the sand, brow furrowed in concentration, skin glistening like polished diamonds. When her brilliant eyes open on me, she’ll smile and say my given name, and I will say hers.
Serah.
Humans do not value their given names as our kind does. I know this. Rally has told me. Yet I purr with unrestrained pleasure at the thought of her face when I did say it, when she looked at me with such unguarded surprise.
She has allowed me her name. She has allowed me her lips.
Yet again, it is a glorious day indeed.
My challenger—Alson? No, that is not it—is recovering.
I study the greenish hue of his scales as he bares his teeth at me.
What an unusual color. He likely descended from the dragons of the great western woods, where my father said the trees grow taller than Tirenth’s highest spire.
I briefly wonder if my father is there now and decide I do not care instead.
I will call my challenger Arugula for now. Arugula lets out a roar of rage—a waste of breath until you’ve won—tucks his wings tight against his sides, and charges like a crazed bull.
Should the princess and I enjoy cake again this evening or call for a sorbet, I wonder. Perhaps I will send her a sorbet now and join her for cake later.
Arugula is near enough to consider now, and with a thrust of my own wings, I leap above him and come down to drive his head into the sand.
He thrashes, of course, but eventually relents, stilling completely beneath my feet as a sign of surrender in lieu of shutting his eyes and looking aside.
I step off him, and he comes up spluttering and gasping and already shrinking down into human form.
The crowd cheers, their cries even louder at this victory than the last. I spared Arugula more shame; they know it and are pleased.
Rally and Ty meet me as I transform.
“Invite him to be trained,” I say as I close my robe.
Ty scoffs. He was reckless, he signs.
“He was, but his earlier movements showed promise. He has talent.”
“If he can rein in that ego of his,” Rally says.
I nod my assent and glance toward the sun. Sunset approaches, and with it, my time with Serah.
“How many are still waiting?” I ask.
“Two,” Rally says. “There were another three, but…”
Ty casts a thumb back, his shoulders rocking with silent laughter.
I squint toward the cluster of servants hurrying this way. “I will fight one more. After I eat.”
A tent is set up, food brought, and when I am licking the remnants of the penultimate honey cake from my fingers, a young messenger from the palace arrives. Rally listens to the boy’s quiet words before nodding and dismissing him.
“Boy,” I call.
When he turns, his eyes large with alarm, I toss him the final cake. Beaming, the lad bows, belts out a “Thank you, Your Majesty,” and scampers away.
“What is it?” I ask as I roll my neck from side to side. Transformations tend to make the neck stiff. The human one, at least.
“Lady Tilanthia wishes to speak with you,” Rally says.
I knew she would. I ordered both her and Serah to remain at the palace, yet Serah is here, and my sister is not. It was only a matter of time before Tilly demanded I correct that.
“She says she has a surprise,” he adds.
We share a grimace. Tilly’s last surprise was a new wardrobe for her summer season in Ilanthren, and all three of us had been subjected to a modeling of every gown and matching muff.
I sigh. If I do not consent now, she may cry, and I do not like tears. But I also fully intended to enjoy my evening with the princess alone.
Perhaps if I allow Tilly to come now, I can send her back to the palace before the night is too far along.
“Have her brought,” I say, rubbing at my brow. With another sigh, I stand. “Tell the next challenger I’m ready.”
The quicker I finish, the quicker I can return to my princess.
###
My final challenger of the day is flagging fast. While he’s obviously the most experienced, he is the oldest I’ve faced, and the day has been hot and long for him.
Jolloph is his name, and I don’t need to be told it. I’d recognize his scale anywhere. He was once a royal guard and relinquished his post several years ago to become a bookseller.
This challenger did not come to win a crown.
The setting sun glints off his worn-down teeth and sun-bleached scale as I circle him.
He’s panting by now, but he holds his position, rotating with me to conserve strength rather than circling himself.
To my surprise, he’s dodged my strikes, and though I’ve fought all day and have no real interest in wounding him, I’m still impressed.
Now, however, Jolloph’s strength is spent. I snap at one of his legs, and when he stumbles back, his face contorting with pain as a different leg gives beneath him, I hesitate.
In that brief instant of pity, he strikes.
Eyes sharpening, he launches to his feet, his teeth flashing out to graze my own leg, and I’m forced to spring back.
The crowd gasps at this. It’s the first time they’ve seen me wounded.
Well, well.
I let out a dragon’s warbling laugh at the sight of the jagged gash, and to my delight, Jolloph’s face brightens with pride.
I make quick work of the rest, ending the fight traditionally by flipping him onto his back and seizing his throat. Despite my wish to hurry this along, it was the best fight I’ve had in some time.
Jolloph transforms where he is, flat on his back, and as our wingmates arrive to block us from view, I hold a hand out to him and lift him to his feet.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he says through a tired smile. “It was an honor to fight you.”
I incline my head. “As it was for me. Come to the training grounds when you please, and we will spar again.”
Jolloph’s eyes swell with emotion. “You heap too much honor on these old wings, Your Majesty. I’m afraid this fight with you is my last.”
Understanding passes between us as he tries to still his quivering limbs. His human body has become too fragile for transformations. He must choose now between man or dragon, and he has chosen man.
“Then come to the training grounds anyway,” I say, reaching out to grip his forearm in a warrior’s clasp. “Our young guards could use experience like yours.”
He returns the gesture, clamps his mouth tight, and nods.
A girl’s laugh rings out behind me, the sound accompanied by many feet sweeping over the sand. Tilly has come, and she’s chattering away to her companions. Releasing Jolloph, I tighten my robe and turn to face her.
I’m nearly knocked to the ground as a woman—who is not my sister and is certainly not my princess—flings herself into my arms.