Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ADELE
Warm and cold air currents collided above my workstation, creating the perfect miniature storm system I’d been trying to replicate for weeks. I leaned closer, my nose almost touching the jutting pattern, watching how the thermal layers interacted exactly as I’d hypothesized.
“You beautiful thing,” I whispered to the spinning vortex. “You’re proving everything I’ve been saying about predictive thermal patterns.”
I scribbled notes frantically, my handwriting deteriorating with each line.
My tower laboratory, perched at the highest point of Grandmother’s estate, provided the perfect isolation for weather experiments.
Tall windows on all sides allowed natural light to pour in while offering unobstructed views of cloud formations in every direction.
Weather instruments, scrolls, and multiple experiments in various stages of progress cluttered the room.
To my left, a small rain cloud hovered over a collection of drought-resistant seedlings, providing exact measured precipitation.
To my right, a contained snow flurry swirled above a model mountain range, demonstrating how air currents affected snowfall distribution.
The room hummed with magical energy as I controlled multiple weather phenomena simultaneously.
Somewhere below, a clock chimed, but the sound barely registered as I made another notation.
“If the pressure systems align according to this pattern, then…” I traced lines on my chart.
A low whine came from somewhere near my feet, followed by a heavier sound that might’ve been a sigh, but I was too engrossed in my calculations to pay much attention.
“The implications for agricultural planning alone would be revolutionary.” I spoke to myself often while working through complex theories. Somehow, they made more sense when I said them out loud. “Not to mention disaster prevention protocols.”
The whining grew louder, followed by scratching against the wooden leg of my workbench. I absently reached down to pat whatever part of Fletcher I could reach without taking my eyes off my notes.
“Not now, love. I’m about to prove that weather patterns follow mathematical sequences that can be predicted thirteen months in advance instead of just one.”
My hound companion huffed, his basset jowls probably quivering with indignation. I knew that sound well. It was his you’re ignoring something important noise.
“Five more minutes,” I said, still not looking down. “I need to record these thermal shift measurements before they dissipate and I forget what they looked like.”
Fletcher growled, unusual for my friend, but I continued working. The miniature storm above my workstation had achieved perfect equilibrium, demonstrating exactly what my equations had predicted. This could be the breakthrough I’d been seeking for years.
A tiny thunderclap exploded beside my ear, making me jump and scatter my papers across the floor.
“Fletcher.” I spun around to find my basset hound companion sitting on his haunches, looking up at me with an expression that somehow combined both disapproval and panic. “What in the name of all the fates was that for?”
Wedding, he said. Your wedding is today!
I blinked. “What are you talking about? My wedding isn’t—”
Then it hit me. My wedding. To the dragon shifter king. Today.
“Oh blessed moonbells,” I whispered, slumping against my worktable. “What time is it?”
Fletcher gave me a look that needed no telepathic translation.
“Three?” I asked hopefully.
Five forty-six, he said.
“That can’t be right.” I rushed to the window, looking at the position of the sun. “That would mean I’m nearly two hours late to my own wedding.”
Fletcher merely stared at me, his droopy eyes conveying judgment I wouldn’t have thought possible from a canine.
Grandmother arranged this weeks ago, and I vaguely remembered her telling me she’d sent the offer of a treaty between the dragon shifter community and my own witchy one. That the Emberforge king had replied, agreeing to the match.
“This will be good for you,” Grandmother had said. “It’ll provide stability.”
I’d nodded and agreed because, unlike Cyrene, who’d also faced an arranged marriage, I wasn’t heartbroken about it. It was a practical, political necessity, and I could continue my research while fulfilling whatever minimal royal duties were required.
“Sasha woke me up this morning,” I said, frowning as I remembered. “I guess it was this morning, wasn’t it? She had that much-too-garish dress with her and told me…” I sighed. “What did she tell me?”
That if you weren’t at the garden by four o’clock sharp, she’d be miffed, Fletcher said in his usual, woeful voice.
No one survived miffing Sasha. And was miffing even a word? I ran my fingers through my shoulder-length blonde hair and tilted the tips toward my eyes. Should’ve gotten it cut for the wedding, right? Oh well, it was too late for that now.
You need to hurry, Fletcher said.
“Right.” I pushed my hair back from my face, realizing bits of paper had gotten tangled in it. “I was going to take a break at three and get ready.”
I glanced down at myself, horrified to discover I was wearing a practical tunic and trousers that were now stained with ink and what appeared to be the remnants of breakfast.
“I can’t get married like this.” I spun in a circle. “I need to bathe. I need to change. I need to be there an hour and forty-six minutes ago.”
Forty-eight, Fletcher said, dropping to the floor with a heavy sigh.
I bolted for the spiral staircase that connected my tower to the main house, practically flying down the steps with Fletcher’s nails clicking behind me. Halfway down, I had a better idea.
“Wind currents,” I said, coming to a screeching stop. “That will be much faster.”
I flung open a window and focused my magic on the air outside. In seconds, I created a controlled current strong enough to carry me. I climbed onto the windowsill.
“Meet you there,” I called to Fletcher, who barked in alarm as I leaped into the air.
The wind caught me, whipping my hair as it carried me swiftly toward my bedroom window on the other side of the estate.
I guided the current easily, though I rarely used this method of transportation in front of others.
Grandmother considered it unseemly for a witch of my station and kept suggesting I purchase a flying broom at the market.
Why would I want to carry a broom around all the time on the odd chance I’d need it?
I sailed through my open bedroom window and landed with a soft thud on the plush carpet. The wedding gown still lay on my bed, a confection of ivory silk and delicate lace. Beside it, Sasha had also laid out appropriate undergarments, shoes, and a small tiara made from delicate silver leaves.
“No time for a proper bath,” I said, stripping fast and chucking my clothing into the basket.
I snatched up the dress and raced into the bathing chamber, flipping the gown over the door.
A leap, and I landed in the tub. I channeled water vapor from the air, creating a small, warm rain cloud directly above me that immediately began to shower.
Standing beneath my magical rain cloud, I scrubbed with soap, rinsing myself clean.
A bark announced Fletcher’s arrival. He scampered into the bathing chamber, took one look at my improvised shower, and decided to help, climbing into the tub and shaking himself, sending water droplets flying everywhere, including onto the pristine wedding gown.
“Fletcher, no.” I yelped, sending out a wind current to protect the dress. “You’re making it worse.”
Sorry. He jumped from the tub and latched onto the dress’s train, pulling the garment off the door and onto the tile floor.
“Please, don’t. You’ll tear it.” I grabbed a towel, drying off as quickly as possible while Fletcher continued trying to be helpful, now dragging the dress across the floor.
I snatched it from him and quickly stepped into it, foregoing the undergarments because there just wasn’t time. No one would know but me. The bodice was tight, the skirts voluminous, and I struggled to fasten the dozens of tiny buttons that ran down the back.
“I need help,” I grumbled, then had another idea. I summoned a gentle breeze, directing it to push each button through its corresponding loop. It mostly worked, though I suspected several were misaligned.
I used another air current to dry and arrange my hair, creating a small vortex that lifted the golden strands up and away from my face before settling them into what I hoped was an acceptable style. I jammed the tiara on top, grabbed some shoes, and rushed toward the door.
“Garden ceremony,” I shouted to Fletcher. “We’ll take the quickest route.”
This time I took the conventional path, running through corridors and down staircases, my skirts bunched in my fists. The few servants I passed gaped as I flew by, but I had no time for explanations.
I burst through the rear doors of the manor onto the wide stone terrace that overlooked Grandmother’s famous gardens. The ceremony was supposed to take place at the central fountain, surrounded by duskroses and frillablooms.
But when I arrived, panting and disheveled, the garden was empty. The decorated archway stood forlorn, flower petals scattered across vacant chairs.
No guests.
No officials.
No dragon king.
“Oh, no,” I moaned, turning in a circle. The sun hovered on the horizon, giving the sky a bruised appearance. “They’ve all gone.”
“Not all of us,” said a stern voice behind me.
I spun around to find Sasha standing on the terrace, dressed in a flouncy bridesmaid’s dress, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes flashed with a mixture of exasperation and concern. My cousin Victoria stood beside her, looking resigned rather than surprised.
“I’m sorry,” I said, rushing toward them. “I was working on thermal pattern predictions, and I lost track of time and—”
“Of course you did.” Sasha’s voice came out soft despite her rigid posture. “When have you ever kept track of time when you’re working?”
Victoria nodded, though sympathetically. “You’re two hours late. That’s actually better than I predicted. I had you arriving around midnight.”
“The guests?” I asked weakly.
“Left an hour ago,” Victoria said. “With appropriate diplomatic excuses and gift baskets.”
“Oh ancestors,” I groaned. “And my intended?”
“Still here, strangely enough,” Sasha said. “Though I wouldn’t describe him as pleased.”
Victoria’s lips twitched. “I’ve never seen anyone stand so perfectly still while radiating such intense irritation. I thought he might accidentally set the gazebo on fire.”
“He’s a dragon shifter,” Sasha told her. “He literally could.”
“Where is he now?” I asked, my stomach knotting with anxiety.
“In Grandmother’s private garden,” Victoria said. “She’s been entertaining him with what I can only assume are embarrassing stories about you, judging by his increasingly horrified expression.”
Sasha stepped forward and adjusted my tiara, which had slipped to a rakish angle. “Your buttons are misaligned, your hair looks like you’ve been struck by lightning, and…” Her gaze took in my entire frame. “Those aren’t even the shoes that match the dress.”
“I was in a hurry.”
“Clearly not hurrying enough,” Sasha said, but there was no real bite to her words. She’d always been protective of me, even when she was exasperated. “Let’s get you to your dragon before he decides this alliance isn’t worth the trouble.”
Victoria quickly straightened my dress. “Remember, this marriage is important. You’re forging the first alliance between our people and the dragon shifter world.”
“I know,” I said, though truthfully, I’d been more focused on the fact that dragon territories had excellent observation points for studying high-altitude weather phenomena.
They guided me through the gardens toward the secluded corner that was Grandmother’s private sanctuary, a place usually off-limits to everyone but her closest family. Fletcher trotted beside me, projecting encouraging thoughts that didn’t actually help.
He probably breathes fire when angry, he said. But I’m sure he wouldn’t burn his new bride right away.
“Not helping,” I hissed under my breath.
“This is going to go fine.” As we approached the garden entrance, Victoria squeezed my hand. “Just be yourself.”
“That’s what we’re worried about,” Sasha mumbled. She paused and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good luck, sis. You probably need it.”