The Dragon Prince's Enlistment

Prologue – King Locryn’s Celebration Day

Prologue – King Locryn’s Celebration Day

The barracks were mostly empty, the guards either on duty or scampering off to enjoy the king’s food and wine during the fiftieth-anniversary celebration of his rule.

Daire stood before a mirror with Ywain at his back—Ywain mostly pulling faces, trying to ease the mood.

The high collar of a seldom-worn dress uniform scraped against Daire’s freshly shorn cheeks, while his stiff formal boots methodically gnawed at his toes. He hadn’t been this uncomfortable since attending a meal at his commander’s house, only to face off against all the commander’s unattached kin.

He should’ve chosen his worn-in boots instead, and simply hoped no one looked down. “Do you suppose an untidy appearance might discourage Commander Illium from any further attempts to throw potential mates in my direction?”

“A king’s son with a large hoard who isn’t an arrogant twit?

Not a chance. It pays to be known as a ne'er-do-well.” Ywain slapped Daire’s hand away on his third attempt to adjust his collar.

“Stop fidgeting. The rest of us are just as uncomfortable. Goddess! Could they possibly have made the formal uniform boots any more painful? It’s a test, isn’t it? ”

They met each other’s gazes, deepened their voices for effect, and chorused in unison, “My uniform is a privilege to be worn with pride!” Both guffawed.

Ywain cocked his head to the side. “You know, you’re starting to sound a bit like old Illium. Don’t let him hear you mocking him.”

Daire hadn’t yet mastered their commander's stern tone, but he’d get there, especially if he kept getting unwanted dinner invitations. “He’s not coming tonight, is he? I wonder where he is. He rarely misses an opportunity to flash his rank in people’s faces.”

“I don’t know. Some think he just meaned himself to death.”

Daire snorted. “If anyone could, it’d be him.

” Yes, Commander Illium’s legendary temper featured in many a conversation among the ranks.

Calling him "mean" underestimated his ability to verbally destroy an underling. “You’d think his temperament alone would’ve kept me from accepting dinner invitations from the man.”

Ywain’s hearty backslap nearly sent Daire reeling. “I don’t blame you for the first time, when he baited you with the possibility of a promotion. The other times are on you, my friend. But think of it this way. The rest of us are now forewarned of his intentions.”

While Daire didn’t find the commander’s kin unpleasant, at least not compared to the man himself, he’d no desire for a mate. His life revolved around his duty to protect the king and his court.

He cast a longing glance at the sword mounted in its customary spot at the head of his bed. “I don’t feel right being unarmed in uniform. Especially when we can’t shift if we need to.”

Ywain rested his head on Daire’s shoulder and looked up with grass-green eyes from underneath long lashes—which he batted flirtatiously, making Daire want to laugh. “Don’t worry, my delicate little flower. I’ll defend your honor if needed.”

“You’re unarmed too,” Daire pointed out.

“Ah, but I have my stunning charm and rapier wit.” Ywain eyed Daire in an up and down perusal. “While you…don’t.” He let out a bark of laughter and ducked away from Daire’s half-hearted swat.

No one else remained in the barracks by this time. Oh, Goddess! Time to hurry or be late. Father wouldn’t forgive Daire for being late. “No more putting off the inevitable. The next few hours will be filled with more people than I ever wanted to meet in my lifetime.”

“I will escort you to your doom, my prince.” Ywain made an exaggerated bow.

Their boot heels kept time on the turret stairs from their barracks to the outside.

Daire sniffed the breeze. What mouth-watering smells of cooking meats and spices.

He’d at least eat so much better than in the barracks’ dining room tonight.

Other scents came to his nose from fellow dragons, but he’d learned to tune those out unless needed.

Ywain strode beside him, turning his sparkling green eyes and dimpled grin Daire’s way. “I can smell roasted venison from here. I hope they’re serving those apple pastries I love so much.” He patted his flat stomach, a stomach Daire knew to be well-muscled.

“We’re attending an important celebration.

Is food all you can think about?” Admitting the feast was the main draw for Daire, too, wouldn’t do, and might belittle his father.

Seeing his friend more polished than usual was an added benefit.

Ywain normally cared little about appearances, barely passing inspections, yet managed to be stunning when he wanted.

“We poor laborers have to look forward to something.” Ywain released a put-upon sigh. “It’s not my father being celebrated tonight. What are you even doing with us lowly commoners?”

Daire let the comment pass for now. Ywain often teased Daire about his princely heritage, but never cruelly. A few tried, but they met with Daire’s fist, Ywain’s, or both. What were friends for if not to jump to beat down someone who’d attacked you?

Lavender tinted the evening sky as the sun started its downward journey behind the tall peaks of the Andressian Mountains. The town’s main thoroughfare stood nearly deserted as they marched over cobblestones past storefronts draped with celebratory banners.

People rushed past in their best clothes. “Come on! You want good seats, don’t you?” a woman urged her husband.

Ywain smiled indulgently at the passing couple, then turned his attention back to Daire. “I’ll never understand why you stay in the barracks instead of your rooms in the castle. Then you could’ve escorted your father to the meeting instead of sullying your reputation with the likes of me.”

Daire didn’t respond to the old argument. “You know why I live in the barracks. The Goddess created me to be a beta, a defender of the court.” He’d defend the court until his dying breath.

“Well, if you don't care about opulence, servants at your beck and call, and your own private bathing chamber, can I have them?”

Daire scowled, side-eyeing his friend until Ywain backed away, hands lifted in surrender. “All right, all right. I get the point.”

Ywain remained silent for all of four paces. “I mean, I’ve never seen so much silk! And so many places to hide the best pieces of your hoard. If someone gave me an elegant room in the high reaches of a castle, you’d never get me to leave.”

Daire huffed. “I am a second son, Ywain, a beta. I belong with the other warriors.”

As the king’s second son, Daire could have extravagant rooms in the castle.

However, as a warrior and member of the High Reaches guards, he chose not to put himself above those he fought with, trained with, and depended upon in battles.

High Reaches seldom indulged in the skirmishes other courts seem to thrive on, thanks to his father’s determination to keep them out of petty squabbles, but all warriors kept themselves at peak ability all the same.

Tonight, they’d celebrate the anniversary of Father’s rule. Too bad Mother wasn’t alive to enjoy this moment with them. The smile briefly left Daire’s face. He’d been told time healed hurts, but the pain stabbed his heart anew at the reminder of his loss.

“Cheer up.” Ywain nudged Daire in the ribs with a pointy elbow.

A bit on the small side for a warrior, Ywain offset in speed anything he lacked in bulk.

He could almost overtake omegas while flying.

“It wouldn’t do for the court to see you frowning so,” he whispered behind his hand.

“You’re liable to scare small children.”

No, it wouldn’t do, though few children now graced the halls of High Reaches and none under the age of eight.

Daire must smile, mingle, and show his support for his father, and by extension, the court.

He broke formation and wrapped a comradely arm around Ywain, keeping him close while traveling a well-trod pathway leading downward from the spires of the barracks to the bowl carved by years of dragon fire and foot traffic.

Nothing in the high mountain ranges even hinted at flat land.

Flat land. He’d flown over some once. How incredibly boring. Give him his mountainous home any day.

Torches lit the well-trodden pathway leading to the hollowed-out, granite bowl-like structure the court gathered in for formal occasions, though the sun hadn’t fully set. The tang of dragons carried on the breeze—alphas, betas, omegas—along with snippets of conversation and joyous laughter.

Yes, a joyous event indeed. Maybe he could even relax tonight, not being on duty.

Concentric circles carved into the gray stone created ledges where groups of families and friends gathered.

He passed through ancient wards prohibiting weapons or on-duty warriors from entering the sacred space, an area reserved for peaceful functions.

Daire felt naked without his sword, though he didn’t often fight in human form.

No, he usually fought with teeth, claws, and fire.

Didn’t fight and couldn’t fight were different things, though. He wasn’t helpless even without the sword.

He and his brothers had played here as fledglings, pretending to be heroes of old.

In his troublesome stage, he’d tested the wards to see if they really could keep out weapons—they did.

He’d smuggled in a rock once, but only by visualizing the smooth, blue-tinted pebble as a part of his hoard instead of something to fling at an enemy.

The moment he imagined putting the pebble in a slingshot? He barely got his fingers open in time before the pebble soared from his hand and disappeared out the entryway.

More torches illuminated the bowl, blocking out the sky and the gathering stars, which he also felt uneasy without, having used the skies frequently to navigate his way home. Stars were guides and should always be there.

Ywain clapped Daire on the back. “C’mon! Let’s find good seats.”