Chapter Two
Avari
Hours seemed to pass as I read about Fogoyan beasts, slouched in the uncomfortable wooden chair of the king’s office. The wide beams of the backrest dug into my spine, and I kept shifting to ease the discomfort.
The king, whom I preferred to avoid anyway, was called into a meeting with his general. Flipping pages, I tried not to think of it as a waste of time.
Would it be an insult to His Highness if someone like me sat in his leather chair instead?
It wasn’t a throne, my subconscious justified, as I sank into the well-cushioned seat that felt like being swallowed by a cloud. Perhaps that was why he kept the worn thing.
Relishing the softness, my mind wandered to memories of sitting astride my dragon during bonding—the pain that left me aching for days. The searing fire that ran from my lower back to my knees. These days it was only a fraction of that torture, but my muscles still needed rest.
I looked around for a moment before returning to the book I'd found in his collection. It still surprised me that he didn't seem to mind. He'd watched me take it and begin reading without so much as a word.
At times, it seemed as though he didn't quite know what to do with me. I wondered whether that was one of the reasons he hadn't attacked. Before I got lost in these thoughts, I got back to the text I was reading.
Bladed lions, creatures I never heard of, could elongate their upper fangs to reach their knees.
It didn’t sound impressive at first until I read that they could heat them hot enough to burn flesh instantly.
Giving it some thought, it made sense that their beasts held powers of temperature control since they lived in the land of fire-breathers—that’s what the Fogoyans called themselves.
Shimmering chasers, birds taking on an angelic form, glistened in the moonlight like beacons guiding travellers to their doom. Only the destination ended up being their nests, large enough to accommodate several grown men. They could adjust their size at will, growing as tall as six feet.
The heavy tome overflowed with monstrous beings, but I settled on the one creature closest to my heart, noting how worn the page was compared to the others.
The letters were smudged at the edges, barely spelling out DRAGON—their most revered creature. Presumed extinct since the vanquishing of the blood witches, they had once roamed in herds across many kingdoms, though most preferred the Fire Lands.
It explained that the witches had cursed them, magically chaining dragons in various locations around the realm. The curse prevented them from finding their mates and procreating until their population dwindled so much they neared extinction.
Some of them had gone mad, turning on people, burning villages to ash and snatching babies as they once had sheep.
With no solution in sight, panic spread, turning awe into reluctance and fear.
Fire-breathers stopped seeking dragons to bond with and instead formed battalions to fight the creatures they had once considered sacred.
It became a bloodbath.
To save the kingdoms from the rampaging dragons, a treaty was forged, uniting the nations to alter the dragons’ curse. They were banished with the blood witches to a far-away realm, and only if conjured and invited back could they return. Nobody had seen them since.
‘I could have you whipped for sitting in that chair,’ he seethed from the doorway.
Engrossed in the story, I hadn’t heard him come back. The stern expression on his face made it seem like a genuine threat.
‘Sorry, the other chair’s uncomfortable.’ I started to rise, then froze as he appeared beside me in a blink. The sudden proximity tied a knot in my stomach.
Seizing the book, he leaned against his desk, crowding my space as he stared me down expectantly. It was clear he wanted me to sit back down, which only deepened my confusion.
‘Is what’s in this book true? About dragons?’ The king’s tone lacked hostility; it sounded determined, almost hopeful.
The vulnerability in his voice, paired with the bossy attitude, made me consider gloating about the fact he couldn’t conjure his own dragon.
But I couldn’t bring myself to hurt anyone intentionally.
That’s why my sisters hated me—I was soft.
Still, I wondered if we might manage to be colleagues, if not allies, in such a difficult task.
We needed each other; he just didn't know it yet.
‘More or less. Their population suffered greatly after being separated from their mates. But madness wasn’t the reason they attacked civilians.’
Brows drawing together, his eyes searched mine for an explanation. That’s when I realised he feared the power my bond gave me. Perhaps he worried that being a fire-breather bonded to a dragon, I might one day claim the Fogoyan throne, a fact my power-hungry mother found hilarious.
Long before I ever found my beast, I begged my mother to let me yield my place in Ortensia’s royal line.
That night still haunted my dreams, and some scars never faded.
It was precisely why I needed to help the king conjure his dragon so he might feel grateful enough to help me escape her gilded prison.
‘Some of the nobility grew corrupt and silently joined the blood witches.' I said, meeting his hungry eyes. 'While the witches were crafting the curse to scatter the dragons, their soldiers raided their nests and stole the eggs.’
He recoiled, a muscle ticking in his cheek, his nostrils flaring as though he were trying to scent a lie. ‘Why would they steal the eggs?’
The room grew warmer again, and I wondered if his powers rose with his emotions. While others might see that as a weakness, to me it seemed surprisingly normal, a welcome contrast to the cold stoicism of most royals I had met.
‘The witches offered to share the power they siphoned from the eggs,’ I explained. ‘Dragons only attacked families of soldiers they knew were corrupt. Eye for an eye.’
‘A child for a child.’ A long breath escaped him, his shoulders relaxing as if he had finally found the missing piece he had sought. ‘I don’t understand why you’re the one to successfully conjure. My people have tried for centuries. I have tried for so long…’
The question didn't offend me, even though the implication that I wasn't worthy was woven into his words. Yet there was no malice in his tone. His voice, softer now, carried a note of genuine concern for his people.
My dragon stirred in my mind, curious about the conversation. Ever since we'd learnt I'd been ordered to coach him, Anya had insisted it was unlikely the Fogoyan King would prove worthy.
To his credit, he’d been slightly less intimidating since his return, which was a progress. The dragon grunted in my mind.
‘He threatened to whip you,’ Anya reminded.
Disregarding the proud dragon, oblivious to the empty bluster since he hadn’t actually touched me, I turned back to the conversation.
‘I don’t know what to tell you.’ My hands shook slightly as I waited for his reaction. ‘I can only share my way of conjuring her.’
The king’s head jerked back. ‘You’re bonded with a female?’
Taken aback by his reaction, I blinked before schooling my own expression. ‘Um… yes.’
Seeing his body language up close, I noted how his eyes widened before he quickly composed himself. ‘According to the lore, females pair reluctantly. They’re supposed to be wilder,’ he quipped in a rushed tone.
A wave of anger washed over me. It radiated through our bond, my dragon already imagining ways to incinerate the monarch if he dared call her “wild” again.
‘She politely requests you stop insulting half of the dragon population.’ My tone was dry. He didn’t need to know about the threats.
The king froze, stunned. Tilting his head, getting a little closer, he studied my eyes, as though expecting to glimpse the dragon within them. After a moment, he stepped back, giving me some much-needed space.
‘I didn’t mean to insult her, or any dragons. I’m merely trying to understand. Forward my apologies.’
That man clearly didn’t apologise often, but my dragon seemed satisfied enough to let it go. ‘She heard you.’
The discussion that followed lasted at least two hours.
The king asked about everything, from the basics of dragon bonding to the emotional side of the connection.
He hadn’t pressed me to reveal more than I was willing and made a conscious effort at politeness, or as polite as a savage king could manage, which was barely cordial. Still, it was enough.
When he was called to another meeting a foreign princess wasn’t privy to, the assistant escorted me back to the portal.
‘The king requests your presence tomorrow morning.’ The man still wouldn’t meet gaze, and I wondered what demons he might be wrestling with. Was he shy or afraid of me? Surely not. I wasn’t exactly small, but he still towered over me. Then again, my mother’s reputation preceded me.
Or perhaps he anticipated resistance; most royals weren’t used to taking orders from servants.
‘How early does he want me here?’ I asked, deliberately staring into his eyes—grey as a stormy sky streaked with silver. How could a man with such a wild gaze seem so timid?
‘Seven in the morning.’
‘Okay, I’ll be here, Mister—’
A corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Michael.’
Not sure how to respond to the awkward Fogoyan, I smiled and turned to leave. Perhaps I’d finally found someone more socially inept than myself.
For the first time that day, my spirits lifted.
The King
She was finally here.
Harper had made me wait weeks for her spoiled seed to fulfil that Elder-appointed obligation. I was on the verge of hauling the matter to the Committee. It was a bloody power play from them, and my hands itched for the sort of revenge only blood could settle.
My dreams had been filled with visions of the Ortensian Queen's sorrow when she learned I'd destroyed her youngest. The thought of her weeping brought me a satisfaction I'd not felt in a long time.
My hands itched to wring her daughter's neck and make the witch pay for everything she had done to us.
But the girl was not what I expected. I had met her elder sister, Lilian. They might be kin, but they could not be more different.
Lilian exuded power and regality; this one radiated anxiety and weakness.
Her treacherous heart had been entertaining to listen to, the way it raced every time I drew closer...
She had enough sense to fear me. I wanted to crawl into her nightmares, make her start at her own shadow, and finish her in a way that pleased me.
It would be glorious, and by the time I was done, she would beg for death.
But how was I supposed to get excited about killing that?
It would be like squashing a bug; there would be no resistance.
Any little fight she managed would not quench my thirst for vengeance, not after what their people had done to mine.
Still, I had planned to kill her. My power was ready the moment the floorboard squeaked outside my office. Only, when the witch stepped in, I was too late. She had bewitched me with a set of intentions I hadn’t expected.
How stupid was she? The princess must have heard the stories. I delighted in eradicating their kind. And she dared try to bewitch me?
My blood boiled. Using every scrap of control I had, I shoved the feeling aside and focused on the unexpected threat in my office. It took real witchcraft to bind someone’s intentions. Harper’s youngest looked unbecoming, but I had been wrong before about judging a book by its cover.
Weak, pathetic and out of place—it was a ruse. Or it wasn’t. I couldn’t decide. Casting aside her witchcraft, she supposedly commanded fire, too.
Give me a break. She looked as though she wouldn’t even be able to stand in stronger wind. She’d sway like a damn kite.
I walked to my little stash in the cupboard by the bookcase and pulled out a disgustingly expensive whisky. Pouring myself a glass, I relished the discomfort I had recognised in her posture. What I wouldn’t do to be the one to break her…
But not everything went according to plan. Sometimes life throws curveballs that save you in the long run. I would treat it as such.
Before the meeting with my general and him, I’d been planning how to make her life a living hell. The interrogation blades had been laid out in the chambers, awaiting her arrival. The cold metal wanted blood, and I didn’t plan on keeping it waiting.
Then a better opportunity dropped into my lap. Princess Avari would teach me to conjure my dragon, and she would cease to be my problem and hopefully everybody else’s. If that came with her terrified screams, I could only be hopeful.
The only issue was how to stop myself from ripping out her throat in the meantime.