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ERIK
I’d been called into a meeting with the elders, and I was so out of my depth I could barely breathe.
Important matters were being discussed. Matters of state, matters that I had to attend to now, as the king.
I couldn’t concentrate on any of it for a single, stupid reason.
I felt underdressed in my own damned Council meeting.
I eyed the thick gold chain that hung around the neck of Elder Kilgrave. It glinted as he turned, winking at me as if to say, look at all this finery. Where’s yours, boy?
That chain could have fed my mother and me for a year. Longer, probably. The elder caught my eye, raising his brow, and I flushed, glaring down at the table.
It wasn’t that I wanted a similar decoration for myself. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than parading around in such a wasteful thing, in fact.
But maybe that was because I was too roughshod, too unsophisticated. A mere boy, playing at being a king.
“Sire?”
My head snapped up at the address. The other advisor, Elder Slater, pressed his lips into a thin, disapproving line as he stared at me.
He wasn’t much friendlier than his counterpart. Every time I had to ask for clarification on a point of business, he gave an impatient tut, like I hadn’t been paying attention or was too stupid to understand matters of grave importance.
I wanted to call an end to the whole meeting, and fly out to find a grassy field where I could spend the time roaming around and exploring the countryside like I used to do. Maybe I could take Marienne with me. The image of her laid out naked in a field somewhere filled my mind, and I grinned to myself.
Maybe we could go for round two...
I coughed loudly, forcing myself back into the present. “Sorry, what was the question?”
“We need to decide how to allocate our spending for the next quarter, sire. The old king raised taxes on the townsfolk last year, and now we have...” The elder paused, a smirk sliding over his face. “We have something of a surplus, it seems.”
“That’s excellent news.” I spread out my hands. “I’ve been doing some thinking on that subject myself.”
“Is that so?” Elder Slater interjected. He added, “Your Majesty,” when I turned toward him and speared him with a look.
Somehow, the way he said it made the phrase sound like a question, rather than the statement of fact it was.
“Yes.” I straightened up. I refused to be cowed by either of these men. I was now their king, whether they—or I—liked it or not. I knew my own instincts well enough, and they’d rarely let me down before. What I was about to say, felt right. “I want to issue a decree,” I announced. “Our people shall have free heating, and water, and electricity. All of the costs will be covered by the Crown.”
“But sire—”
I held up a hand, interrupting Elder Slater. “You won’t change my mind. I’ve spoken to Stavrok about this,” I continued, ignoring the matching glowers I received from both of the elders. “I don’t see why the system that works so well for his kingdom can’t also work for ours.”
Elder Kilgrave clutched a hand over his heavy chain, like I was about to rip it off his neck at any moment and hand it over to the poor. “Your Majesty. Those funds are needed for castle upkeep.” He pursed his mouth. “Not the trivial plight of the common folk.”
I refrained from pointing out that, until very recently, I had been one of the common folk of whom he spoke with such disdain.
A single, pointed glance around the high-ceilinged chamber told me the whole story. The grand fireplace. The gilt mirrors. The sparkling gilded ceiling. This was where the money was spent. On excessive luxuries that were not necessary, nor had any function.
Perhaps I should consider taking that necklace of his and using it to feed the hungry.
“I can’t see any urgent repairs that need doing.” I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes, daring them to disagree. “Please, feel free to point out anything I might have missed.”
“What Elder Kilgrave means, sire,” Elder Slater began, rolling up the documents spread out over the table in front of us, “is that the royal funds are a serious matter. Frivolous spending such as this... it would not be a good start to your reign. Please trust that we are trying to help you.”
The way he said it left no room for debate. He spoke as though I were an ignorant child who needed to be taught a lesson, instead of a full-grown man. Their leader.
I clenched my jaw, tight. The room, so cozy and elegant only moments before, felt stuffy and restrictive. The walls pressed in on me and a wave of crushing claustrophobia sent me reeling.
It wasn’t in my nature to back away from a fight. But I couldn’t let my temper rise. Now that I was king, I needed to wield far more control over my emotions than I ever had before.
This was a battle I didn’t know how to win. This wasn’t some bar fight; this was politics. I didn’t have the right weapons, and the rulebook was a total mystery to me.
I was forced to retreat. My heart pounding, I yanked open the door and left the council chamber before they could patronize me further. And before my rage could fully ignite.
I was totally out of my depth. I may have forestalled my temper for today, but what about tomorrow? Or the next day? Or next week?
What did I know about statecraft? Or leadership? I was playing pretend, a dragon king in name only.
It was merely a matter of time before everyone in the whole kingdom would come to realize it.
***
MARIENNE
I spent the better part of the morning walking around my suite in the East Tower out of sheer force of habit.
I knew every nook and cranny, every pile of books, every cushion and candle. This was my domain, my sanctuary. Nobody was allowed inside without my express permission.
When Magnik had been alive, I wasn’t queen of much. But this space, right here in the tower... this was my tiny little kingdom. My small tower room where I worked my magic, far away from the prying eyes of the court.
Now, I knew what I needed to do.
I steeled my nerves and set about pulling various herbs off the shelves and rifling through my library until I found the small, leather-bound volume I sought, right at the top of one of my bookshelves.
In silver letters, the title read: Psychic Projection.
I carried the book over to my desk, laid it carefully next to the small bowl I used for spell work, and leafed through the pages.
Projection was not a field of magic in which I had much experience. There were other sorcerers in the realm who specialized in the art of traveling to far-off places in their mind’s eye, all while remaining physically safe inside their own territory.
Magnik had tried to force me to learn the art on more than one occasion, so I could spy on neighboring kingdoms for him, but I had never mastered it.
Now that he was dead, I could admit the truth to myself: I’d never really wanted to master it. Not for him.
I’d always wanted to help people with my magic, not spy on them.
However, this was different.
This time, it felt like I had no choice.
I had to know. I needed to find the source of the horrifying images that flashed to the forefront of my mind every time I closed my eyes.
The visions had splintered my happiness into tiny shards. I couldn’t wait any longer. There was too much at stake to sit passively and wait for my kingdom to fall into ruin.
I murmured an incantation and a small ball of blue flame hovered over the palm of my hand. Slowly, I lowered it into the bowl and set fire to the bundle of herbs.
A thick, blue smoke rose from the bowl. I forced myself to lean in closer, breathing in the bitter fumes and trying not to cough.
This was the tricky part.
I had to clear my mind totally and focus. It was normally a challenge to shut my brain down and induce the visions, but this time, they were all I could think about.
My vision began to swirl. The world dissolved, melting away into blackness.
I concentrated on what I had seen before. The castle burning. People screaming. I flinched but forced myself to look deeper, beyond the pain and suffering.
I need to find the source...
In a flash, the world turned white.
I gasped in shock as phantom snow drifted against my face, settling on my cheeks and eyelashes. Cold air raked my skin, and I whirled, trying to get my bearings in the frozen iceland.
A castle loomed through the blizzard, with towering turrets and a heavy iron drawbridge, built to withstand a thousand winters.
Shock sent me reeling as I perceived the truth.
Damon.
The loner king. The Dragon of Winter.
He had many names. In truth, I knew more of those than I had memories of seeing him in person. He rarely ventured south. He preferred to stay in his icy domain, and usually stayed out of the politics and petty rivalries of the other kingdoms.
His people occasionally traveled south to trade. They were a distinctive sight, wearing thick, heavy furs draped across their shoulders, adding bulk and wildness to their broad, solid frames. Their rough-hewn weapons always looked as if they had seen their fair share of use.
Even Damon’s shifters were unique. The northern dragons were pale shades of gray and white. They blended perfectly with their landscape, flying unseen through ice storms and nesting on snowy mountaintops. The fire they breathed was different: not orange, but a luminous, icy blue.
As I stared up at those spiky, foreboding towers, a chill of dread settled in the pit of my stomach.
In that moment, I knew I didn’t need to look any further. The threat would come from the north.