The dragons awaited.
Her people.
As she stepped inside the tall wooden gates, her heart thumped in her chest. Everyone was assembled, or left their cottages to stand in the streets. They watched her with looks that ranged from suspicion to awe.
A highly anticipated return. All Amalia could think of was her parents. Her mother and father would have been so proud of this moment. She had yet to get to Kjos and reclaim the Erani Empire. But, this moment was breathtaking.
Her throat went dry and she ran her hand over her wild hair that was wet with sweat and sticky from dirt and blood. With her red cloak and golden ax, she was certain she was a sight to behold.
“Welcome, your highness,” an elderly woman with a staff in her right hand and a gray gown apron worn over a linen underdress tied at the waist said.
“I am quite happy with being called Amalia,” she said, blushing.
“I am sure you are, your highness. But, you were born to rule as empress of all the Erani Empire. I will call you by your proper title, as will the rest of your people.” Her muddy, brown eyes searched Amalia's face, almost twinkling. "We have been waiting for you for so long. I never thought I'd live to say the day."
She touched Amalia’s face and smoothed her cold cheeks with soft, cold, fingers.
"Thank you," Amalia said, licking her lips from the dryness that began to tighten them. She needed food and water, but would wait until it was presented to her.
She nodded, a ghost of a smile coming to her lips. "I'm Jora," she said, with a slight bow of her head. “The village shaman. The Erani history and traditions have been passed down through my family since the dawn of time. I will summon the other tribes and prepare the ceremony for your crowning. Once we take you to your cottage, you’ll meet your maids, and you can rest.”
As Kylan stepped beside her, he took her hand, and gave it a tender squeeze.
“Aye,” Kylan said. “First, there are a few lads I’d like you to meet.”
She was grateful for his presence, and gave him a glance as four tall, burly men approached. Dressed in furs and pelts, with daggers at their belt clips, leather tunics and boots stuffed with linen pants, she assumed they were soldiers.
Dragon warriors.
"Meet your quad," Kylan said. "They will be your guards until the day you pass from this world to the next. During your crowning, you will receive the gifts of our people, the runes of of ancestors, and the key to the empire."
“I thought you were my protector,” Amalia said, lifting a brow.
He grinned, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Of course I will. We are bonded and fated to stay together for all eternity. But, these lads are your personal guard. Together, we will always protect you.”
Her eyes widened as she looked to the four men. After a breath in that filled her lungs with the cold air, she nodded to them, skeptical by the whole thing.
"Lovely to meet you," she said, straightening her shoulders and accepting the traditions of her people.
"Aye, your highness," one of them said, revealing a gap between his teeth as he smiled at her. "Name's Svein." With dark, golden hair and bright blue eyes, he had a youthful look about him that was marred by the scars on his face and hand that was wrapped around the hilt of his sword.
"Olaf," the next said, chewing a piece of dried meat as he stared at her with such an intensity that it made her uncomfortable. The tallest of them all, he had, long, dark hair and dark eyes.
"Sinley," the red-headed warrior said. He wore his hair in a braid that draped over his shoulder and had blue paint across his cheeks.
"Tofi," the last said, his voice deep, and his shoulders broad and muscular. “At your service.”
He had brighter blond hair than even Aros, and reminded him of her. A bit too much. As he pushed his wild, waves from his face, she could barely meet his blue eyes. She swallowed, and looked away, back to Kylan.
These men were supposed to follow and protect her until death, and they all looked to be merely years older than her. Perhaps it was fitting that they were about the same age, since they were bound to be together for the rest of their lives. What a commitment to make to someone you’d only just met.
"This is all a bit overwhelming," she said.
“What is?” Kylan asked, genuinely perplexed by her statement.
The weight of everyone’s eyes and attention on her was stifling. Though the air was cool, sweat pooled between her breasts and beaded on her forehead. She wiped sweat away with the back of her hand.
She'd come from a small village in the neutral area of Skal, and never had any idea she'd be crowned as the empress of a nation, with personal servants and guards. It was all a bit much. But, as the sun began to set, and the candles and torches were lit, a wave of peace washed over her.
She would do whatever it took to honor the memory of her parents and grandparents, and ancestors before that.
“This,” she whispered as she turned to him, motioning to the four men standing at their side. “I wasn’t ready for all of this.”
He frowned. “You’ll never be truly ready, Amalia. But, this is the path set for us. It is the way home.”
She nodded, pursing her lips.
His face softened. “Do not worry. I know all of our customs are much different from what you’re used to. I will guide and teach you, and before you know it, you’ll be a seasoned professional at this whole ruling thing.”
Amalia cracked a smile. Somehow, he eased her worries and fears with little more than a few words and a stroking of her cheek.
“Come with me,” Jora said, turning toward the main building that towered over the smaller cottages lining the village. "I will show you to your cottage, and you can relax and bathe. I know the journey must have been hard, but the journey forward will be even more difficult."
Amalia followed her through the village, along a stone path that cut through the main square and crowds of dragon shifters and dark elves.
The torch lights lit the way as Jora led her across a wooden bridge that stretched over a bubbling brook. Kylan stayed behind, as chief of Wregard, while her quad of soldiers followed behind. The heavy door was held open for her as she and Jora reached the cottage.
Such warmth that nearly took her breath away, welcomed her as she entered the building. Her eyes went upward. As the tallest building in the village, there were several floors leading up the circular structure. A massive fire burned in the center, with its smoke filtered and puffing out of the top of the roof.
She took off her cloak, relieved to finally have some warmth after flying over snow and ice encrusted forests for days. She wouldn't complain. Anything was better than the awful, sun-scorched, desert they'd escaped from.
Inside awaited an entire staff of people lined up and prepared to meet her.
Amalia held onto her cloak, draped over her arm, and a young woman walked over to her and took it.
"I'll get this cleaned up for you, your highness," she said, her big, blue eyes sparkling under the orange light of the massive fire hearth.
Jora nodded to her. "That's Tullah," she said. "Jeszna and Eiode will also be your maids."
"Jeszna," she said, motioning for the short, redhead. "Please show your mistress to her room, and draw her a bath."
Amalia smiled back at the three maids, and glanced at Jora. "Thank you," she said. "For accepting me as one of your own."
Jora's eyes narrowed and she placed her hand on Amalia's shoulder. "Not all will be as accepting," she whispered, her eyes searching Amalia's. "You will have to prove yourself. Not all will believe you are who Kylan says you are. They do not have the intuition I have, and they will challenge you. Be ready."
Slowly, Amalia nodded, fully understanding Jora's meaning.
It was then that she knew the battle wasn't out there in the wilderness, or in Kjos.
No, it would begin right there.