Harlow understood that her mother and father had enjoyed a close relationship with the Highborn Council and had benefited greatly from Eleanor’s reign. They were once the center of high society. All that was over now. Their social status was as ruined as their economic one. The door was one of the few things they’d been allowed to keep.
Heavy and ornate, the absolutely stunning masterpiece was completely out of place now that it had been moved from their mansion in the exclusive Firedrake district of Hobble Glen to the hovel in the slums of Swilton. The tiny place seemed dwarfed by the door. Harlow was surprised her father had been able to install it on the weak hinges.
She pushed inside and took a seat at the small, wobbly table at the center of the room. Her father was there. He was always there. He barely left the house anymore.
“Did you win?” her father asked from his chair, his gaze flitting to hers.
“A little.” She pulled out a fistful of silver dragmars along with a few precious gold tallons and five bronze spencies. She spread them on the table but did not mention the additional dragmars she kept hidden in the lining of her purse. As much as she loved her parents, she needed something for herself. She had dreams, and her parents had a way of spending every dime she gave them. She suspected they’d try anything to regain the status they’d lost. They didn’t realize that not only could they never get back in the game, the entire board and all its pieces had moved far out of reach. The game they needed to play now was a completely new one for all of them. It was called survival, and so far, they weren’t pros at it.
In fairness, they were all lucky to be alive. A lesser king and queen would have had their heads.
“There’s a few hundred here. Enough for the market.”
Her father’s brows bobbed. “Thank the goddess.” He rose from his seat and joined her at the table, a flicker of hope in his expression.
Harlow had been obsessed with the games since she was a child and knew every competitor in the pits. Truth be told, she enjoyed fighting. A close male friend had taught her and often sparred with her for practice. Not that she’d want to pursue it as a career. The pit fighters lived a hard life and usually ended up working in the quarries eventually.
Competing in the pits was forbidden to females anyway. Female dragons were rare. Only about one in eleven eggs matured into a female by the last statistics she’d read. Which meant that a single dragon of her gender was more valuable than any amount of money. Every female dragon carried the societal expectation that she would eventually participate in perpetuating the race by marrying and then producing whelps.
She’d never had any interest. Not that she was against it per se. She wanted children someday. She’d just never met a male she wanted to have them with.
What interested her these days was betting on the fighters. She’d developed a knack for wagering on them. She could take one look at a competitor, at the lines of their muscled limbs, at how they balanced their weight between their feet, and know if they had what it would take to win.
Her favorite champion by far, though, had been Marius—before he’d died, of course. Back in his youth, he mopped the floor with almost every other dragon in the kingdom. Oh, she understood that since he was a prince of Paragon, no one else was allowed to win his matches, but that didn’t stop his competitors from flexing their machismo and trying their best to prove they would win if they could. Harlow would grin at their vain attempts and watch Marius bury their faces in the gravel.
She’d been so excited to hear he’d been resurrected, although she’d never met him in person until the coronation. Oh, how her stomach had flipped with exhilaration that night. He’d been positively enchanting in person. To have been who he was—a champion, a prince, a would-be king—and then lose everything… His return to society was undeniably brave, but the grace and dignity he applied to the situation was nothing short of noble. Rare in a dragon. Every time she thought about it, her heart thudded out of admiration.
“Harlow, did you hear me?” Her father’s face came into view.
Startled, she blinked at him. “No, sorry, I was working some numbers in my head. What did you say?”
“There’s something I want to talk to you about. I think it’s time for you to get serious about taking a husband.” He folded his hands on the table. “You can do better than this. You deserve better than this.”
A groan escaped her lips. “I’m not interested in marrying anyone, Father. I’ve met every individual with money in this kingdom, and none of them is my fated mate.”
All the softness drained from her father’s expression, and his ears reddened. “Get your head out of the clouds! True matings are rare. It’s folly to wait for that magical connection.”
“You and Mom are mated.”
“Pure luck.”
“Even if I were willing to settle for a common marriage, it’s not exactly easy to meet an appropriate suitor since the war. Everyone knows we were on the wrong side of things. I’m not holding my breath one of the new rich will sweep me off my feet.”
Her father ran a hand through his hair. “That’s only because you don’t understand your power, Harlow. Not only are you a female but a beautiful one at that, and refined. You’ve known what it is to have money, know the expectations of the elite. That’s valuable to any mate. Men want a woman who can manage their home with grace and elegance.”
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Sounds incredibly dull.”
He laughed cynically. “Dull?” He gestured vaguely around him. “What exactly is this? These four walls are about as dull as I’ve ever had it. And the smell! Mountain, Harlow, if I were you, I’d be anxious for something better.”
She raised her chin. “Aww, Dad, it’s not so bad. This is the simple life! It’s how most people lived when we were basking in the advantages of wealth. We have a roof over our heads and food on the table.” She rounded the table and stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders. “Have you thought about getting out of here more? Maybe finding work?”
He tipped his head back and stared up at her in surprise. “What would I do? The only skill I have is doormaking, and I doubt Adradys would hire me. The man hates me. We were bitter rivals.”
She kissed him on the forehead. “Maybe he’d surprise you.”
He sighed heavily and swept the money from the table into his hand. “I suppose I should go to the market. No food in the house for evening meal.”
As he stood from the chair, she took him in. Dragons were immortal, but they weren’t invulnerable. Thin. Sallow-skinned. The dark circles under his eyes had grown. His wings were tucked away, but she was certain they would hang listlessly from his back if they were out. He hadn’t been eating or sleeping. Clearly, he was depressed. He needed something to do, a purpose. More responsibility than the occasional trip to the market.
