“…Princess Gwenna, after all these years…”
“…surely our knights will be sent…”
His pulse raced like a spooked horse. Dragon. The word curled in his gut like smoke. His fingers twitched toward his sword’s hilt before his mind caught up. This wasn’t the ruins of Solavere Palace. He was no longer a powerless boy.
He forced his legs to keep moving. A dragon sighting? And Princess Gwenna—missing for so long—mentioned in the same breath? His thoughts ground against each other like a blade against a whetstone, sparking with possibilities, none of them good.
The great oak doors loomed ahead, flanked by a pair of guards in polished armor. They inclined their heads respectfully as he approached, then pushed open the doors. Finn’s breath caught as he stepped inside.
In daylight, the throne room glowed with brilliant color. The high, vaulted ceiling rose overhead, supported by pristine marble columns. Stained-glass windows, painstakingly replaced after the destruction of years past, cast shifting pools of jewel-toned light across the marble floor.
Impressive. Or at least, meant to be. A kingdom rebuilt in glitter and gold, as if that could erase the past. A painting of King Darius facing down a gold dragon hung on the wall near the entrance.
Finn forced himself to walk forward, ignoring the knot that formed in his throat. He glanced at the dais, where the magnificent throne rose in all its opulent glory—fashioned of gold, inlaid with precious gems. It shone like a beacon, a symbol of the king’s power and the kingdom’s desire to move beyond tragedy.
And there, lounging with casual grace upon that glittering throne, sat King Darius the Glorious himself.
Finn had always found the king a study in contrasts. King Darius was all polish and charm on the surface—perfectly coiffed hair, silks that draped with unrelenting elegance, a warm smile that could dazzle any courtier. But smiles were easy. Trust was harder.
His gaze lingered on the king’s hazel eyes. There was a calculating coldness there that never quite matched the brightness of that cool smile. Finn had seen sharper steel dull itself behind a pleasant face before. Sometimes he wondered if it was simply the mark of a royal: a mask one had to wear when holding an entire kingdom in one’s hands. He couldn’t recall if the old king held such a look.
He approached the dais, catching snippets of grave whispers from the cluster of advisors around the throne. Their expressions were grim, underscoring the sense of urgency clinging to the room like a gathering storm.
Finn dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “Your Majesty. You summoned me?”
“Ah, Sir Finnian Brightmoor,” King Darius greeted, his voice as smooth as honey. “Rise, my loyal knight. We have matters of importance to discuss.”
Finn stood, meeting the king’s gaze. The warmth in King Darius’s voice was performative, like a merchant flattering a buyer before naming an outrageous price. But beneath the charm lay something sharper, something colder. The shift in the king’s tone set Finn’s nerves on edge.
King Darius leaned forward. “Tell me, Sir Finnian—what do you recall of the tragedy that befell this castle ten years ago?”
Finn’s gut clenched, the question striking harder than a mace to the head. He had just woken from the ruins of that night, and now the king wanted to discuss it over morning court? He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. “I…I was here that night, Your Majesty,” he managed. “When the dragon came.”
The king nodded slowly. “Yes. I recall you lost your father in that attack. Sir Wesley—one of our most loyal knights. He gave his life for the kingdom.”
Finn swallowed past the lump in his throat. “He died protecting the royal family.”
“Indeed, he did,” King Darius said softly. A hint of something—pity, or perhaps curiosity—crossed his features. Then the king straightened, his tone growing crisp. “And it appears we may need that same valor once again.”
Finn’s pulse quickened. He had spent a decade training, pushing himself to the brink, all to be ready if ever another dragon threatened these lands.
King Darius spread his arms wide, addressing the room at large. “For ten years, we have mourned the loss of my betrothed, Princess Gwenna,” he went on, his voice rich with a grief long worn to polished stone. “The night of the dragon’s attack changed everything. That night, the land that might have been our ally betrayed us under the guise of a Revendarian princess.”
A ripple of agreement passed through the gathered courtiers. Finn caught a few exchanged glances—some smug, others grim, as if this was merely confirmation of what they had long suspected. A few even nodded, murmuring to their neighbors, their expressions dark with certainty.
“For so long, we believed my precious Gwenna dead, or taken away by the very dragon that tore our palace apart. But now,” King Darius continued, his voice carrying with it a theatrical flourish, “we believe Princess Gwenna may yet live. The same dragon has been sighted near the Misthaven Mountains, no doubt hoping to slip within our borders for another attack.”
A tidal wave of whispers swept through the chamber. Finn’s breath hitched. Hope, skepticism, and fear collided in his thoughts. Could it truly be the dragon? After all this time?
King Darius let the crowd buzz for a moment before lifting a hand to silence them. He glanced in Finn’s direction, a sharp glint in his hazel eyes. “We have tried to verify these sightings, of course,” he said, voice almost conspiratorial. “I have, in fact, already sent a small party of knights to investigate.”
Finn’s eyes widened. He knew the knightly roster by heart—who had been deployed where and when. He’d heard no rumor of any official expedition to the Misthaven Mountains. Because there hadn’t been one. Which meant Darius had done this quietly, and that never boded well.
“Your Majesty,” he ventured carefully, “I was unaware any knights had been sent to the mountains. Who?—?”
“They were not of our regular forces,” King Darius interjected, his voice clipped. “Mercenaries, knighted outside the kingdom’s usual ceremonies. I enlisted them quietly, without fanfare. Their mission was to bring the beast back to me. Alive.” His mouth curled in distaste. “And they failed.”
Finn’s stomach dropped. Alive? That was madness. “What use is a live dragon?”
