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Eventually, a large gate with black iron hinges and pointed black finials loomed in the distance. The sweet little donkey pulling the wagon suddenly slowed his perky trot to a plodding walk, and his oversized ears flicked back and forth like the beam on a lighthouse.

“He’s nervous,” I noted.

“He smells predators.” Austri wiggled the reins to coax him along.

My stomach knotted as some of my previous encounters with Fenrick’s silver and black beasts flashed through my mind. “The sorcerers did hand out a pretty bold threat to make sure I was safe.” I said it more for my own peace of mind.

“It’ll be fine,” Austri said, with little confidence. Like me, he seemed to be saying it to reassure himself. “Fenrick is a rough, wild, ill-mannered sort, but he’s clever. He’ll want to make you feel comfortable to impress you. After all, his title depends on it. His mother died years ago of some malady. His father, Prince Devlo, is getting old. The Regnas live hard and wild, so they age fast. He’s been ready to give up the throne for several years, and I’m sure it’s important to him that the title is passed to Fenrick. The sorcerers’ threat and the fact that Fenrick’s title depends on this visit are the only things giving me some ease. I’m sure after I drop you at the gate, I will go home and drink myself into a stupor out of worry, but you’ll be fine.” Austri’s cheeks balled up with a smile as he looked over at me. “After all, you’ve proven yourself quite the Valian with your powers. I know you’re clever enough to get through this visit unharmed.”

I reached over and patted his shoulder. “Thanks, Austri. I needed that pep talk.”

The striped shadow of the gate fell over us. It was twenty feet tall and topped with enough points to keep out even the fiercest enemy … except for one on a sleek dragon. The Solamites and Regnas had no idea what was happening north in the skies of Norvale, and I knew that Revel and the others planned to keep it that way. Hopefully, there would never be a need to fly the dragons into battle again. I felt enough connection to the mythically majestic creatures that I dreaded ever sending them into a dangerous situation where they could be harmed or killed.

A tall silhouette pushed open the unwieldy gate. “Well, what do ya know?” Austri muttered. “You’re gettin’ the royal welcome.”

Prince Fenrick’s silver-streaked hair was bound back in a strip of leather. He was dressed head to toe in supple dark brown leather, including a knee-length coat and tall leather boots. His features were sharper and less symmetrical than Granier’s. In my opinion, Fenrick was the more attractive of the two just because he wasn’t so polished and perfect.

His long, thick legs made quick work of the space between us. He reached the wagon, and a roguish smile cut across his face. “Austri, good to see you.”

Austri stared back at him, blinking in surprise. “Right. I know you’re just trying to make a good impression, so good on ya. Just take good care of Raphael, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

Fenrick chuckled. “Still the same old Austri.” Fenrick’s shiny black eyes landed on me. “Greyhart’s winged spy landed in the town square a half hour ago, so I figured you were nearly at the gate.” He had scored a point over Granier just because he took the time to meet me at the gate himself rather than send a staff member.

He politely offered me his hand, which I took. I climbed down from the wagon, and my boots immediately landed in soft mud. I stared down at my half-submerged feet.

“Yes, sorry about that. We’ve just had three straight days of rain.” Again, he offered me his hand, and I plucked my boots out of the mud, although plenty of the sticky stuff stayed on them. I looked back at Austri.

He winked at me. “You remember what I said, Fenrick,” he called to us as we headed toward the towering gate.

Fenrick chuckled. “Austri is nearly as protective over you as Greyhart.” I tensed up just hearing the name. No matter what happened here at Regnamoor, my heart was always going to be back in Norvale. Fenrick sensed my sudden tension.

“Hit a sore spot, I see. Well, don’t worry. I’m going to show you that your place is right here in Regnamoor. After all, your father was half Regna.”

Fenrick seemed to know all the right things to say to get a reaction out of me, but I wasn’t going to fall for it.

“I never knew my father, so I never knew the Regna side of my family. This place is as foreign to me as another planet. It will take a lot for me to feel at home.”

“Hmm, I do love a challenge.” His chuckle was not unpleasant. More importantly, it sounded more genuine than Granier’s. Everything about him was more genuine, and I assumed since his mother was gone, I wouldn’t be attacked by the reigning princess and warned how I would never have been the choice for her son. I wondered if Granier knew just how badly his mother had sabotaged our possible match. His throne depended on us getting together. I wondered if she was just loathe to give up the power to Granier. It was obvious that she was the one in control of everything.

The sky grew darker as we passed through the giant gates. I had to watch my step to avoid the puddles of mud. The air felt dank and smelled like wet towels left in the laundry room too long. Mingling with the musty smell was something a bit more pleasant. It reminded me of yeast bread baking in the oven, and there were notes of a flowery scent behind it.

Fenrick glanced over at me. “Ah, I see that tiny nose is twitching. You’re smelling the homemade ale.” As he said it, we turned a corner that brought us to the start of what could ostensibly be considered Main Street. It reminded me some of Norvale’s town, only there was no deep trench running through the center, and the whole place looked far less inviting. Norvale shops, while crudely built and shabby, were kept neat and clean, and most had beautiful hand-painted signs and even flower boxes. Here, the shops were rundown and shabby, and there was no pride of ownership on display. It appeared the buildings were made of homemade bricks, crudely made ones at that. Some of the shops were so tilted it was a wonder they were standing at all. And while there had been no attention to detail or beautification, one thing was consistent along the entire road. Each shop and all the houses in between had large metal canisters equipped with coiled pipes, wires and other primitive mechanisms.

I looked up at Fenrick. He was quite the sight standing right next to me. “Moonshine?”

Fenrick turned to me with a brow lift. “Sometimes at night, but only when the sky clears.”

It was my turn to chuckle. “Sorry, ‘moonshine’ is a human term for home-brewed alcohol.”

“Oh yes, of course. That’s what you see. We make our own ale, and most everyone has their own family recipe passed down through generations. Ale is very important here in Regnamoor.” He announced it with pride, and to prove his point, just as we passed two wood doors and a dark, dingy building with cheery fiddle music vibrating through it, the doors burst open and two figures, clinging to each other in some kind of rambunctious brawl, came flying past. They landed directly in the mud, but that didn’t stop the wrestling match. One man grabbed his opponent’s head and shoved it down into the mud. The man struggled and swung wildly with his fists. Then, in an instant, his fists became massive clawed paws. He landed four long scratches on his assailant’s cheek. The injured man released his opponent, and the man yanked his face free from the mud. He released a ferocious growl. His face had stretched and contorted into a long snout. Mud dripped from his fangs for a moment, then his facial features returned, and the brawl kept going.

Fenrick steered me in a wide berth around them, but I still managed to get caught in the splatter. Mud landed on my cheek. I reached up to wipe it and realized I was only making it worse. “Shouldn’t you stop that?” I asked.

“Stop what?” Fenrick glanced back. “Oh, that. Nah, they’ll be back drinking ale together by tonight.”

As we made our way through a chaotic town where more than one brawl, or at least verbal argument, was taking place, most people paused only briefly to look at us. Something told me that if Prince Granier walked through town, people would bow or at the very least stop and step aside for him to pass. Not in Regnamoor. Their prince, while tall and intimidating and admittedly a showstopper with his dark good looks and incredible head of silver-streaked hair, hardly made a ripple in their day. I preferred a royal who wasn’t full of himself, and apparently, his subjects had no interest at all in his marriage match. From the looks of most of them, rugged individuals in desperate need of a bath and a clean wardrobe, they were far more interested in tending their precious stills and filling their bellies with the thick meat pies and breads sold by the street vendors.

I was relieved to reach the end of the bustling main road. We turned up a dirt trail, which was just steep enough to allow water to run off rather than form muddy puddles. My boots already felt heavy and unwieldy from the buildup of mud on the soles.