Jasen sensed the dragons before he saw them.

He couldn’t have explained it if someone had asked him. One moment, he was dozing in the carriage, not quite able to fall asleep due to his father’s monstrous snoring, and then a feeling of warmth blossomed in his chest. It radiated outward with each beat of his heart, until his whole body was filled with it. The feeling pulled him to the window. When he looked out, there they were—dragons. Or not there, exactly—they were off in the distance, flying over the city of Draethenper, their silhouettes dark and enormous. There were two of them, swirling together in an unearthly dance with a grace that should be impossible for creatures of their size. The sun was low in the sky, melting into oranges and reds as warm as the feeling in his chest.

Jasen was moved in a way he had never been before. For some unfathomable reason, he decided to try to share the moment with his father. “Dad,” he said, nudging him. “Wake up!”

The man continued to snore. After poking him a few more times, Jasen finally resorted to giving him a hard slap on his enormous stomach. He let out a snort as his eyes shot open. “Wha-what?” he slurred. “What is it?”

Jasen gestured out the window. “Come look.”

Slowly, his father complied. It took a few moments, but a grin tugged at his lips at last. Jasen smiled, too, pleased to share a nice moment with his father for once, but then his father said, “A-ha! We’re nearly at Draethenper, then! Excellent timing—we’re almost out of wine!”

Jasen sighed. He should have known better than to try. “I meant the dragons. And we’ve only been on the road for two hours! How can you be out of wine already?”

“Well, a lot of it has spilled, hasn’t it?” he said, a touch defensively. “It’s damn difficult to pour wine with all this jostling and bumping.”

“You’re drinking it directly out of the bottle.”

“Of course I am now. I’ve learned my lesson, haven’t I? Now, where did that damn thing run off to?” He patted around until he found the bottle he’d been working on before he’d nodded off. “Ah, here it is!” After taking a swig, he offered it to Jasen.

Jasen looked at the last swallow in the bottle, no doubt made up of his father’s spittle as much as wine. “No, thank you.”

His father shrugged and finished it off. He smacked his lips. “How much longer before we’re there, do you think?”

“I don’t know. An hour or so. If it’s any longer, I’m sure you could lick the floor—that ought to sate your thirst, at least for a little while.”

His father put a hand over his heart and rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Ah! You wound me, son! Can you blame me for being nervous, sending my only child out into the world, all on his own?”

Jasen scowled. “This was your idea.”

“You didn’t exactly collapse in despair when I suggested it.” He clapped Jasen on the arm. “Cheer up, son! This will be good for you.”

“Oh yes, my best issues are at the front of your mind, I’m sure. The fact that you’ll make a fortune auctioning me off is just a pleasant afterthought, right? It has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve gambled away our wealth.”

“I’m going to win it back,” his father sniffed. “It’s true, my luck has slumped in recent days—”

“More like years,” Jasen mumbled.

“These things come in cycles, my boy! The wheel will turn.”

There was little sense in arguing about it with him, so Jasen said nothing. He rubbed his face, trying to banish his weariness. They were on the last part of a journey that had taken two weeks; their home in a back province of the kingdom of Grumhul was as rural a place as one could imagine. They had left their horses and more rustic cart at the last inn, since his father had insisted on renting a fancy carriage for their grand entrance into the city. Not that anyone was going to see them—his father had gotten so distracted by a game of cards that they left two hours later than they were supposed to.

They were journeying to Draethenper, the city at the heart of the Draelands, which was the largest kingdom of the Allied Realms. Each year, dozens of eligible young men and women of either noble birth or sufficient means arrived to find a noble husband or wife. Over a grueling two months, they would be poked, prodded, and polished to make them as attractive as possible to potential suitors, who would arrive in the third month to begin their search for a lord- or lady-consort to wed. It would all end in a grand ball, where all engagements were announced and marriage prices were negotiated.

And now, Jasen would be among them. It wasn’t a thought he relished. Consorts weren’t ordinary brides and grooms. As the spouse of a title-holding noble, their responsibilities were as much political as they were matrimonial. If a title-holder passed away without heirs, or with heirs who were still in their minority, their spouse was given the title. That was what had happened when Jasen’s mother had died.

Now that Jasen was older, he could challenge his father for the title, but he didn’t particularly want to be the earl of Hogas—who would? It was a dull, backward place where nothing ever happened. Besides, he didn’t relish the responsibility. Nobles who preferred the company of their own sex could name a niece or nephew as their heir, but Jasen was an only child. Accepting the title meant that he would have to put aside his own natural inclinations toward men and marry a woman, which was not something he wanted to do—not that they could afford a bride, anyway. And so it seemed Jasen would die a bachelor, and their lands would be passed to someone else. It was just as well. Neither he nor his father were cut out to be in charge of anything.

Since he didn’t plan on marriage, Jasen found nothing wrong with seeking his pleasure with as many people as he pleased. This might not have been too scandalous, except that his choice of partners tended to come from “common” stock. After a few unsatisfying affairs with fellow nobles, who were all snobs, he found himself preferring the company of those without titles. Out of deference to his mother’s memory, Jasen tried to keep his affairs quiet, but that all ended one day when his father caught him on his knees in front of Hans, a stable hand.

To his surprise, his father was delighted at the discovery. Such a scandal must definitely be concealed, and what better way than to send Jasen off to the marriage market at Court, just as his father had suggested on many occasions? After all, it would have broken his poor mother’s heart to see her son’s name dragged through the mud, wouldn’t it? In other words, it was blackmail.

Well, that wasn’t completely fair. His father was right that Jasen hadn’t put up much of a fight. He had grown uneasy in Grumhul—when he was a boy, he had run freely with the children of the common folk, but as he grew older, it was assumed that he must separate himself and become a proper noble. Even his lovers acted this way. He had tried to make Hans into something more than a bed partner, but Hans had laughed him off. After all, what kind of future could they possibly have? Hans was determined to marry a nice girl and make a family. Their dalliance was only a bit of fun.

But if Jasen didn’t belong with the commoners, he also didn’t belong with the upper class. After his mother had died when he was twelve, his education had ended, leaving him unqualified for pursuing any of the professions deemed suitable for men from noble families. Neither did he possess any magical abilities—almost no one in Grumhul did. His one advantage was his striking good looks: he had long, red hair of an unusually vivid hue, brilliant amber eyes, lithe limbs, and fine facial features with lips whose natural resting state was an alluring pout. He wanted out of Grumhul, and with beauty as his only advantageous trait, Court was his best bet. He doubted he belonged there, either, but it was worth a try.

They rode in silence for a little while longer. Jasen kept his eyes trained on the dragons, who remained soaring above the city until the light faded. They flew off once the sun had set. Jasen wondered where they had gone. Dragons were their own creatures, not under the control of men. They could go anywhere—anywhere at all. Jasen wondered what that was like. He shut his eyes briefly and imagined where he would go if he could fly like a dragon. Some place where he belonged, although he couldn’t imagine where that would be.

“The sun’s almost set,” Jasen observed. “We’ll be lucky to get into the city at all at this rate.”

His father waved his hand. “It will be fine, I’m sure. Are you eager to get there?”

“I’m eager to get out of this carriage.”

“Oh, come now! Surely you’re at least a tad excited?”

“Not really.”

“Ah, you’re nervous. You shouldn’t be. You’d be a fine catch for any suitor—I suspect you’ll have your pick of them!” He stroked his beard. “I think you should try for an older man. Much older, in fact—someone who is up to his ears in gold and dying for someone to spend it on. And just think—if you find one old enough, you probably won’t even have to bed him that often!”

Jasen groaned and put his hands over his face. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“What? I’m just being practical.” He stroked his beard some more. “Even if you find someone too old for frequent sexual congress, you might still want to emphasize your—ah, experience in bedroom matters. I imagine that would be exciting to a man looking for some fun in his twilight years. You could describe your exploits to him—send him to his grave a happy man!”

“Please stop talking,” Jasen mumbled from behind his hands.

His father, apparently, did not hear him, for he continued on. “I know that traditionally, the Court promotes purity, but believe me when I say that there are plenty of nobles who have little interest in such things. Why, the very first day I met your mother, we—”

“Dad!” Jasen shouted, removing his hands from his face. “I have no desire to hear about whatever you and my mother got up to, and I also have no desire to talk about any of the rest of it, either!”

His father held up his hands. “Sorry, sorry,” he said.

Jasen got to enjoy five whole minutes of silence until his father started up again. “If an old man doesn’t appeal to you, you could always set your sights a little higher.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The king, my boy—the king!”

Jasen stared at him. “The king? You’re mad!”

“Am I? He’s still a virile young man—thirty years old at the most. And it’s been two years since the queen consort’s death. He must find a spouse.”

He was right. King Rilvor held two titles—not only King of the Draelands, but also the Lord of Drae, the human who was linked most closely to the dragons, and who by virtue of that fact was the supreme leader of all ten of the Allied Realms. All human magic depended on that link. While all of the royal family shared in this connection, it was the Lord (or the Lady, when there was a queen) who bore the brunt of it. It was a position of incredible power, but also incredible strain. He needed a partner to help ease his burden. If the Lord of the Drae grew too weak, humans would lose their powers. It had already started to happen—those who were dragon-blessed with magical abilities reported a weakening of their powers. Pressure was mounting for him to remarry, and in all likelihood, he would find his future spouse in this season’s Court.

Even so, the possibility that the king might choose him was laughable. “Yes, the queen consort is dead,” Jasen said. “And she was a woman.”

“So? There are many men who enjoy the favors of both men and women. And I’ve heard rumors.”

“The Lord or Lady of the Drae always marries to the opposite sex. They have to produce heirs.”

“He has four children already. And it’s not unknown for a Lord of the Drae to have a king consort instead of a queen consort, if his queen consort dies. There was King Reder.”

“That was three hundred years ago, and it hasn’t happened since! And even if he did have an interest in men, do you honestly think the king would choose a man of the lowest level of nobility from the most backward of the back kingdoms to be his king consort?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, son!”

“This has nothing to do with selling myself short and everything to do with having a firm grasp on reality! The Lord of Drae hasn’t had a male consort in three hundred years, and neither fire nor fate is going to change that any time soon! Now kindly drop the subject.”

His father shrugged. “All right, son, as you say.” And then he added, under his breath, “But stranger things have happened, is all I’m saying.”

They lapsed into silence after that. Jasen looked out the window again, watching the sky where the dragons had been. His father’s suggestion was ridiculous—and even if it were possible, Jasen was fairly certain he wouldn’t want to be king consort, anyway. All the politics and diplomacy and being a public figure seemed overwhelming to him. On top of that, there were also four children who he would become a stepfather to. No, he was most certainly not interested in the king.

It took even longer to get into the city than Jasen had anticipated. His father had decided not to hire a driver for their expensive carriage in order to save money, figuring that their footmen, Rodrad and Garyild, could handle it well enough. He had been wrong. Garyild was partially blind and Rodrad’s hands were arthritic, so they settled on a system in which Garyild held the reins and Rodrad shouted directions. It was amazing that they’d made it as far as they had already without an accident, but their luck eventually ran out and they ran straight into a mud-filled ditch. It took all four of them to free the carriage, and by the time they were done, they were all filthy from head to toe. They also discovered a wheel had been knocked out of place and had to be repaired. And since it was dark and none of them possessed magical ability, they had to do the whole thing by lantern light.

Miraculously, they were able to make the repairs, by which time it was two hours after sunset. After the carriage was repaired but before they got back on the road, Jasen and his father got into a shouting argument that had begun with Jasen insisting that he should take over the driving, which his father forbade on account that it would make them look unsophisticated. From there, Jasen demanded to know why his father had chosen their two oldest servants to accompany them. After some hemming and hawing, his father confessed that he didn’t trust Jasen not to “lose control” of himself with the younger servants, which Jasen felt was ridiculous and insulting and…well, also somewhat true, because he actually had slept with quite a few of them—it wasn’t his fault that there was nothing else to do in their backward hellhole of a province, and besides, he thought his father was thrilled that he was such a big slut. And then his father roared at him that Grumhul was the home of the best people in the world—so what if they weren’t fancy, they had heart and he should be proud of his heritage. Jasen countered by pointing out that if his father was so proud of their heritage, why had he insisted on the fancy carriage in the first place… And so on, for another half an hour.

All told, it was well past ten in the evening by the time they arrived at the city gates. The guards almost didn’t let them through—no one was supposed to be admitted after dark. His father blustered and threatened, throwing around his title of the earl of Hogas in the kingdom of Grumhul, as if that were somehow impressive. Incredibly, it worked, and soon their fancy carriage, now covered with mud, was on its way to Strengsend, the grand palace of Draethenper. The palace itself was only one part of Strengsend—there were dozens of different structures, gardens, and several acres of land known as a draemir, a sacred site set aside for any dragons that happened by.

The scene from the city gates played out again at the palace gates, but they made it through there, too. Entering the palace grounds was like stepping into a dream. Even though it was night, the whole place was lit by dragon lights—glowing globes that were enchanted by the dragon-blessed to provide light. He’d always imagined them to be something like torches, but the light they provided was a much softer, unearthly glow. Strange but beautiful trees, each of a unique shape, lined the main road, along with neat rows of the loveliest flowers Jasen had ever seen. He could only imagine what it all must look like in the light of day. In the distance, he could see the magnificent palace. And he knew that beyond the palace, out of sight and up against the Ashfell Mountains, was the draemir. Jasen wondered if the dragons he saw earlier were there now.

The four large structures that made up the palace were known as the wings. The consorts were housed in the East Wing. His father would spend the night in the West, which was set aside for stately visitors. He would only be there for the night, however. The next day, he would make his way back out of the city to stay with a cousin for a few nights before returning to Grumhul.

Once the carriage had stopped, Jasen made to get out, but his father put a hand on his arm. “Wait. I’d like to have a word with you, before we say good-bye.”

Jasen resumed his seat and crossed his arms. “Well?”

His father sucked in a breath and let it out in a long puff. He looked at his feet, then at the ceiling, and then, quite forlornly, at the empty wine bottle. Jasen rolled his eyes and made to get up again, but at last, his father spoke. “I know I haven’t been the best of fathers, especially after your mother passed, but—well, I did the best I could. Maybe it wasn’t good enough, but there you have it. You’re my son, and I want you to be happy.”

At that, Jasen let out an incredulous scoff. “Oh, of course. And if I could be happy as well as netting you a fortune, so much the better. Am I right?”

“And what’s wrong with wanting that? We need the money.”

“You need the money. I bet the day you found me sucking Hans’s cock was the best day of your life, because that meant you could sell me to fill your coffers. You pissed away Mother’s fortune, and now you’re using the next generation to do it again.”

He expected his father to start in with excuses, but he said nothing, merely looking down at his hands folded in his lap. “You’re so much like your mother,” he murmured. “She was always right about me, too.”

“Oh, masterfully done—self-deprecating, with a mention of Mother to boot.” Jasen fastened his cloak. He’d cleaned the mud off of his face and hands as best he could, but his clothing was still a mess. He just hoped that his cloak would hide the worst of it. “Just so we understand each other—if I do manage to marry some rich old goat, you are not getting a single copper beyond the marriage price, no matter how much you blubber.”

“Of course, son,” he said, his shoulders still slumped. Just when Jasen began to feel a twinge of regret, his father continued. “I won’t impinge on your generosity. Find a husband, and be happy. Don’t spend even a single moment thinking of your poor old father, all alone in an old rotting castle, perhaps going hungry—starving, even…”

Jasen bundled up the ends of his cloak, shoved it against his face, and screamed. “You know, you almost had me there for a moment.”

His father peeped upwards. “A little too much?”

“Just promise me you won’t gamble away the marriage price before I even find someone.”

“I swear on your mother’s grave.”

“Swear on that wine bottle. I’d believe you then.”

Jasen swung open the door to make a dramatic exit—only to have it slam into Rodrad, who had been struggling to get Jasen’s trunk from the top of the carriage. The trunk went sailing after him.

“Rodrad!” Jasen scrambled from the carriage. The man was laid out on the ground, moaning, with Garyild beside him. The trunk had burst open, its contents scattered everywhere. “Are you all right?” He turned to Garyild. “Did the trunk hit him?”

“No, m’lord. At least, I don’t think so.”

Rodrad struggled to sit up. “No, m’lord, it didn’t hit me. Just had the breath knocked out of me. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, m’lord. Just need a little help getting up—”

Jasen went to his side, and together, he and Garyild helped him to his feet.

“Everything all right out there?” his father shouted out of the window.

“Why don’t you get your fat ass out here and see for yourself!” Jasen shouted back.

And then he noticed that the doors of the hall had opened. A handsome young man in uniform stood staring at them. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Jasen tried to respond, but he felt as if he were choking on something. It was probably humiliation, if he had to take a guess.

While he tried to compose himself, his father burst forth from the carriage. “I am Draul, Earl of Hogas of the kingdom of Grumhul,” he said. He sounded not the least bit embarrassed. “And this is my son, Lord Jasen. He’s here for Court.”

Remarkably, the man did not laugh or sneer at them. “Of course, my lord,” he said with a bow. “We have been expecting Lord Jasen.” He paused. “Although we didn’t quite expect him at this time of night.”

“We had carriage trouble, didn’t we?” his father bellowed.

“Yes,” said the man, looking over at the carriage and their filthy clothing. “I can see that.”

“Then why are you so surprised we’re late?” His father thrust his chest out and leveled his best haughty stare at the guard. “Well? Aren’t you going to have someone see my son to his room?”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll see Lord Jasen to his room myself. I imagine you and your servants will want to retire, now that you’ve seen Lord Jasen here. Don’t worry about the trunk,” he said to Garyild and Rodrad when he saw them trying and failing to clean up the mess. “We can take care of it. In fact, why don’t I send someone up to show you the way to the West Wing? I know the grounds can be confusing.”

“Grand, grand,” his father said. He turned to Jasen. “Well, good night. I can come by in the morning to say good-bye.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jasen kept his tone as neutral as he could.

His father’s face fell. “No, I suppose it won’t. Good-bye, son.”

Jasen made his way up the steps, where the man waited for him. He bowed again and gestured to the door. “After you.”

When they entered the hall, they walked up a small staircase covered in pristine red carpet, which became considerably less pristine as Jasen tramped across it. At the top of those stairs was a room with two enormous pillars supporting a high ceiling, and even more stairs. A lot more stairs. There were two enormous staircases on either side that curved around in a grand arch. It seemed to Jasen that two staircases were excessive, given that they led to the same place.

“Welcome to the East Wing,” the man said. “I am Larely, by the way. I am the junior officer in charge of security.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Jasen mumbled, keeping his gaze on his dirty boots.

“Are you injured?” Larely asked.

Jasen furrowed his brow. “No. Why would you think that?”

“You were obviously thrown from your carriage.”

“Oh—no, I wasn’t. I had to get out to help when we got stuck in the mud.”

The guard seemed surprised. “You helped?”

“Of course I did. We weren’t about to get out of there otherwise, were we?”

“I suppose not. But most of the nobles I’ve met would rather sit in a carriage all night than get dirty.”

“I suppose that’s easier to do here in the Draelands, but in Grumhul, we don’t have magic. Things don’t get done with a snap of the finger! We have to rely on each other to—” Jasen stopped abruptly when he realized that he sounded exactly like his father. “Besides,” he continued in a cooler tone, “maybe I like getting dirty.”

Larely burst out laughing. “I hadn’t considered that a possibility.” He gestured to one of the chairs that was situated off to the side. “Please, have a seat. If you will excuse me, I need to see that your father and your things are taken care of. Won’t take me but a moment.”

Jasen was going to protest, given the state of his clothing, but the guard obviously knew and had offered him a seat anyway. Jasen did as he asked. Larely disappeared behind one of the doors.

Jasen fidgeted in the chair. Not that it was uncomfortable. Actually, it was a bit too comfortable. The furniture in his own home tended towards the hard and wooden side. The creak of the opening door startled Jasen out of his thoughts. Larely had meant it when he said he’d be quick, it seemed. “All settled,” he said. “I’ll show you to your room now.”

“You’re a guard, aren’t you?” Jasen asked, eying his uniform.

“Of a sort.”

“The sort who shows people to their rooms and arranges for carriages? It isn’t generally what guards in our country do.”

“Nor in ours, but it seems to be a quiet night, and I like to keep busy. Otherwise, I might end up like Captain Ingo.”

“The senior officer of security?”

“Yes. He’s a hopeless drunk. Not that I blame him—it can get a bit boring here.” He gave him a sly look. “Although there is the occasional moment of excitement. I am called upon to rescue consorts sometimes.”

Jasen eyed him skeptically. “From what?”

“From themselves.” He winked. “Let’s get you to your room.”

They walked back to the staircases, ascending the one on the right. They walked down a long hallway, passing many doors along the way, before ascending yet another flight of stairs.

Jasen considered himself fit, but even he was a little winded by the time they reached the top. At long last, Larely stopped in front of a door. A small placard with his name hung on it. “Here we are,” he said, opening the door. “I’ve arranged a bath for you, and your things should be sent up shortly. If you should need anything else, ring the bell.”

“Thank you.”

“Orientation is at three,” Larely continued. “A valet will be up in the morning to help you dress. And if you ever need anything the servants can’t provide, just ask for me.”

“That’s too kind.”

“Not at all. Good night, my lord,” he said with a bow.

Once he was gone, Jasen set about exploring his new lodgings. The room was lavishly decorated in reds and golds. There was a bed on his left, and a dressing screen and full-length mirror on his right. A small table with two chairs were placed by the window.

Behind the dressing screen, there was a copper tub with bottles of soaps and oils laid out on a table beside it, and a rack with a dressing gown and a few fresh towels. As he approached it, steaming hot water began to fill the tub. He jumped back, startled, but regained his composure. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen magic before—it just had never been quite this casual. Magic was a rarity in Grumhul. Only people who were blessed by dragons gained magical abilities, and dragons didn’t come to Grumhul. Ever since Grumhul became a member of the Allied Realms, Grummish parents were welcome to take their children to neighboring countries to seek a blessing. But the Grummish were historically suspicious of dragons and magic in general, and thus it was rare that anyone took advantage of the offer.

Jasen removed his clothing as the tub filled. Once it was finished, he eased into the water. It was heavenly—a hot bath was a rare treat. He reached for one of the bottles and dumped some of its contents into the water. A sweet floral smell filled the air. He washed himself, including his hair, and then lay back and enjoyed the warmth. When he was finished, he dried himself and put on the dressing gown. The water from the tub vanished.

There was a knock on the door. It was a servant; Jasen’s trunk floated behind him. Jasen tried not to stare as the servant directed his trunk into the room. He wondered if the servant was dragon-blessed, or if the trunk itself had been put under enchantment. The servant collected his muddy clothes and left.

When the servant was gone, he retrieved a night shirt from his trunk. After he slipped it on, he climbed into bed. He should have been tired enough to fall asleep right away, but his thoughts kept him awake for some time. He had been so sure he was ready to leave everything about Grumhul behind, but now that he was here at the palace, he missed it. Already he felt out of place. That was probably only going to get worse. He shut his eyes and tried not to think about it. Instead, he thought about the dragons, remembering their smooth, intricate dance in the sky. Gradually he relaxed, and soon he was asleep.