Jasen didn’t say anything to Risyda about what happened with Larely. In fact, he avoided her entirely that night, claiming a headache. The next morning, Lady Isalei called him to her parlor. Jasen was so nervous that he felt like he might vomit—had she found out about his rendezvous with the king? He didn’t think he’d be able to lie to her if she asked. His hands shook as he poured them both tea.

“I heard that you were quite ill the other day,” Lady Isalei said. “Have you recovered?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice quivering.

“Are you quite sure? You seem a bit unsteady.”

“I suppose I am still recovering a bit,” he said, happy to have an excuse for his jitters.

Lady Isalei took a sip of her tea. “The king wants to meet with you tomorrow.”

Jasen’s heart soared. “Tomorrow?”

“Of course, if you still aren’t feeling well—”

“No, I’m fully recovered!” he said, and then realized that he had just contradicted himself. “I mean—I will be fully recovered by tomorrow. I just need another night’s rest, I’m sure.”

“Good. He was very insistent on seeing you as soon as possible.”

Jasen suppressed the big, goofy grin that wanted to break out on his face. “I am anxious to see him as well,” he said with as much refinement as he could manage.

“Then it’s settled. A footman will take you to king tomorrow around mid-morning.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

As soon as he left the parlor, he did a little dance of joy. An official meeting with the king! But the joy quickly faded as he ruminated on the “official” part of it. Every other meeting between them had been just the two of them. Was this to be a formal affair? Would things between them be different? He supposed he would have to wait and see. Still, it wasn’t enough to dampen his enthusiasm.

Risyda was thrilled at the news, but Jasen made her promise not to tell anyone. It didn’t matter—by dinner time, everyone had heard the news. Polina made especially sour faces at him during dinner and loudly explained to her cohorts how much she admired the king’s dedication to fairness, seeing as he made time for even people from “the lesser realms.”

Polina’s bitterness wasn’t enough to spoil his mood, but he still felt uneasy about his encounter with Larely the previous day. Larely approached him as he was about to retire for the evening. Risyda had already gone upstairs. “Hello,” he said. He seemed sheepish.

“Hello,” Jasen said back.

“I’m an ass,” Larely said. “A great big giant ass, and I’m sorry for yesterday.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Of course I do. I said some very unfair things.” He paused. “I hear you’re off to see the king tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“Is it what you want?”

“Yes,” Jasen said. “It really is.”

“Then I’m glad for you.” He handed him a bottle. “Here— an apology gift from me. It’s Yarlian wine— a very fine vintage from my father’s vineyard.”

Jasen accepted the bottle. “Thank you,” he said. “Why don’t you come up to Risyda’s and have a glass with us?”

“Not tonight,” Larely said. “Some other time, maybe.”

“Oh. All right, then.”

Larely smiled at him, although it was a little strained. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Jasen headed up to Risyda’s, the wine bottle feeling heavy in his hand. He couldn’t help but feel he’d lost a friend. Maybe that would change later. He decided against telling Risyda. They had a lot of other things to discuss, after all. His stomach did a little flip just thinking about what was in store. Tomorrow seemed both too far away and too soon.

* * *

Jasen awoke early the next morning to prepare. A breakfast was sent up to him, but he was too nervous to eat. Even the unflappable Rotheld seemed fussy rather than efficiently meticulous. Since it was a morning appointment, Rotheld recommended less formal attire, which Jasen agreed to eagerly. The outfit they settled on was a deep blue, with only a little lace trimming and a modestly flared frock coat. They argued over the shoes; Jasen won and wore a pair with only a slightly raised heel.

Finally, a valet arrived to escort Jasen to the king’s private apartments. He hadn’t been in the palace proper yet. When they stepped into the front hall, it was all Jasen could do not to gape. The high ceiling was covered with the most beautiful murals Jasen had ever seen. They depicted the Drae, which were the central figures of their religion—the beings that were half-human, half-dragon, who had both the magical abilities of dragons and the reason of men. They were too powerful and too reckless, however, and the gods split them apart into separate creatures, and it had been that way ever since. The stories had always seemed distant to Jasen, particularly since there were no dragons in Grumhul, but the murals were so clear and so lovely that he felt the truth of it for the first time.

They wound their way up some stairs and through some halls until at last they reached the king’s apartments. The valet bowed and left. Jasen hesitated. Should he knock, or was he just expected to enter? While he was deciding what to do, his gaze rested on a full length portrait of a beautiful blonde woman, standing in front of one of the more spectacular fountains of the Bedrose Gardens. In one hand, she held an orb of water. Jasen realized that it must be the late Queen Consort Quendra—she had been powerfully blessed with water magic. Her eyes were blue and serene. It was a bit disconcerting to be confronted by her image right before he met with her husband. Jasen wondered what she would think of him. Would she approve? He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed, collecting himself. He decided to enter without knocking—the king was expecting him, after all.

The receiving room was dazzling to behold. There was gold everywhere, etched into the walls in swirling patterns and gilding the frames of the many paintings hung there. Even the furniture seemed more like works of art than things to be sat upon. Jasen wasn’t sure he could even find the courage to speak in such a place—even the rugs seemed better than him. To his surprise, the room was empty, but there was another door at the other end of the room, which was slightly ajar. He heard voices just beyond—the king and someone else’s.

Curious, Jasen crept closer and peered in through the crack. He wasn’t that surprised to see Minister Adwig there.

“—must admit that Princess Polina is a perfect match. She is royalty, first and foremost, and her family has been blessed by the dragons. And she is beautiful, is she not? Her manners are without peer—”

“I appreciate your advice, as always,” the king interrupted, although he didn’t especially sound as if that were true.

“Then why are you meeting with this Lord Jasen?” The minister’s voice dropped. “I would not want to interfere with Your Majesty’s pleasure, of course, but is it quite necessary to make an official courtship of the young man?”

His pleasure? Jasen’s heart sank. Was that all the king wanted from him?

Jasen must have made a sound, because they both stopped talking and turned to the door. The king’s face lit up. “Lord Jasen! Please, come in.”

Jasen stepped through the door. He bowed deeply to both of them. “Good morning, Your Majesty,” he said as formally as possible.

“You remember Minister Adwig,” the king said. “Although I don’t think you were properly introduced. I am sure he is honored to make your acquaintance.”

“But of course,” the minister said in a voice that didn’t match the scowl on his face. He bowed to Jasen. “How pleasant to meet you.”

“The minister was just leaving,” the king continued.

Adwig forced a smile and bowed to the king. “I hope you have an enjoyable morning, Your Majesty.” With that, he left, shutting the door just a little too loudly behind him.

The king moved to Jasen side as soon as the minister was gone. “You have excellent timing,” he said. “You’ve saved me from a tedious conversation.”

“Your Majesty does me a great honor,” he mumbled.

The king took Jasen’s hand. “Please, no more of that. You’re to call me Rilvor, remember?”

Jasen’s heart sank further. Of course he didn’t want to be formal with Jasen. That was why they were meeting practically in his bedchambers. A pleasure, nothing more. He supposed the thought should relieve him—after all, wasn’t becoming the king consort something he wanted to avoid? But he couldn’t be with Rilvor if he was to marry someone else. It would break his heart.

The king frowned. “What is the matter? You have grown pale. Lady Isalei said you were unwell earlier—do you feel unwell still?”

“I do,” Jasen said. “Maybe I should leave.” Better to stop this before it went any further—no matter how much he cared for Rilvor, he wouldn’t consent to being a pleasurable distraction from his real duties.

The king sighed. “The children will be so disappointed.”

“The children?” Jasen said with surprise.

“Yes. I had hoped that we could all enjoy some time together.”

Jasen didn’t know what to say. Spending time with the king’s children didn’t seem like something he would do if Jasen was only a mere dalliance to him.

At that moment, four children and a nurse entered the room. Jasen recognized Ados and Erada. The other two had to be his youngest daughters. One was a sweet-looking girl of five with blonde curls. The other was about two years old, who was the only child who shared her father’s dark hair. She was in the nurse’s arm and was sucking her thumb thoughtfully.

Erada beamed and ran up to him. “Hello, Jay!” she said, but then stopped. “I mean, Lord Jasen.” She curtsied.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Jasen said, grinning back at her. He looked over at Ados. “Both of you.” And it really was. The dread that had crept into his heart was rapidly fading.

The nurse handed the little one to Rilvor, who also took the other girl by the hand. “I wanted you to meet my other daughters. This is Denas,” he said, indicating the five-year-old. “Denas, say hello to Lord Jasen.”

Denas hid behind her father’s legs, but managed a very soft, “Hello.”

Jasen bowed deeply. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my princess,” Jasen said with great seriousness. When she peeked out at him, he stuck his tongue out at her. She giggled.

“And this is Ayera,” he said, holding the little one closer to Jasen.

“Hello to you, too,” he said. She slapped him in the face and squealed.

“Believe it or not, that means she likes you,” Rilvor said.

“We’re going to see a puppet show!” Erada said.

“If you are feeling well enough.” Rilvor hesitated. “I know it is not a traditional audience between a consort and the king, but it has been some time since I have been able to spend time with the children. I hope you are not offended. If you would prefer something more formal, we can meet this afternoon—”

“No, this is perfect,” Jasen said with a grin. “And I’m feeling much better now. There’s nothing I would rather be doing.”

The king returned his smile. “I am happy to hear it.”

Soon afterward, the puppet players arrived. The players put on a show about the great King Athurd, the first Lord of the Drae, and his unification of the Allied Realms. The show was intended to amuse children while offering some light history, but Jasen was embarrassed that he himself was finding it educational. Grumhul was always the odd kingdom out when it came to the Allied Realms, so they weren’t as steeped in the lore as the other kingdoms were. Combining that with Jasen’s abysmal education meant he was a great deal fuzzier on the history than he cared to admit.

The puppeteers started with a comically frenzied battle between a dozen knights and kings and queens, although the real Wars Without End were not so jolly. The ten kingdoms that now made up the Allied Realms had nearly destroyed themselves with their constant battling. As the puppets fought, an impressive puppet dragon swooped upon them, representing how the dragons of old, who were mindless and wild, would often attack humankind. Great kings and queens would occasionally tame one and thus gain dominance over their neighbors, but dragons were unpredictable and often turned against their masters. Dragon slaying was therefore a wildly spread sport—a thought so blasphemous now that it made Jasen queasy to even think of it. Truly, it was a wretched time for all involved.

The combatants and the dragons disappeared from the stage, replaced by a puppet figure of Gilda, the Blessed Mother, with baby Athard in her arms. She came across the dragon egg that would one day be Zimura, the first dragon with reason. Gilda placed the egg in and the baby in a cradle. The narrator of the show intoned that the egg would not hatch for fifteen years, but in the meantime, some extraordinary things began to happen to the village of Heabrook, where Gilda and Athard lived as humble peasants. Crops never failed. Plagues that ravaged nearby villages left Heabrook untouched. Wolves, robbers, and raiders alike seemed unable to disturb the peace in their land.

The baby puppet was replaced by a boy puppet—the young Athard with flaming red hair. By the time he was ten, Athard was curing injuries and disease, playing with wild animals, and making prophecies. The puppeteers had fun depicting the bumbling of the local lords in their attempts to possess this miraculous boy, but Athard stayed put in Heabrook, which remained immune to all attack.

With great fanfare, the puppeteers depicted the glorious hatching of Zimura and the subsequent ascension of Athard as the first Lord of the Drae, with godlike powers over all of the elements. Athard took his baby dragon and went on his grand tour of the realms, seeing for the first time the wickedness of the world. The kings and queens all scrambled to capture him, but he was untouchable.

He spent ten years traveling the lands, performing miracles and righting wrongs, until at last Zimura was fully grown. The mood of the play shifted to something darker as they depicted the Battle of Oxham, when the realms united to destroy Athard at last. This was a mistake, as Zimura fried their armies to a crisp. She and Athard retreated then to the lands beyond the Ashfell Mountains. When he returned a year later, he brought with him an army of dragons, who were wild beasts no longer. Through Athard and Zimura’s connection, they now had the reason of men.

The puppeteers depicted Athard’s conquest as a happy one, although Jasen was sure it was not particularly pleasant for the wicked kings and queens. Once the rubble had settled, Athard elevated only the most righteous people to rule the realms. He and the dragons began blessing the worthy of all classes with magical abilities, thus ensuring that the ruling class were no longer the only ones with power. A happy ending. But as a Grumhulian, he felt a bit of ambivalence—Athard brought peace to the realms, but it was a peace that had been forced. That didn’t sit well with the Grummish.

The finale of the show was grand, with all of the magnificent puppet dragons on full display, moving with amazing grace and spectacle. All in all, the show had been enjoyable. Erada had bounced with excitement the whole time, pulling on Jasen’s sleeve and often exclaiming with glee at a particularly impressive part. Ados was more dignified, but by the end he was as enraptured as his sister. The nurse had stayed to help with the little ones, who naturally paid less attention to the entertainment, but Rilvor tended to his younger children as much as the nurse did. It resulted in a lot of interruptions, but Jasen didn’t mind. He even held Ayera in his lap for part of show. She pulled at hair and neatly done cravat, messing them both up. Jasen couldn’t bring himself to care, although he was sure Rotheld would be disapproving.

Afterward, Rilvor sent the children off with their nurse so that he and Jasen could have a private luncheon, which the servants had laid out for them.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Rilvor asked as they sat down.

“Oh yes, very much,” Jasen said as he selected some of the delicious-looking fruit from the spread in front of them. “I’ve never seen such a marvelous use of puppets. But the history is—” He stopped before he could finish the thought. Lady Isalei’s tutors encouraged their pupils to engage in light debate, but criticism of the very foundation of the Allied Realms was about as light as a boulder.

Rilvor raised his eyebrow. “But?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a silly thought.”

“Your expression just now did not look silly.”

“Believe me, it is. I don’t exactly have a keen analytical mind. I’d only embarrass myself.”

Rilvor frowned. “It disheartens me to hear you speak so poorly of yourself. I do not share your assessment.” He put a hand on Jasen’s. “I would very much like to hear your thought, if you would indulge me.”

Jasen’s heart gave a little flutter. “Well—it’s wonderful that Athard stopped the wars and brought the realms together, but it isn’t like anyone had a choice in the matter. And that’s still true, isn’t it? The only reason that the realms stay united is out of fear of Reckonings.” A Reckoning was when the dragons determined that nobles were taking advantage of their people and kicked them out of power. In the first two centuries of the Allied Realms, Reckonings involved the guilty families getting burned to death. Reckonings were less common and less violent now, but they still happened. No one knew the exact triggers of a Reckoning—it was solely the discretion of the dragons. Even the Lord of the Drae could not stop a Reckoning. “It’s disturbing that the dragons have such power, and humans get no say in it.”

Rilvor smiled a little. “That is an opinion shared by your queen. It is a valid point, and most definitely not a ‘silly’ thought.” Rilvor buttered a roll and took a bite before he spoke again. “It is unfortunate that humans have proved themselves incapable of controlling their darker natures.”

“But that isn’t true. Grumhul has no dragons—we never have.” At the time of Athard’s reign, Good King Stan of Grumhul was judged to be the only worthy king, for he had never waged war nor oppressed his people. They were left to govern themselves, which they did for two hundred years before they agreed to join the other Allied Realms. “And we do just fine. Our kingdom isn’t exactly prosperous, but everyone gets taken care of. Our monarchs and our nobles don’t oppress. Everyone gets a say in the laws, and no one is exempt. Corrupt monarchs are thrown out. If we can govern ourselves without the threat of dragons toasting us, I don’t see why other realms couldn’t do it as well.”

“I agree.”

Jasen blinked rapidly. “You do?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes. Inviting the common folk to have their say is a worthy idea. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Well— I mean—” Jasen sputtered for another few moments before throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You’re Lord of the Drae! You’re the connection between humans and the dragons! That is the whole point for your existence! Why on earth would you question their involvement in human affairs?”

Rilvor raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to think that my life has some meaning aside from my link to the dragons.”

Jasen felt his face flush. “Oh no, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise! Please forgive me—I’m such an idiot—”

But Rilvor did not look offended. If anything, he seemed amused. “I will forgive you on the condition that you stop insulting yourself.”

Jasen opened his mouth to disagree, but shut it again quickly. He reached for his glass, swallowing down the rest of his self-incriminations with the last of his wine. “All right,” he said with a weak smile. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” Rilvor refilled Jasen’s wine glass as well as his own. “As to your question—I did not say that I think humans and dragons ought to be separated again. The benefits of our connection are obvious for both of our species. However, there is much nuance about human societies that the dragons miss. It is said that dragons can see into the hearts of humans and separate the good from the wicked…” He trailed off.

“But you don’t think that’s true?” Jasen asked when he didn’t continue.

“I think it is true in a limited sense. Dragons do not understand human complexities, I fear, just as we do not understand them.”

“But you’re linked with the dragons. You can communicate with them.”

“Yes and no. Dragons’ minds are linked to each other, and I am party to that link. But I don’t understand their thoughts directly. I can get impressions of their intentions, their emotional states, just as draeds and draedesses can. My connection to them is even stronger, but we can’t speak with them. Direct communication—talking the way you and I are now—is beyond the scope of our powers.”

“But they tell you their names, don’t they?”

“That is about the extent of it. In truth, I think they only choose names for the benefit of humans. I’m not sure they even have a language as we understand it.”

“But King Athard did. That’s what all the stories say.”

“It has been five hundred years. Stories grow old, just as we do, and they aren’t always accurate.” Rilvor looked pensive, as if his gaze were directed inward instead of to the world around him. But it was only for a moment. He smiled. “But mysteries are beautiful, are they not? Think of how drab the world would be if there were no mysteries left.”

Jasen raised his glass. “To mysteries.”

“To mysteries.” He clinked his glass against Jasen’s.

The subject appeared to be closed, but Jasen couldn’t help but ask one last question. “Are you really thinking about adapting Grummish policies?”

Rilvor shrugged. “It is only a thought. I doubt it would go over well with my ministers or the nobles—or even, indeed, the common folk.”

“Or maybe it would. You can’t know until you try.”

“If only politics were that simple. There is no trying—a leader must decide, and then carry through.” He rubbed his temple. “But that is enough talk of politics. I wish to turn my attention to more important matters.”

“Like what?”

“You, naturally.”

Jasen tried to will himself not to blush. He wasn’t sure it worked. “Before we stop talking politics, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion with Minister Adwig earlier. It seems like he doesn’t exactly approve of me.”

Rilvor sighed. “I had hoped you had missed that particular conversation. No wonder you were so pale. Please do not worry about Minister Adwig. He has some strong opinions as to whom I should marry—but those are his opinions, not mine. And I approve of you. That is all that truly matters.”

Jasen’s lips quirked upward. “That’s good to hear.”

They spent the rest of the time in lighter conversation. Their time together was over all too quickly, but Rilvor had kingly duties to attend to. Rilvor accompanied Jasen to the door. “I would walk you back to your room,” he said apologetically. “But I’m afraid I would be mobbed.”

Jasen grimaced at the thought. “Yes, that’s probably true.” He looked down at his shoe bashfully. “Will I see you again soon?”

“If I had my way, I would see you tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. But I am a king, and my time is not my own.”

Jasen’s good mood soured a little at the reminder of Rilvor’s royal status. “I understand.” He paused. “Will you be seeing other consorts?”

“Most likely.”

Jasen turned away, hoping to conceal his flush of jealousy, but Rilvor put a hand on his cheek and gazed into his eyes. “My ministers are more likely to accept my choice if I have satisfied them that I have explored all of my options. I hope I do not need to explain that the thought displeases me as much as it does you.”

“Of course not,” Jasen said, but in truth, it did feel good to hear him say it.

Rilvor brought Jasen’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Until next time.”

There was no one to accompany Jasen back to his room; he wasn’t sure if that was an oversight or if they finally trusted him to find his own way around. He felt dazed as he drifted across the palace, like he was floating on air. Or perhaps as if he were riding on the back of a dragon.

He came crashing back to earth when he round the corner and ran straight into Minister Adwig. The man’s eyes swept over him. “Good afternoon, Lord Jasen.” His tone was respectful, but there was a smirk on his face. “I trust you had an enjoyable morning with the king.”

Jasen’s instinct was to get away quickly, but he made himself hold his ground. He lifted his chin and met his gaze. “Yes, it was very enjoyable.”

Adwig’s smirk grew smugger. “Indeed. You may want to have your valet redo your cravat and hair before you return to your lessons—I am sure Lady Isalei would not approve of you looking quite so…disheveled.”

Jasen blinked at him for a moment until he understood what he was getting at. No doubt he thought Jasen had hastily dressed after the king had taken the “pleasure” that Adwig had so graciously insisted he would not interfere with. His face grew hot, but he did his best to keep a hold of his temper. “Thank you for letting me know. I was having too much fun with the little princess to notice.”

Adwig’s brow furrowed. “The princess?”

“Yes—Princess Ayera. She sat in my lap during the puppet show. Didn’t the king tell you what he had planned for me this morning? We had a lovely time—it was so nice getting to know his children.”

Awig scowled. “How delightful.”

Jasen tried to hold back his grin of victory. “It was.”

“I suppose this is all very delightful for you,” Adwig continued. “Your lovely rooms in this palace, all of your fine clothing—such a change from your previous circumstances, is it not?”

It was so shockingly rude that Jasen wasn’t sure what to say. “I-I suppose so.”

The minister smirked. “I am sure you have lessons to attend, so I won’t keep you any further.” He bowed. “Good morning.”

Jasen gave an awkward bow in return. “Good morning.”

Jasen let out a breath as soon as the minister was out of sight. The pleasure of his time with the king had faded and all of his insecurities came rushing back. But why should he be intimidated? Rilvor seemed as if he didn’t put much stock in Adwig’s opinion. It still hurt that the man thought so little of him. He tried to put it out of his mind as he made his way back to the East Wing. If Rilvor didn’t care, then he wouldn’t care, either.

At least that’s what he told himself.