As soon as the flying convoy entered the Green Valley and Sol Palace came into sight, Dragon sent the palanquin ahead with Lars, Valerian’s second-in-command and trusted friend, as well as first cousin. While his betrotheds rested, Dragon flew around the rocky ridge, accompanied by six of his personal guards, making sure that the perimeter of his mansion was safe.

It was a well-known policy of the Academy to terminate its own agents when they failed a mission, and a second assassin might already be headed there to kill Dragon and take care of his prisoner. Rumor had it that the Academy held public executions for the assassins who disappointed the institution, but only after days of torture. The thought made him feel sick for his valiant enemy.

Every nook and cranny around the palace was methodically inspected. The guards flew over and under the suspended bridges connecting the house proper to the pagoda turrets of the court. The buildings resided on six lower ridge domes surrounding Sol Palace’s taller and bigger one. Wild draglets used the pillars supporting the bridges to build their nests, and a person could easily abscond inside one of those large structures made of twigs and greenery. Dragon and his men also searched the three caves opening on the vertical flanks of the Rocky Dome, but besides disturbing two draglets in an amorous disposition, they found no one there.

Three hours later, Dragon steered Carellian toward the main entrance to his regal abode. He was tired, in dire need of a bath, and eager to wear some clothes, but had one assassin to interrogate first.

The moment he landed on the large square facing Sol Palace’s façade, Lars detached himself from the majestic door and walked down the marble steps.

“You better wear this,” he greeted Dragon with a chagrined expression, handing him a long cloak he immediately donned.

“My betrotheds?” Dragon looked at the entrance, but before Lars could answer, the door opened to reveal the great hall and a crowd waiting for him.

The remainder of his personal guards, the two princesses, and a chorus of worried questions assaulted Dragon at once.

“Are you hurt, High Lord?”

“Is it true rebels ambushed you?”

“Are they coming to the palace?”

It looked like Dragon’s entire court had gathered, and talking to the mercenary would have to wait. The questions kept coming as people approached Dragon, and amidst the most vocal was Lauren.

Much to Dragon’s annoyance and despite Valerian’s quick thinking, some semblance of the truth had spread. Like a succulent piece of gossip, the rumor of his attack had propagated faster than light. He was sure he had his betrotheds to thank for the procession of well-meaning courtiers slowing his progress toward his quarters.

Dragon should have thought to ask his guards to escort the princesses directly to their wing—docking outside the Bridal Chambers, without entering the palace—but his thoughts were on keeping them safe when he made the decision. He had underestimated their youthful curiosity, though, and would remember to tread carefully in the future.

“You were attacked!” Lauren’s dainty hand flew to her mouth as she walked toward him, her large gown billowing all around her like a fluffy, light-blue cloud. Amidst all the worriment, she’d had time to change from her rider outfit to an evening dress. Even her hair was styled differently.

“Nothing happened.” Dragon liked her well enough, but at the moment, he found the girl’s penchant for drama irksome.

“I’m relieved to see you are whole, my lord,” Gilda said, her voice a mere whisper.

A tall, shy brunette, Dragon’s second promised bride was the exact opposite of Lauren, who was a miniature tornado. Whereas Lauren dressed in gowns meant to draw attention to her luscious curves, Gilda’s chosen fashion was subdued, both in colors and styles. Long tunics in shades of greens and browns usually hugged her slender body, covering her from neck to pointy shoes. Still, one couldn’t help but wonder how fun it would be to discover what lay underneath that demure façade.

He had always thought that the two women complemented each other and would make the perfect pair. His matrimonial life would be surely blessed by such diversity. Usually, he looked forward to getting to know them better, and fantasized about the pleasures awaiting him on their wedding night. Today, he had no patience for Lauren’s constant chattering and Gilda’s heavy stillness.

“Who was that woman riding with you?” Lauren asked, her voice too loud.

All the eyes in the hall moved at once, zeroing on them.

“I will explain later,” Dragon answered.

“Where is she now?” Lauren looked over his shoulder.

“I said I’ll answer all your questions in due time.” Dragon softened his voice as he walked past her and added, “Please, excuse me, my lady, but I need a long bath.”

Undeterred, Lauren asked, “Are the wedding bands safe?”

“Yes, they are. I ordered for the chest to be delivered to the palace as soon as the master artisan finished them,” Dragon answered without pausing his stride.

The wedding bands, two high collars made of platinum, would be worn by the newly-wedded brides at the end of the lavish wedding ceremony. The tradition was as old as Solaria and highly symbolic of the planet’s unique triad marriages. By covering their throats with the hard metal band, the brides announced to the world they belonged to their dragon shifter, who would have marked them before the collar was secured for life. Dragon brides wore their wedding bands with pride, because it gave them the highest status on Solaria after the High Lord.

“Very good. It would’ve been highly inconvenient if they were stolen and we had to wait for the molds to be cast again.” Lauren moved in front of him, deftly blocking his path. “Are we going to postpone the ball?” she asked, pouting before Dragon could answer.

The girl had this uncanny ability to hop from one topic to the next, moving from a serious issue to a shallow matter with no apparent consideration for propriety. One moment, she was worried about the wedding bands, and a heartbeat later, she wondered if tonight’s inaugural ball was still on.

“No changes in the plan.” Dragon raised his hand to stop her next question and exited the room, startling Lauren into silence for once, but not for long. Her thrilled squeals resonated in the hall a moment later.

He tuned out her voice, turning to Lars, who still followed him with the rest of his personal guards on his heels.

“I’ll have a word with you.” Dragon signaled for him to follow. “Alone.”

He trusted the man with his life. Growing up, Dragon, Valerian, and Lars had earned the moniker of the Unholy Trinity, because of several escapades that were still the talk of the court. Their history of youthful shenanigans had cemented their friendship into a special bond Dragon only shared with a handful of men.

“Yes, my lord,” Lars said, dismissing the squad of tall and brawny soldiers who came from the highly selected Solarian Army. Once they were alone, Lars tilted his head. “Are you going to tell me who that woman was that Valerian spirited away?”

“Walk with me.” Dragon pointed ahead at the end of the hallway toward his quarters. Enough people had heard his betrothed’s careless words already; he didn’t need to fuel the gossipmongers with tales of his own. He would be careful from now on.

Servants moved aside and lowered their heads as they passed.

“At ease,” Dragon said, smiling at the men and women who worked hard to keep his abode in pristine condition.

Rain and humidity reigned over Solaria, making mechanical workers not as common as they were on Lupine, and relegating many of the menial tasks to humans who aged but didn’t rust.

Lucio, his majordomo, stood at the entrance to his apartments. A deep line marred his smooth forehead as he took a good look at Dragon. “High Lord—”

“I’m fine.” Dragon raised his hand. “And before you ask, the woman who arrived with Valerian is my guest.”

“Very well, High Lord.” Lucio nodded and moved to the side. “Should I prepare a room for her?”

“No. She’ll stay in my chamber,” Dragon answered.

His majordomo gulped down whatever question crossed his mind and nodded.

Announced by the loud banging of an internal door, Valerian stormed out of Dragon’s quarters, startling Lucio who jumped to the side to let him pass. Valerian’s dark eyes shone wild and his body quivered like an arrow set to be released, but he waited for the majordomo to leave them alone before speaking. “What are you going to do with the assassin in your bedroom?”

“So, I was right.” Lars brought his hand to his face, caressing the light stubble on his jaw. “It is an assassin.” His brow scrunched as he shook his head. “Is there a reason you didn’t kill her?”

Dragon searched deep inside for the answer and didn’t like what he found, so instead, he said, “I want to interrogate her.”

“Assassins don’t talk.” Valerian’s eyebrow rose.

“Maybe this one will. I’ve got to try,” Dragon answered. “This could be the only chance we have to find who hired the Academy to kill me.”

“Dragon, you are courting danger,” Valerian said.

Three other attacks in as many days preceded today’s attempt, and Valerian had tried to convince Dragon that he should be accompanied by his High Guard at all times.

“I’ll concede that you might be right,” Dragon said, feeling his chest constrict already. After spending a year on Lupine without being fussed over by his court, he had a tough time relinquishing the freedom to take a flight all by himself.

With a nod to Lars and Valerian, he stepped in front of the large wooden door with the intricate carvings of draglets that marked the entrance to his quarters. The creation of one of the most renowned master carpenters on Solaria, the door had guarded the High Lord’s quarters for the last eight hundred years. Dragon’s grandfather and father strode through the same portal before him. Dragon’s son would inherit the palace when he was gone. A son he should be busy making soon. At the moment, though, his thoughts were far removed from making babies.

Valerian and Lars crossed the threshold after Dragon.

Lucio appeared at the door once again. “If you wish to eat, a light repast is ready, High Lord.”

“Thank you, Lucio. I’ll eat something later,” Dragon said.

“What about tonight?” Valerian asked, eyeing the majordomo as the man, instead of leaving, remained at the threshold, waiting for instruction.

“No changes in the schedule.” Dragon briskly walked the length of the large foyer.

“There’s no time to secure the place as the new situation requires,” Lars said, joining the conversation.

“Postponing the ball is out of the question. It would be seen as cowardice on my part,” Dragon said, then regarded Lucio with a nod. “That’ll be all for now, thank you.” He turned toward Lars and added, “Plus, entertainment is always good for morale.” His hand automatically shot toward his mane of unruly blond tresses to push the heavy aviator glasses up his head, only to realize that he had lost them when he changed in the cave. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright light entering from the arched windows that occupied one entire wall of the foyer. “I want you both to guard my betrotheds tonight.” He entered his sleeping quarters, heading toward his bedroom.

“I should be guarding you,” Valerian said.

“Gilda and Lauren are as important as I am. They are the makers of Solaria’s future.”

“You don’t need to remind me who they are.” Valerian’s hand grabbed Dragon’s elbow. “I still think Lars and I should shadow you.”

“They are the wombs. I am but the seed,” Dragon recited, pointedly looking at his friend’s hand on his arm.

Valerian removed his hand and immediately fisted it to his side. “Don’t start spouting old nonsense to me.” He tilted his chin in defiance. “We’ve known each other all our lives—”

Dragon stopped in the middle of the antechamber outside his bedroom and made a sign for the two servants dusting the furniture to leave. He turned to face Lars and Valerian. Since coming back from Lupine, his interaction with both friends had been strained, but with each passing day, the situation worsened. “This conversation is long due, but you’ll have to wait until I’ve talked to my guest.” He then pointed at Valerian’s waist where his scimitar now hung from his belt, polished to a shine. “Remove it.”

Valerian raised his hands in frustration. “Why?”

“Because I want the assassin to collaborate. Intimidation won’t give us any results,” he answered.