Only in flight did they discover true freedom.
Although the brothers Lachan and Gabriel reigned as the crown princes of Vertania, they gladly exchanged their royal silks and lofty gold jeweled crowns for the regal beauty and divine strength of their nature made forms.
As often as possible the brothers abandoned their daily duties and took leave of their home palace; a sparkling, towering structure of mint hued domes, towers and turrets, bordered and encircled by sprawling balconies and porches and topped with a royal flag that depicted a mighty dragon king in all its mystical glory.
Assuming their form in a single smooth flourish, the brothers launched their newly morphed bodies—enchanted concoctions of majestic wings, long contoured tails, lengthy noses and gleaming eyes, and claws that cut the air before them—high into the air, looking down upon the crystalline kingdom that they called home.
The world was theirs and they knew as much; their green second skin fitting much like a king’s coat as they raced with a whisper soft bank of billowing clouds beneath a glowing golden sun.
Yet as much as the brothers savored their freedom and reveled in their singular strength, they never did lose sight of the fact that they did not rule and reign as the kings of their land. Indeed, that title belonged only to the man who occupied the throne room of their lustrous home castle.
No matter how high they ventured to fly, their mighty forms traversing the vast expanse of a pure gem green sky, they knew that the call of a single bugle could send them careening in a downward spiral in the direction of the ground beneath them, landing finally before the gold double doors that fronted their emerald castle.
Returning with frustrated sighs to their more conventional, more manageable human forms, the brothers slipped on the long bejeweled tunics and sleek black leather pantaloons that comprised their earthbound wardrobe.
Wincing as the tenor of their father’s calling bugle grew louder and louder by the moment, the brothers rushed inward into the vast tiled entryway of their grand childhood home, rushing headfirst down the long winding corridors that would take them to their father’s throne room.
Soon they found themselves crossing the arched entryway that would take them to the glowing centerpiece of their shining regal residence; a room whose walls glowed with a layer of bejeweled forest green tapestries, exquisite artworks overseen by a lush vaulted ceiling and a glimmering bank of candle-lined chandeliers.
Forming the head of this illustrious room was a velvet-cushioned golden throne, the sitting place of a stoic silver-haired man who looked down upon his two sons with grave, concerned eyes.
“My sons,” the good King Dracor spoke finally, his loud booming voice filling the room as his sons stood just a bit straighter in response. “You missed our meeting of council this morn, an important and relevant event that passes just once per moon on the Vertanian calendar.” He paused here, leaning forward on his high seat as he continued, “Where, may I ask, were you?”
Gabriel, the golden-haired dragon, shuffled his feet beneath him as he considered this question.
“Well, dear Father,” he began, raising his golden head to look his father straight in the eyes. “We each respect and acknowledge your role as the head of this kingdom. And we trust your judgment in overseeing and administrating any and all matters of state. As such, we do not see it as our place to claim seats on the royal council, permitting our youth and inexperience to taint the font of your endless wisdom.”
Lachan had heard enough.
“We were flying!” the sable-haired prince interrupted his brother, making a broad gesture between them as he continued, “We’re nothing more than young dragons, Father, enjoying our lives and kingdom in the guise of our most natural form.”
Dracor sighed.
“As a nature made dragon myself, my sons, I know all too well the pull of the magic, the manner in which our true and natural forms constantly call out to us,” he acknowledged, stroking the strands of his long grey beard to reflective effect. “I know also, however, that I myself am no longer a dragon of youth and virility—and I am certainly not immortal. All too soon for any of our liking, dear boys, I shall be forced to retire from my place on the throne, leaving it to the two of you to rule our world and kingdom.”
The king paused here, his old withered hand gripping his forehead as he considered this most unsettling, even petrifying possibility.
“You two must prepare yourselves for the massive responsibility that awaits you on your thrones,” he informed them. “You must attend every session of our royal council, as well as our full schedule of intergalactic conferences and diplomatic ceremonies and events.”
The brothers looked at one another, then nodded.
“Yay,” they agreed as one.
The king nodded.
“Very good,” he allowed, adding quickly, “Of course, I also will expect you to study and formulate opinions about the rules and laws that govern our land. I require your thoughts on existing matters of state, as well as your plans and ideas for new programs and enterprises that could benefit our people.”
The brothers again looked at one another, then nodded.
“Yay,” they agreed as one.
The king nodded.
“Very good,” he allowed. “Of course, I also feel that the time has come for the two of you to find and wed your respective predestined mates.”
The brothers looked at one another, then shook their heads. Hard.
“Nay, Father, you must grant us more time to enjoy our youth,” Lachan insisted, his muscled arms making near desperate gestures in the air before him. “Our freedom! Oh, of course we both wish to marry and have children—to raise future kings and queens. First, however, we have so much of this world, and other worlds, to explore and discover.”
The king had heard enough.
“Lachan, just last month we celebrated the passing of your 23rd summer—and your brother, he is two years older,” he reminded them both. “It is time for both of you to commence and embrace your intended roles as the future kings of Vertania.” He paused here, adding as he pointed an authoritative finger straight in the direction of his scowling sons, “And as such, you each must find your queen.”