Mina Louvet pressed close to Prince Damian’s side—to Matthias Gentry’s side—as they exited the lavish horse-drawn carriage, followed by Ari, Azor, and Asher, and entered the gardens of Castle Dragon. The golden sun was high in the sky; there was a soft, gentle breeze blowing through the outdoor plaza; and the bright pink-and-violet peony bushes that littered the greens were in full, magnificent bloom. At a glance, she could see the opulent banquet table, set up in the distance afore a bubbling fountain: the place where the princes, the Sklavos Ahavi, and the king would gather to celebrate Prince Asher’s birthday. And she couldn’t help but remember that day, so long ago, when Matthias Gentry had entered these same pristine gardens carrying a missive about Raylea’s unfortunate capture. She blinked several times to dismiss the thought—she didn’t care to remember such terror, and she needed to stay present and focused.

Much farther to the north, approximately thirteen nautical miles beyond Dracos Cove, was a large Lycanian vessel waiting to sail home along its typical, routine trade-route; only, there was nothing typical about the ship or routine about its course. Not this time. The craft was filled with heavy caches of copper, Prince Dante’s payment to Lycania for decades of mutual alliance, for twenty seaworthy vessels that had already been delivered. Beyond that, the ship was waiting exactly seven days to turn home, waiting for two potential passengers: Prince Damian Dragona and Mina Louvet. Should the entire gala erupt into deadly chaos; should Prince Dante Dragona’s best-laid plans fail, and fail miserably; should the king capture, kill, or best the sapphire dragon, then Prince Damian was to take his father’s side in the struggle, pretend to be shocked and appalled by Prince Dante’s betrayal, and declare his undying loyalty to King Demitri…only to later slip away with Mina.

Flee to the safety and sanctuary of Lycania.

Of course, the ship’s captain didn’t know about the secret contents of the crates concealed in his dry, dark cargo hold, nor did he know the identities of the potential passengers. Such a thing would be too dangerous at this juncture. He only knew that he was to take any and all existing cargo back to Lycania and grant safe passage to two cloaked strangers, should they board the vessel before seven days’ time. The way Prince Dante saw it, if he prevailed in his coup, his dragon could stop by the vessel on his way to save King Thaon and pick up the eighty pounds of coppers, along with a news-bearing missive. If he died at the hands of King Demitri, then Prince Damian could take word to Lycania and explain why the dragon wasn’t coming.

Mina shivered all the way down to her toes, her emerald-green gown of silk, lace, and embroidered pearls feeling more like a confining cloak of shackles.

If Prince Dante failed…

Giver of Life, he could not fail!

It would mean the death of her sons. It would mean the death of Prince Dario, as the fearless male was prepared to fight at Prince Dante’s side if he had to. It would mean the death of life as Mina knew it…sequestered in a foreign land…living on the run. Hoping that Raylea, her parents, Prince Drake, Tatiana, and their five guiltless sons, who were only obeying their father, survived long enough for Prince Damian—for Matthias—to come of age and avenge the slain ones.

“Mother, guard your thoughts,” Prince Ari whispered in her ear, stepping forward to place a tender hand on her shoulder.

Mina nodded. Of course, she would have to be more careful.

“Nothing but thoughts of food and liquor; decorations and gifts, and veneration for your beloved king,” Ari reminded her.

Mina tapped his hand to let him know she got it. She eyed Tatiana Ward and Cassidy Bondeville, chatting behind the glorious fountain, and drew back her shoulders, raised her chin, and strolled leisurely to the fount to join them. “Greetings,” she said formally, stepping forward to give Tatiana a hug. “How long have you been here?”

The gorgeous, auburn-haired Ahavi had her ringlet curls pinned in numerous crests to the crown of her head, with one long, flowing ringlet dangling from her temple. Her burnt-sienna gown was layered in chiffon, with golden citrines sewn into the bodice. She looked positively ravishing. “At least a couple of hours,” Tatiana mused. “Our coach arrived early, almost at the same time as the coach bearing Prince Dante, Cassidy, Princess Gaia, and Prince Dario.” She gestured gracefully with her hand at the stately blonde beside her and smiled. “You look lovely as always,” she continued, still speaking to Mina. “How are princes Ari, Azor, and Asher?”

Mina couldn’t help but notice two conspicuous things: Tatiana was completely at ease, which meant Prince Drake had told her nothing, and Cassidy could hardly look Mina in the eyes. Perhaps it was the reminder of Mina and Tatiana’s eternal youth, contrasted against Cassidy’s natural aging, or perhaps it was far more intimate: Prince Dante had told Mina everything—she knew what had transpired between the prince and his apparent Sklavos Ahavi at Castle Warlochia. Perhaps Cassidy Bondeville was embarrassed or ashamed.

“The boys are doing well,” Mina replied, remembering her manners. “And how about your wild band of five?” She brought her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun and scanned the enormous gardens. “Ah, I see Tabor and Tristan by the large, leaning oak—great lords, could they be any more handsome? But where is Teague?”

Tatiana planted her hands on her hips, glanced about the gardens, and smiled. “Over there.” She pointed toward a tall trellis of climbing roses on the eastern side of the orchard. “Looks like he’s speaking with Prince Azor, which means they’ll be comparing swords in no time. Teague just had a new one forged by a blacksmith in Merci. It’s supposed to be perfectly weighted; thin as a reed of willow, but stiff as a slab of granite; and capable of slicing through a dragon’s scales like a red-hot blade through freshly churned butter. Blah, blah, blah,” she added. “Teague has been known to exaggerate.”

Mina laughed, pretending not to already know about the Mercian blade. “And Thane and Troy—where is Prince Drake?”

Tatiana shook her head. “They’re inside the castle, discussing something or other with King Demitri before the festivities begin.”

Mina swallowed her trepidation. She didn’t want anything to show on her face. “Well, if it has anything to do with commerce or taxes, the annual growth in the commonlands, I’m surprised you weren’t summoned with them.”

Tatiana rolled her amber eyes, ducked down, and whispered, “I hid behind the grapevines. I would just as soon have Teague try out his new sword by chopping off my arm than set foot in that blasted castle…ever again.”

Mina nodded knowingly, and Cassidy started to wander away as if her presence wasn’t desired. “Cassidy, forgive my rudeness. You look lovely.” Mina reached out to touch her arm, and the Ahavi drew it back like Mina had burned her.

“Spare me the compliments, Mistress Mina,” Cassidy snipped.

Mina eyed Cassidy’s pale-blue gown, layered in exquisite Tuvalian fabric, with a graceful bustle gathered at the back. But you do look lovely, she almost said; nevertheless, she kept it to herself.

Ever the astute and compassionate peacemaker, Tatiana cleared her throat. “If you will both excuse me,” she said graciously, “I would like to catch Prince Asher before the day gets away. I’d like to wish him a blessed birthday, and I still need to meet Princess Gaia—she’s cavorting about the gardens somewhere. I’ll be back in a moment.” Without further ado, she strolled away, allowing the two Ahavi some privacy.

Mina lowered her voice. “How are you?”

Cassidy snickered. “How do you think?” She brushed a lock of thick blond hair away from her face and stepped closer to create more insulation. “I assume you know everything—am I correct?”

Mina held her gaze, but she didn’t answer. Sometimes silence spoke volumes.

“Ah,” Cassidy snorted, “but of course. You’ve always known, haven’t you? About Prince Dario’s paternity?”

Mina felt anything but smug. The entire history was tragic. “I know that surviving the Realm has never been easy, and that we have all been faced with difficult choices. We have all been drawn into necessary deceptions. I know that your life has been hard.”

Cassidy looked off into the distance and nodded solemnly. “Harder than some. Easier than most. At least I never wanted for anything.”

Mina thumbed a pearl on her bodice and sighed. “For whatever it’s worth, I was always jealous of you, even when I tried not to be.”

Cassidy’s crystal-blue eyes shot to Mina’s, and she winced. “Of me? Whatever for? If my pride were not too great to allow it, I would ask you, Mistress Mina: Does he kiss with passion? Does he hold you afterward? Does he whisper tender endearments in your ear? What is it like to remain so young, to have a dragon’s love?” She waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Don’t you dare answer any of that. It’s rhetorical.”

Mina met honesty with honesty. “And I would ask you many questions as well: What does he do at home, when he isn’t visiting for a day or dealing with matters of state? Does he retreat to the library, or his study? Does he read, or relax with a drink? What was it like to raise Prince Dario together—first words…first steps…first sword? Does he leave his boots at the foot of the stairs, or does he tuck them inside his wardrobe? Does he ever skip breakfast, or wear casual clothes when he has nowhere to go and no one to meet with?” She sighed, feeling the weariness of all the lost memories. “I had glimpses of light behind an ever-present cloud. You had the sun in all its glory, every day.”

Cassidy crossed her arms over her stomach and drew visibly inward. “I had nothing, Mina. Rest assured.”

A moment of awkward silence permeated between them before Mina spoke in a whisper: “You raised a fine prince, Mistress Ahavi. Prince Dario is as gallant as they come. It is almost as if his fearsome dragon is tempered by a celestial spirit.”

Cassidy softened her tone. “I love my son.” Another stretch of silence, then Cassidy raised her chin. “My…dalliance…with the king was impersonal and short-lived.” She swallowed a hint of embarrassment. “But I had a few occasions to watch how he handled the deception, to see him nervous and off guard, to observe when he was being duplicitous and calculating.” She chuckled softly, but the sound was vacant of mirth. “His left eye twitches. A lot.” She narrowed her gaze on Mina as if she were staring straight through her. “His eye was twitching this morning when we arrived, and it hasn’t stopped twitching since. Beware, Mistress Mina. He knows something is amiss.”

Mina’s stomach turned over in roiling waves, and fear banked hard in her gut.

She glanced toward the long, rectangular banquet table and shivered, watching as two familiar Malo Clan guards patrolled in front of the balustrade: one, a massive mountain of muscle, bone, and rigidity, with an angular black goatee, the guard, who had dragged Mina out of a closet, decades ago, on her way to a brutal whipping. He hadn’t aged a day. And the second one, Goatee’s ever-present companion, a clean-shaven brute with a harelip. Like all Malo Clan giants, they were fierce in battle and eager to welcome death.

She scanned the table instead, keen to dismiss the thought.

King Demitri would sit in the center, facing the crowd of emissaries, honored guests, and courtiers elevated above the simpler tables, while Prince Asher would sit to the king’s right, in the position of honor as the diamond king’s guest. In this patriarchal land of kings and dragons, Prince Dante would be seated to King Demitri’s immediate left—he was the eldest living son, after all—and Prince Dario, then Prince Drake, would be to Dante’s left, followed by Drake’s five royal offspring.

Prince Damian would sit on the other side of Asher, and Ari and Azor would be placed to Damian’s right, seated in bands by family ties—or at least what the king believed to be the court’s familial origins. Mina grimaced. She, Cassidy, Tatiana, and Princess Gaia would be seated on the end, on the other side of Prince Azor. Willow, the witch, along with King Demitri’s most-trusted regent, would take the western head of the table, while Aguilon, the high mage, and Thomas the squire would sit in the east like bookends. The table would be segregated by more than its raised, conspicuous platform; there would be a painted stone balustrade separating the royal family from the doting emissaries in the garden gallery. And somewhere along the way, once King Demitri had consumed a generous amount of ale—when his dragon was sated, his guard was down, and he was feeling more sleepy than testy—Prince Dante would raise his goblet and make a toast. And the crowds beyond the tables, those throngs of citizens separated into three provincial partitions—Warlochians to King Demitri’s front and left; Umbrasians to the king’s front and center; and commoners to His Majesty’s front and right—would be suddenly flanked by armies, now concealed on the edges of Forest Dragon.

Prince Dante’s army.

Prince Damian’s army.

And Prince Drake’s army…

All there to defend the princes against the Castle Guard at the command of their sovereign lords.

While they didn’t know, quite yet, why they were here, the soldiers would remain loyal to their dragon masters. Their fealty was unassailable. Everything would happen quickly. Prince Azor and Prince Teague would draw their swords—there was a reason the Mercian blacksmith had recently forged the new one—and they would hem King Demitri in, even as Prince Ari, Prince Asher, and Prince Drake’s remaining sons would subdue the king’s ever-faithful Malo Clan bodyguards.

And, therein, would lie the moment of truth…

In that fateful, mutinous instant, Prince Dante would turn to the king and let him know that his reign was over—he would give King Demitri one chance to step down.

Despite the glowing heat from the sun, Mina shivered, and she ran her hands up and down her arms: Both she and Dante knew King Demitri would never go quietly into the night. He was too arrogant, too defiant, too cocksure of his supremacy. Unfortunately, he was also older, stronger, and faster: superior to Prince Dante in every way. He was brutal, powerful, and legendary in one-to-one combat, and he would annihilate Prince Dante, right then and there, if he could. The king would have use of his dragon’s tail…his claws, his fangs, and his wings. He would be able to don scales for armor and breathe lethal fire at will. But what he could not do was shift into a fully formed dragon, not without feasting on the required sacrifice first, which meant Dante would have to be wily and swift.

He would have to be ready for anything.

He would have to call his sapphire beast to the fore, even as Prince Damian and Prince Drake continued to remain steady…to command their respective armies…and to protect the Sklavos Ahavi.

Mina was to run toward the general of the Umbrasian Army, follow the banner of Umbras like a beacon in the night. Cassidy was to do the same with the standard of Warlochia, make haste to the Warlochian commander.

And Prince Drake?

Well, he would see to Tatiana while Prince Dante slayed the king.

The entire scripted outcome was tenuous at best, every fine nuance balancing on a razor’s edge of timing, brutality, and instinct.

Dante’s reactions.

Aguilon’s assistance.

And Willow the witch’s ability to interfere with magic, if necessary.

And that was why Mina’s stomach was roiling.

King Demitri’s eye was twitching?

Great Nuri, Lord of Fire, protect them all.