Attending Council meetings was a tiresome formality, but Rhey did his duty nonetheless. Today, he’d welcome the dreary task; it would beat sitting around thinking about the human who had the entire palace in an uproar.

As his nonexistent luck would have it, the damn Council was up in arms about Xandrie, too.

The Clerk described her in detail, for the record. “Auburn hair - shoulder length. Height, five foot six.”

He’d say five-seven, actually. And now, he was thinking about her again - which made him hard.

“Brown eyes, race…”

“Green,” he growled. Fourteen heads - his Councilmen and the Clerk’s - turned to him. “Her eyes are green.”

The Clerk nodded, and resumed his pointless description; then his Councilors set about debating what to do with her, which effectively killed his arousal and made him see red instead.

“She needs to be examined, thoroughly; I propose to run some tests. She was, after all, accused of demonic sorcery.” It was no surprise that the Chief Medic was a fan of examination, perhaps even dissection.

“She should be quarantined in the Isolation Ward. That way, she won’t be able to sow dissent or spread any of the diseases she might be carrying.”

Rhey waggled a brow. Dragons didn’t get affected by viruses the way humans did; their systems burned most ailments before they could take hold.

The more militant, anti-human faction of the Council roared its disapproval - apparently, that wasn’t enough nonsense for them. They were all for immediate extermination. Their kind didn’t mix with hers for good reason: they considered humans vermin.

“This is hardly necessary.” That came from Nathos, his chief advisor.

Rhey had inherited the politician when he’d taken the throne - Nathos had been his father’s right hand. They didn’t often see eye to eye, but he’d never thought of replacing him, because the man was clever, knowledgeable, and far too valuable. The issue was that the close-to-a-thousand year old Ancient dragon understandably saw Rhey as nothing more than a child; he rubbed him the wrong way.

“The child could carry no illness that may affect our race. That being said, this is too much of a coincidence - the northern border falls, then we have a human calling a dragon princess to her aid? Highly unusual. We must proceed with caution.”

Rhey shook his head. Level-headed, sensible Councilors were scrambling to outdo one another with ridiculous solutions to a non-problem. She was just an ordinary woman, with a strange link to Demelza, and an Aether rune.

Another time, he might have brought this up, asked what it could mean - when they wanted to make use of it, the Elders did have a lot of knowledge. Now, he had other priorities. The wisest men of Farden couldn’t agree whether to study her, imprison her, vanquish her to the deepest depths of the Kingdom’s darkest dungeon, or parade her about the place in a Plexiglas viewing tube. Madness. He stood, and everyone around the table fell silent.

“She came here as my guest and will be treated with respect.”

He was met with a torrent of disapproval. Xandrie provoked such violent feelings in his Advisers, they spoke their minds with unusual frankness. She was “a freak who’d provoke rioting and unrest,” and was “probably sent as a double agent...” they said.

He’d had enough. “She’ll be quartered in the palace and will move about only with my express permission or under Demelza’s guard.” This was smart, and he was all for being cautious, not stupid. He held up his hand, demanding silence. “The debate is closed. Move on to matters of State.”

The King had spoken, when the King rarely spoke. There’d be gossip about that, for sure, but Rhey didn’t care. He couldn’t stand to hear her name spoken another minute. He had his fill of the woman who’d identified herself as Alexandria Astria for the day.

They moved on to actual problems, and they had enough of those.

“Foreign dragons have been spotted by scouts; Sir Vincent is coming back from his patrol with a full report as we speak, but he communicated enough details - we have reason to be concerned. There are twelve of them, armed and well supplied, which makes us think it can’t be Ferals.”

“Absolians,” Rhey guessed.

Absolia, the other dragon Kingdom, was just as abundant as Farden, so one might think they’d stay away, yet they persisted in doing their best to bother them every other year. As Farden was heavily guarded, as well as protected by spells, they attempted to sneak in.

“Mayhap,” his first counselor replied; trying to get a straightforward answer from Nathos was like extracting blood from a stone. “The guard didn’t say. But I advise that we call a hunt, soon, if these strangers do not pass.”

Rhey nodded, attempting to conceal his eagerness. Good news at long last. Hunts were fun.

* * *

Xandrie loved palace life, and was fascinated by the modern conveniences she’d never seen in Malec. There was a rustic charm to the place, and at the same time she came across foreign, futuristic devices that fascinated her; curious as she was, she couldn’t stop herself from pressing random buttons, which more than once, had ended up with her locked in the toilet or adding sizzling hot water to her bath. That might have been a problem if she wasn’t still mysteriously immune to heat.

Xandrie was waited on hand and foot. Demelza explained she was officially classified as the King’s guest, which, it turned out, had some serious perks, such as a room larger than her parent’s house, and breakfast served in bed.

Xandrie befriended the people who served her. She knew, deep in her bones, what it was like to be treated like a nobody, and she wouldn’t do it to anyone else.

The dragoness who helped her into her weird, unfamiliar clothes with too many little leather ties was called Sid, and every day, she told her off, scowling as she muttered, “Women these days! All bones. How do you hope to give birth to a dragonling if you don’t gain some weight, hey?”

She spoke like she was ancient, and Xandrie didn’t question it - adult dragons all seemed to be around the same age, so she had to conclude that they kept their looks throughout the ages, as the legends said.

Lucky buggers. In another twenty years, at most, she’d start to wrinkle.

“I don’t think I’ll birth any dragonlings, Sid,” she replied, and the woman snorted.

“Nonsense. You’ve a bonny face. There will be dozens of lords and whatnot after you once they see you’re alright.”

Doubtful. The only suitor she’d had was Mr. Creep the Rapist, and she was certain he’d seen her as a way into a mage family.

“If you say so.”

“I see so. Look at you.”

Xandrie did, mainly because the woman moved her head to make her face a claw footed full length mirror. She had to admit her appearance had improved - she had the right clothes on, now. Soft velvet hugging the form she hadn’t noticed.

She smiled, thinking about her change of fortune. She had sumptuous rooms, a cook who was damned-near a magician, servants, and as there wasn’t any use for her in the palace, they’d named her companion of her Highness, Demelza. That meant she got to spend her time walking about with her friend, or better yet, training with her.

If only her sister Talia, and Claws, had been there it would have been absolute perfection; there wasn’t a day when Xandrie didn’t think of them, and long for their presence.

Thankfully, she was kept too distracted to give in to melancholy. It wasn’t just the physical space and the astounding people that made Farden a dream-come-true for Xandrie, it was the kickass routine that made up her day. She and Demelza sparred every morning, Sir Vincent Vasili spurring them on.

“You need to hold the sword in the traditional way.” He scooted behind Xandrie and put his arms around her, showing her the correct stance.

Interesting how non-invasive he felt; like her brother, but blond, honed, and more muscular than Damion. Not her type at all, but Vincent was pleasant and pleasing, with a wicked sense of humor.

Xandrie smiled at her own thought: her type. She’d never had one before, to her knowledge. Some actors in movies had seemed attractive, and she’d certainly noticed the beauty of the two Elves she’d met what felt like a lifetime ago. Now, she had a defined type: a little taller than Vincent, a little larger in the shoulder, with piercing eyes, a beard, and ash blond hair.

Shaking her head, she forced all thought of Rhey Vasili out of her mind, like she did every time he crept in. For one, the man happened to be a freaking King. There was probably a law against lusting after Kings.

Vincent placed her hands on the sword. “The hilt is long enough to accommodate both hands, which you’ll need if you want to slice someone with this bad boy.”

Xandrie rotated her wrists, sending the sword in a singing arc above their heads.

“No. You’re not beating meringue. You’re brandishing a heavy class-A weapon. The wrists remain still. Try to keep it steady, because your adversary certainly knows how to use hers.”

Vincent nodded towards Demelza, who came at her, full on. The Claiming was only days away; she’d said she needed all the practice she could get.

Vincent dodged to the edge of the arena, grinning like the proverbial cat. He loved training, so much so that Xandrie wondered why he didn’t make it his profession.

Demelza did not mess around. She danced this side, then that, then behind her with her kabutowari, the famed helmet-breaker – singeing the hairs on her arms as it flew by. Xandrie had neither Demelza’s speed, nor skill, but Vincent said she had good instincts and grit, which she took to mean she might catch up to Demelza someday. Possibly. Maybe. As much as a human could catch up to a dragon. She couldn’t imagine when, though; Demelza was faster than a damned dervish.

“Cheater.” Xandrie fell back, mopping her forehead with her sleeve. “You can only move that fast using magic.”

“So? Use yours,” said Vincent.

Both women stopped dead in their tracks.

“What do you mean?” said Xandrie.

Vincent looked at Demelza. “Surely, you feel it?”

Demelza shook her head. “You lost me, cuz.”

Vincent pointed to Xandrie’s abdomen, saying, “Here, in the pit of your belly, you feel power stir?”

She just frowned, confused.

“You have plenty of magics in you, little girl; not just mage blood, but dragonfire, too.”

As he spoke, Vincent walked forward, invading her personal space like he belonged there, and grabbed her hand.

She was a second away from kneeing his groin, but he did something she hadn’t seen coming; something she didn’t quite understand. He touched her hand - the one marked by that strange rune - his own palm ablaze with dragonfire.

“Holy shitty dragon fucking scale.”

That came from Demelza, but had she been able to talk, Xandrie agreed. Her rune shone, and all of a sudden power did radiate from her entrails, she felt it in her bones.

“Do you know what dragons are?”

She had no clue what Vincent talked about - dragons were dragons, and that was it.

“One of the first kinds of great Beasts - they roamed Eartia long before humans, before Elves, and any such things. They lived alongside gods, monsters and creatures of legends, in complete chaos. Then, our time came, and the monsters disappeared. Aether swallowed them all, so that Eartia may be at peace. Dragons, however, never disappeared. Instead, they were sealed inside the strongest and wisest of men. Dragons are a gift of Aether to mankind. The fire inside us should consume us, but Aether blessed it, and molded our bodies to withstand the flame. We have the lifespan of our beasts, and their powers, too.”

“You speak of Aether as though it was a person, not an entity.” Vincent shrugged.

“Aether is conscious, that much has always been clear. What I mean to say, little, supposedly human, gal, is that you have dragonfire, and are Aether blessed, just like the rest of us.”

That didn’t make any sense.

“Now, Elza, you will stop holding back. And Xandrie, make use of that magic if you want to see another day.”

Because Demelza was her friend, she did what she had to do, and obeyed their trainer. Xandrie felt the all-consuming, heavy, oppressive source of power rush towards her, ready to strike. Fuck. Here goes nothing.