The Dragon and the Queen by Kaitlyn Davis
The Diary
Fourteenth Day of the Fourth Moon
I meant to write more in my last entry, but my father came to my rooms, so I had to quickly hide this journal. Could you even imagine if he found it? If he read it? I shudder at the very thought.
Back to the man from the vision.
I heard a knock at my door and opened it to receive the Master of Arms, a ferro'kine and one of my father's closest advisors.
"Princess," he said, then gestured from one side to another. While I'm sure there were men hiding somewhere on either side of the door, all I saw were two feathery curtains framing the opening, one honey golden and the other ashen gray. "I've brought your new guards. They'll remain outside your door during the day, and will escort you as needed."
I nodded along as he spoke. I'd heard it all earlier that morning as my father announced the additional security measures. When he finished, I asked a simple question, one I was surprised he hadn’t yet addressed. "And do they have names?"
"Mikhail," he said, pointing to the left where the smoky gray feathers jutted out from the edge of the doorway. Then he shifted to the right, where the seemingly sunlit brown wings curved beside the frame. "And Zavier."
"And can they speak?" I teased, a smile on my lips and a hint of laughter in my voice.
The Master of Arms frowned. I fear I'm the only one in the palace who still maintains a sense of humor—I'm sure I can blame my mother for that. The halls were lighter when she lived within them. Still, he took a step back and jutted out his chin, giving them space to move. The dove soldier turned around first, his skin a deep umber and his eyes a warm caramel—a false sense of sweetness since they hardened upon seeing me.
"Princess," he said, sharp and quick, jaw clenching as soon as he was done. With his hands folded behind his back, he offered a deep bow.
I curtsied when he stood, unbothered by his obvious discomfort. This was only the beginning of my seeing him every day, and I refused to be unnerved in my own home. Perhaps I'd win him over. "Greetings, Soldier Mikhail. Thank you for your service."
Then the other man turned.
Oh, I must have looked a fool!
My jaw dropped to the floor as those elongated eagle feathers shifted out of sight, replaced by the man from my vision. Those same hazel eyes. That same sun-kissed skin. His hair was pulled into a tight knot atop his head, but I remembered it flowing around his cheeks, so soft I yearned to put my fingers through it. He must have spoken, but I didn’t hear. I was too shocked, too entranced. I could curse myself now for missing the soft timbre of his voice. I imagine it deep and soothing, like the melodic churning of waves.
The Master of Arms coughed.
I started.
My legs trembled as I hastily dipped into a curtsy, murmuring a greeting though I can't be sure what I said. Even now, thinking back, my thoughts are a jumble, those few minutes lost to the pounding of my heart and the drumming of my ears. What I wouldn’t give to see into the past just once, just to relive this moment—I could do it so much better if given the chance.
Then again, maybe not.
He stood outside my door the rest of the evening, escorted me to dinner and back. I couldn't sleep knowing he stood just a few walls away, my chest aflutter with the very thought. Now, in the bright morning sun, I'm too afraid to open my door. What does he think of me? What will he say? What will I say? My mind spins.
That's enough.
I'm not a frightened little girl anymore. If I want this man to be mine, if I want the future I've seen to be true, then I must make it happen.
I must do something.
And I will.
Sixteenth Day of the Fourth Moon
I'm a coward. I've done nothing.
For two days, Zavier and Mikhail have escorted me everywhere, and for two days, I've been mute, barely glancing up from the floor, too scared to say a word.
It ends tomorrow.
I don't care what I say, I must say something. What happened to all my courage? All my strength? What would my mother say if she saw me now?
Seventeenth Day of the Fourth Moon
I did it!
Well, I tried, at the very least. This morning as Zavier and Mikhail brought me to the dining room for breakfast, I paused to look out the window and said, "It's a beautiful day, isn’t it?"
They replied, "Yes, Princess."
Oh, his voice. So warm and rich. A tingle shot down my spine at the sound, as though I could feel his phantom touch upon my cheek. Even now, I shiver just thinking about it. I practically jumped out of my slippers from the excitement!
Of course, the weather is as banal a topic as I could have possibly chosen, but it was something. I broke through my fear, and like a river unleashed, I couldn't stop for the rest of the day. I chattered on and on. I'm sure I was more of an annoyance than anything else, but it's a start. Here are a few examples:
"Where do you live?"
"With the other birds of prey, Princess," he said politely.
Of course! I knew that. All the avians live in segregated villages outside the city. The eagles, hawks, and falcons all group together, though I'm told having so many predators in close quarters isn’t the most peaceful existence. And Mikhail lives with the rest of the doves, a more serene part of the neighborhood, I'm sure. Still, though, I prattled on like a fool.
"And do you like it?"
"Of course, Princess."
"And who do you live with?"
"My mother, Princess."
With that, my heart pinched with a jealousy I quickly stifled. Oh, to be free of this palace and somewhere safe with my own mother. What I wouldn’t give for that to be true.
"No siblings?"
"No, Princess."
"You don’t need to end every sentence with my title."
"I do, Princess."
"Very well…Soldier Zavier."
If I could only describe how delicious it was to feel his name roll through my lips, even if it was in a mocking manner. I smiled after, to show I was only teasing, and I swear, the golden sparkles in his eyes brightened.
Mikhail continued frowning. I asked him all the same questions in probably a lame attempt to make my infatuation less obvious. But his answers were even gruffer and quicker, though I'm not sure what exactly it is I've done to earn his ire.
Oh well.
Better luck tomorrow.
Eighteenth Day of the Fourth Moon
My aethi'kine suitor arrives tomorrow, which, I'll admit, has put a damper on my mood. Even still, I managed to learn a few more things about Zavier.
He likes lemon tarts, or at least he pretended to when I offered him one, unlike Mikhail. He prefers a crossbow, though in the palace he wears only a sword. He is twenty-two, a few years older than me. I was too afraid to ask if he had a mate yet, as the avians call their spouses, but he couldn't possibly. He doesn’t. He can't.
Moving on.
He and Mikhail went through training together, though this is their first time working in a pair, as I suspected. Avians usually remain with their own kind—the ravens with the ravens, the songbirds with the songbirds. Avians of prey are often elite soldiers and guards, as I'm sure Zavier is, to have been given this post. Doves are more often militia, though Mikhail must be an excellent fighter to be working in the palace. Songbirds more often serve as maids or cooks. Hummingbirds are our messengers, because of their speed. Ravens are our spies, since they blend so well into the night. Owls often work as secretaries or the stronger as night watchmen. Avians of paradise are our entertainers. And when I say ‘our,’ I don't mean just my father and me—the palace would be overflowing! All the powerful mages in the kingdom have avian help. We live together and work together—mages, avians, and the poor souls with neither magic nor wings, the ones who most need my father's protection.
Aether help me, I don't even know what I'm writing about anymore. My mind fills with the image of his face and my hand keeps scrawling brainlessly on.
Time for bed.
Tomorrow, I meet my future husband. I doubt his gaze will leave a mark on my skin the way Zavier's does. His burns so hot even my mother's magic would melt beneath the blaze.
Nineteenth Day of the Fourth Moon
I was right. The aethi'kine has cool eyes filled with secrets, their gray-blue color as chilly as ice, even though his hair flames red. I should've known he would be just like my father, and I did, but still, I never expected him to—
I'm getting ahead of myself.
He arrived early in the afternoon with a small group of men and women, mages no doubt, the beginnings of his future council. We greeted him in the throne room. My father looked impressive surrounded by shimmering gilt and crimson velvet, the crown gleaming atop his head, the ceremonial weapons at his waist—but mostly the glittering aura of magic resting above his clasped palms. Beside him, I probably looked rather mousy, petite in my own throne, swallowed by the red silks of my gown, a golden tiara nestled into my brow, though I kept my back straight and my chin proud as Mother taught me. I've become too at home alone in my rooms, nothing but this journal, my sewing, and my often-wandering mind to keep me company. Displays of power just make me feel all the meeker.
I knew the moment he stepped in the room that my father's fears were not unfounded. The way he walked, strong and straight, without a care in the world. The subtle grin upon his lips, one end twisted as though caught in a private joke. The sweep of his eyes, commanding and possessive, as though already taking stock of what would one day be his. We needed him more than he needed us, and he knew it. He bowed, and though he did everything by the book, I couldn't shake the sense that his every move was a mockery.
My father launched into a welcome speech, but I admit, I tuned most of it out. Magic tickled my skin, first a subtle prickle at the back of my neck, growing and growing, to a tingle that spread to the very ends of my fingers and toes. I could almost feel time rearranging before my eyes, this meeting and this moment shifting the gears of fate, the future narrowing toward a certain point, no longer full of a thousand different possibilities. The aethi'kine was changing something. He was at the center of something.
I waited for the vision.
Waited and waited.
Then, after I don't know how long, the aethi'kine stepped up to my throne, offering a deep bow. As he rose, that cold-as-ice gaze swept over me. It was all I could do not to shiver. The fascination in his eyes was impossible to ignore. It was not directed at me, I knew, but at the subtle rosy sheen emanating from my skin. Perhaps the greatest downside of magic is that it's impossible to hide from one of our own.
"Princess Miralee," he said, extending his arm.
"Lord Bastiant," I replied, digging through the depths of my memory for his name as I offered him my hand.
The moment our fingers touched, the vision took over. At first it was pure chaos, nothing but the sound of screams in my ears as a sense of dread enveloped my body, making my hairs stand on end. I blinked to clear the darkness from my eyes, and when I opened them, the throne room was burning. Fire swooped in an arc across the floor, catching the curtains, which erupted in flames. A deafening roar shook the very foundations of the palace, the ground quaking in the aftermath, a sound unlike any I've heard an animal of this world make. Before the monster stepped into view, the vision fell away, fire and madness replaced by polished walls and heavy silence. Bastiant pressed a soft kiss to my palm, his gaze never leaving my face. I've enough experience with visions, and I've learned not to give the game away. I'm certain my expression was stone, carefully blanked by a lifetime of practice, but his eyes still swirled with questions.
I should have known he'd come looking for answers.
I should have, and yet it was still a surprise when he cornered me on my way back from what was an uneventful dinner filled with polite if ostentatious conversation—a show if I've ever seen one. No, later that night, the aethi'kine revealed his true form, and it was not the sociable, well-mannered man on display in the banquet hall.
He stepped from the shadows as I neared the entrance to my room, golden power swirling around his palms. Even if I had noticed the shimmer of magic in the air, there was little I could do anyway. Before me, Zavier reached for his sword. Behind me, I was sure Mikhail did the same. I appreciated the effort, but we all knew it was useless. At a flick of his fingers, Zavier and Mikhail stumbled to the other side of the hall. Part of me yearned to run, but the better part of me stood strong. If my father taught me anything, it's that fear is a weakness. Bastiant's power crept along my limbs, but he didn’t need to use it to hold me still. I faced him with my head held proud, defiant in a way I hadn't felt in a long while.
"Princess." His voice slithered like a snake across the hall.
"Lord Bastiant."
"You had a vision in the throne room. I'd like to know what it was."
"I'm sure you would."
"It was about me."
"Perhaps."
"What did you see?"
His fingers gripped my chin at that point, his chilling eyes staring straight through mine, seeing me, I knew, not as a person but as a possession. He wasn't the first aethi'kine to look at me like that, noticing not who I was, but what I could be to him.
“Tell me, Lord Bastiant," I replied absently, my voice steady and calm despite the pounding of my heart. "Do you always get your way?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm afraid our marriage will be a disappointment. My visions are mine, and mine alone. And no matter your power, even aethi'kine magic isn’t strong enough to force a woman to disclose her secrets. Not everyone is meant to know the future."
He dropped his hand from my chin in disgust.
Behind me, the ringing of a sword slipping free of its scabbard filled the silence. Zavier stepped forward, a sorry look in his eyes as he raised his weapon, my neck at the other end of one graceful swing.
"I'm not afraid to die," I told Lord Bastiant, my voice bored. "At least then I'd have the security of knowing I took my secrets to the grave."
"And what of pain?"
His golden magic shot across the room, and before I could move, Zavier acted with all the grace and speed of a predator. The tip of his sword cut through my cheek, deep enough to draw blood, but his eyes revealed silent horror. I cried out. How could I not? The burn was immense. And though I wish I didn't, I couldn't help but lift my hand to my cheek as a whimper escaped my lips. But no words passed. And they never would. Though I’m sure he never meant to, my father had taught me one important lesson—how to keep my secrets.
Zavier attacked again.
I didn’t even try to fight back. His sword sliced through my arm, carefully missing my sleeve as another line of red erupted on my skin. This time I bit my lips to keep from making a sound as I met Bastiant's eyes, my own, I'm sure, filled with fire. It took all the strength I had to arch my brows at him, as though to say, ‘Is that all you've got?’
His lip curled.
Zavier stumbled back to where Mikhail stood, both watching with strained muscles, fighting what I knew was an impossible fight for freedom.
"I could heal you," Bastiant said, his voice now shifting to sickly sweet.
A laugh escaped my lips. "I suspect you will regardless, unless you want my father asking questions tomorrow morning. It would hardly be the first time aethi'kine magic has been used to cover up my abuse."
He stepped forward, and this time his power was the only thing to keep me from stepping away as he lifted his hand to my cheek. Warmth sank beneath my skin, sealing my cuts before the blood evidence could reach the fabric of my gown, though against the crimson, I'm not sure it would have been seen.
"You forget something about my magic," he whispered as his thumb grazed my skin, almost lovingly if I didn’t know better. Then he leaned even closer, until his scarlet hair brushed my cheek and his lips were close enough I could feel his breath against my neck. "I don’t just control spirits. I see through them. Your walls may be made of iron to everyone else, but to me, they're glass. You're a she-wolf with a soft heart—all bark, and no bite."
He stepped back and a golden arc of power shot across the hall. Metal clinked as Zavier and Mikhail stepped forward, facing one another with their weapons raised. Bastiant arched his brow in my direction, his power sizzling above his palm, one fatal command away. I'd like to think my reaction would have been the same no matter who stood before me, that I would always value life before my own stubborn pride, but I can't deny that as I stared at those swords poised to strike, my mind flashed back to the vision in which Zavier's hazel eyes looked at me as though I were his whole world, and I acted.
"Stop."
Bastiant's mouth curled into a smile that could make even the sun go back into hiding. "Your vision?"
"Not nearly so interesting as to cause all of this. I saw the throne room on fire. People were screaming and a roar shook the earth, then nothing."
"That's all?"
"My magic is a little more unwieldy than yours. It does what it wants, and all I can do is bear witness."
"Well, at least I learned one thing tonight."
"And what's that?"
"Our marriage might not be so disappointing after all."
I don't think I breathed as he walked away, dread like a vice around my throat. Even after the shimmer of his power left the air, I stood frozen by the fear. It wasn't until I felt a warm hand on my forearm that I finally snapped from the trance.
"Princess?" Zavier asked, his voice like a fire on a cool winter's night, instantly fighting off the chill. "Are you all right?"
"Of course."
I nodded and turned toward my rooms. He hurried ahead to get the door while Mikhail lingered behind, his sword at the ready. There was no need. The danger had passed. Still, I didn’t argue as Zavier led me inside, through my quarters, all the way to my bedroom, his hunter's eyes scanning the shadows for hidden threats. When it was clear the area was safe, he strode quickly to the exit to give me my peace. Before he left, he paused in the doorway, drawing my gaze.
"I'm sorry, Princess" he murmured, focused on the ground, though I could see the grooves etched into his forehead from his frown.
"For what?" I asked.
He turned to me with surprise. "For hurting you."
It did not go unnoticed that for the first time he forgot to end the sentence with my title. His guard was down, and his hazel eyes were as deep as undiscovered forest pools. I held them, feeling my own walls crumble. "That wasn't your fault."
"It was my sword."
"You're not the first unwilling participant to lay a hand on me, and I doubt you will be the last. Please, don't feel guilty on my account. I know better than most how aethi'kine power works."
The golden highlights in his eyes flashed with unmasked sadness. But I wanted his pity even less than his disregard. I'm a princess of the realm. My suffering is small compared to some of the other suffering I've seen.
"Thank you," he finally said.
I knew what he meant—thank you for sparing him and Mikhail both, for choosing their lives above my secrets. The cost tonight was small, a simple vision, but we both knew that with time, revealing my weakness would exact a greater price. Oh well, Bastiant was right. I have a soft heart. If he didn’t discover it tonight, I doubt I would have been able to hide it for very long.
"Good night, Soldier Zavier."
"Good night, Princess."
He stayed for one more moment and we held each other’s gazes across the distance. For the first time, despite the title, I think maybe he saw me as a woman. A charge filled the air, spreading a heat across my skin, and then he was gone. The feeling remained, though. Even now, as I write, my cheeks are flushed.
Something changed tonight.
And if that's the case, my sacrifice was most definitely worth it.
Twenty-Third Day of the Fourth Moon
Bastiant is still here, but the days have been uneventful. He's agreed to our marriage. To my father, he is ever the charming soon-to-be son-in-law. He hasn’t cornered me in the halls again, though I get the sense he's just biding his time. Soon enough, I'll be his to do with as he wills.
The very thought makes me queasy.
So I try to focus on other things—my people, my kingdom, all the lives that will be saved by securing this alliance so none of the neighboring aethi'kine will dare attack us.
Mostly, though, I concentrate on Zavier.
My attention slides to him as though by strings, and lately I've felt his gaze upon my skin as well. I study the way the light falls across his bare biceps, the way it plays along his sun-kissed skin, the way his muscles flex and coil as he moves. I trace the outline of his wings and imagine what it might feel like to brush my fingers over his feathers, to watch them ripple at my touch. Sometimes, I wonder what it might be like to fly. Not myself, of course, but in his arms, the ground a blur below me as I huddle against his warm chest, the breeze swirling around us. In the privacy of my room, I envision more intimate things, the sort that make me blush to even write—what it would be like to press my lips against his, to kiss my way down his throat, to feel the deep rumble of a sigh beneath skin.
Do avians make love the way we do? I never thought to wonder, but now I do. As my marriage night goes from a far-off future to a very real possibility, I can't help but dream of my first time with a noble warrior instead of a cruel mage. I doubt even my mother would fault me. What did she think on the eve of her union with my father? Did she have a lover first to show her the way? Or was she a proper lady, honored to be chosen as queen?
I suspect the first.
But perhaps it's just my own selfish desires that wish it might be so, that if she were alive she might understand me. It makes me feel a little less alone.
Tomorrow is my last day with my future husband. He'll return in a few moons for our wedding, and though I'm not experienced in seduction, I think it would be a rather enjoyable way to spend my time in the interim.
Twenty-Fourth Day of the Fourth Moon
Something is about to happen. Something big is coming. I don’t know what, but I know when—tonight. Which is why I'm writing this down in case I don't get the chance.
I had a vision this morning.
After breakfast, I took a walk in the gardens to clear my head, Zavier and Mikhail following me dutifully. I paused to smell some of the jasmine newly bloomed after the cool winter and plucked a bud. As I crushed the petals and lifted them to my nose, I felt the tingle at the back of my neck. Before I could blink, I was deep in the future.
Wind rushed against my cheeks. Warm arms held me close. My forehead was pressed against a solid chest and my eyes shut as I trembled with fear. The air prickled with magic, crashes and booms so loud they made me jump.
"I've got you," a man whispered in my ear. Zavier. I would know his deep voice anywhere, and instantly the sound calmed me. "We're almost—"
He broke off and my eyes shot open.
The window he flew toward disappeared behind a cascade of falling stone, but I recognized our location by the richly painted archways—the banquet hall. The starry pendants on the ceiling caved in and the room collapsed around us. He dove, to where I'm still not sure. All I saw were the flowing violet skirts of my gown as they rose to cover my face. I tried to swat them away, but before I knew it, the screaming chaos was replaced by perfect silence.
Then, "Zavier!"
Not me, someone else. Someone older, a voice filled with fear.
The vision ended.
I still don't understand what it means. How did we escape so quickly? Where did we go? Who did that voice belong to?
I dropped my hand from the jasmine and turned to face him. I'm not sure what gave me away, but understanding lit his gaze. Somehow, he knew I had a vision. Somehow, he sensed my magic. And by the look in my eyes, he must have known I'd seen him.
When I returned to my rooms, my maid was there with my evening dress already laid upon the bed, the same deep violet silks from my vision. Whatever I saw, it's happening tonight. It's happening now, as soon as I finish writing this and I leave my room for dinner. Bastiant is going to act. My father, I'm sure, will stop him. I could try to warn him, but I don't want to change the future I've seen—I want to fly. I want Zavier to whisk me away. I want to know this secret of his that waits just out of reach. But the future, even from visions so clear, can be fickle, which is why I wrote this down.
Just in case I don't come back: I love you, Mother.
I'll see you in the aether.