A Crown of Flames

Isolde The carriage gently bumped along the road, the sway familiar as it brought me closer to the castle. Most women in my position would have been overjoyed, but my stomach lurched at the reason for my return. I was nineteen and betrothed to a man I hadn’t seen since I was a toddler. Marrying was my duty as a daughter, I knew this. The letters my mother had written to me over the years had driven the concept into my mind. Men went to war; women went to their chambers to be bedded and have their bellies swollen with child. It didn’t matter if my name held the title of princess. In the end, I was the same as the livestock they kept in the barn. The only difference being, I knew my fate. In that sense, the animals seemed to have gotten the better end of the deal.

The buzzing of the marketplace surrounded me, but I didn’t draw the curtains to take a peek. In Abhainn, I had grown accustomed to a more country way of life. The sound of a running stream was music to my ears. But even with the Salted Sea not far behind me, the water felt distant. This city, although my birthplace, seemed foreign. Outside my coach, the merchants haggled, the goats being sold bleated, and the moans from the whorehouse alerted me that we were entering the capital. We bounced along, twisting through the narrow streets, the shadows moving like puppets behind the curtains. The horses began their climb to the top of the hill, each step bringing me closer to home. Different sounds announced we were entering the castle grounds, the distinct grinding of steel to raise the gates and the heavy footsteps of guards walking in a hypnotic rhythm as they patrolled their post.

The carriage brought me around back, near the stables as were the guards’ orders. I was not to be seen by the kingdom until the ceremony this evening. The carriage that carried me didn’t even bear our banner. It was intended to keep me safe, but it felt more like I was the unwanted child; the one that needed to be hidden away. Gods know the heir was always meant to be Davious, not me.

When at last the carriage came to a halt and the men pulled away the curtains to allow the sunlight in, I stepped down, my feet touching the dirt of my homeland for the first time in a decade. Amazing how things can look entirely different and yet completely the same. The stone castle was not as vast as my memories had conjured. The smells not nearly as sweet and fragrant as I had imagined. The servants who doted on me as a child, now passed by, giving curt nods of recognition. Their faces seemed more like the remnants one would have of a dream. The essence is there, but the facts remain unclear.

Much to my dismay, my mother did not receive me. In her absence, she sent a lady-in-waiting with honey-colored hair and pink, rosy cheeks instead. The ladies’ maid curtseyed and bowed her head low, her brown eyes cast down at the muddy ground.

“Welcome home, princess. I hope your journey was not too straining.” The maid pulled me away from my thoughts. “The queen has placed me in your charge. My name is Posey. How might I be of service to you?”

“A bath would be divine. The hotter the better.”

Posey smiled and gave a nod in response. The neigh of my steed called my attention as a servant tried to pull him toward the stables.

“No! I’ll take him.”

“Begging your pardon, Lady Isolde,” said another servant whose face was covered in soot. I had a strong desire to have someone bring him a pail of water to douse himself with. “But it wouldn’t be fit if you were to take in your own horse. I would be branded if such a thing were discovered.”

Branding was my father’s favorite form of punishment.

“No such thing shall occur. This horse is feisty and responds only to myself and his previous master, who, unfortunately, could not journey back here. You are free to walk with me if it settles your nerves. Posey,” I turned to my new maid, who still stood there, refusing to enter the castle without me, “please see to it my chests are taken directly to my chambers and have my bath ready when I return. I shan’t be long.”

Posey chewed on her lip for a moment, but not about to argue with the future queen, she turned and scurried off to the castle.

Taking the reins from the servant’s hands, the beast instantly calmed down. His head no longer thrashed about but instead, his eyes focused on my own. “There you are.” I pat him as I spoke, long strokes down his nose. “You’ll like your new home, let’s go check it out, shall we?” I made a clicking sound with my tongue and gently tugged my chestnut stallion in the direction of his new accommodations.

The stench of the stables was comforting in an odd way. Dung is dung no matter where one travels.

“I’ll fetch Lorcan.” The nervous servant scampered away before I had a chance to inquire who Lorcan was. Another stable hand, I assumed. Turning to my horse, I placed my forehead on his soft nose.

“Shall we ride away as planned?” I whispered. The horse let out a low, guttural nicker in response. “You’re right. I don’t know where to go, either.” I sighed. “Perhaps tonight you’ll sprout wings, and in the morning, you can carry me off, away from my destiny.”

“I’m sure the look on the king’s face would be priceless.”

I turned away from my horse, startled, and faced the man who had snuck up on me. He placed his gloved hands in the air as if to surrender and gave me a bow, his green eyes remained focused on mine, the corner of his mouth pulling up in an impish grin. “I mean you no harm. I’m Lorcan Tarak. Fitz said you needed someone to see to your horse.”

If his initial comment hadn’t startled me, the sight of his hair surely would have. It was black, as if his head had been dipped in ink, and rather unruly, spiking out angrily in all directions. It was beautiful, but having never seen a man or woman with hair that color before, it was jarring. Everyone in this land believed the darker your hair, the more likely you were to have drinks with the devil. It was an old superstition, but a strong one amongst the peasants.

“Sorry. It’s the hair, right?” He straightened, pointed to his head, and gave me an embarrassed smile.

“My apologies for gawking like a fool.” I smiled sweetly at him, pulling the braid of my own snow white hair to my side. It fell to my hips. “You just surprised me is all.”

“Hmm. I seem to have that effect on people. Well, I can assure you it’s not contagious. Just some joke the gods played on me while I slept in my mother’s womb.”

“Oh.” I offered another small smile. “Who is your mother?” It was not any information I needed to know, but I was aware of how alone we were in the stables and felt the need to continue talking.

“Cora, the castle cook. She’s been preparing all week for your return.”

I forced another smile, no doubt the entire castle would be in a frazzled state in an attempt to please me. But the only thing that would please me would be an end to my betrothal. I wanted to return to Abhainn. The land was turning from a paradise to a swampy wasteland. I knew I could help, but I couldn’t help if I remained here.

“Well, please thank her in advance for all her hard work.” The stable boy flinched as though I had struck him. “What’s wrong? Did I offend you in some way?”

His smile deepened. “No, Princess Isolde. Just pleasantly surprised by how gracious you are.”

I didn’t like the way he looked at me. Perhaps it was just the contrast of his dark eyelashes around his light eyes—an intimidating gaze. I couldn’t decide if his appearance was beautiful or wicked. “Right. Well, my horse is very dear to me. He has a temper, but the right touch can calm his edge.”

“You shouldn’t be riding a temperamental horse, princess. What is his name?”

I felt my mouth twist in disapproval. I loathed being told what I should and should not do. “Incendio. It means—”

“Fire. I know. Fierce name for the horse of a princess.” Lorcan laid a hand on the back of Incendio’s head, but the horse shook his touch away.

Sinful good looks and educated as well, I noted. “Yes, he is spirited.” I felt my face soften into a foolish smile looking back at my horse. “I imagine he’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a dragon.” The dragons of my dreams ceased to exist before I uttered my first cry. The only proof they once claimed the skies above was their scales, which now adorned the armor of my father’s soldiers.

The stable boy scoffed at my comment, causing my cheeks to burn from my blush.

“Do you find me funny?”

“No, my princess.” He shook his head. “Just surprising.”

“Surprising?” Was he mocking me? I couldn’t tell.

Lorcan stepped closer and looked around, making sure no one was listening. His left eye narrowed into a squint. “Forgive me. I meant you no disrespect. It’s just…”

“Spit it out, stable boy. I do not have all day to dawdle.”

Lorcan, no longer able to meet my gaze, looked about the stable. He scratched at his wild hair as he tried to come up with the most tactful response. Then, sucking in his bottom lip, he leaned in. I felt my stomach jolt in an unfamiliar excitement. Perhaps it was simply his proximity as he whispered his response. “I wouldn’t expect the daughter of the dragon slayer to have a desire to see the fire breathers return. That’s all.”

My eyes narrowed in response. All my life I had desired nothing more than to see a dragon, knowing full well it was my father’s madness that had driven them to extinction. I often felt the stories Savio told of his valiancy and grandeur were more inflated fabrications than actual reality. But the leathery wings of Charon Drago mounted and nailed to the wall of the throne room like a banner of victory, made me question who, in fact, was the villain in this twisted turn of fate.

“Know this now, I am not my father.” Turning on my heel, I exited the stable. But those twinkling green eyes and devilish locks of hair remained in my thoughts as I journeyed back to the castle.

Lorcan Jogging over to the cottage, I saw my mother at the door, holding out a basket for me. “Right on time. I was going to leave this on the table for you.”

“You’re not staying?” She had been working so hard on the feast for Princess Isolde, I wondered if she had eaten anything at all.

“No, I had some cheese and wine earlier. I’ll munch on an apple on my way back. I’ll be fine.” She reached out and rubbed my shoulder. “But I saw that beast the princess brought into the stables. Looks like you shall have your work cut out for you.”

“Incendio. And if his name doesn’t frighten you, the look in his eyes will. I have never seen a horse try to stare me down like that before. It would be amusing, if I were not so scared.”

My mother let out a laugh, she knew I was only teasing. There wasn’t a horse yet that I couldn’t tame. This one would prove to be no different. Animals and I seemed to have an unspoken agreement. Sooner or later, they all yielded. Her gaze fell sadly to the basket on the table. “I must apologize for your meal. I was so rattled with the needs of the kitchen; I didn’t remove your hen from the flames in time.” She peeled back the linen swaddling the poultry, revealing a rather pathetic bird, charred black as coal. “I’ll scrape it the best I can. I am sure the meat inside is still good.” She picked up the knife she had on the table, but I caught her wrist.

“You’ll do no such thing. Besides, I like my meat well-done.”

She waved her hands in disbelief. “You’ve been telling me that since you could talk. You always did try to spare my feelings.”

“Well if it were up to me, I would eat everything burnt to a crisp.”

“I can’t say I’d enjoy ashen meals for supper, but to each his own.” She reached for her mossy green cloak that lay over the chair and draped it around her shoulders. “Will I be seeing you this evening?”

“Do I have a choice? I have already spoken with the princess; must I formally attend her royal presentation?”

“Lorcan, you know it is our duty to obey the king’s command.” She paused for a moment and rested her hands on the back of the wooden chair. “What was she like?”

“The king commands me to stand there like an obedient dog, in his haunted throne room, and I am resolved to comply. As for the princess, she was kinder than I had anticipated, but still…hard. Does that make sense?”

“Hard, I believe. That family has pure ice in their veins as evident by their white hair. Tell me…” She had the twinkle of girlhood in her eyes. “How was she kind?”

“She wished for me to extend thanks to you for working so hard on her feast.”

My mother dropped her gaze to the burnt lunch and blushed at the compliment. “Are you teasing me?”

“That’s not worth teasing over. It’s true.” I bit into the chicken, feeling the ash cling to my lips and teeth. I offered her a caked smile, showing her my contentment.

She rolled her eyes and flattened my messy hair to lay a kiss on top of my head. “Well then, I best be off.”

“Mother?” The rumors the other men had been whispering in the stables had gotten the best of my curiosity. “Is it true they only marry members of their family?”

My mother sighed and nodded her head in resignation. “It is. King Savio would rather have the princess flayed alive than have her marry outside her blood line.”

“Why wouldn’t the king try to form an alliance with the lands across the sea? It seems more diplomatic to join countries than conquer them.” I took another bite of chicken but noticed my mother’s gaze had settled solemnly on the flames that danced in the fireplace. My father had been sent across the sea by order of the king six years ago. Savio referred to the missions as “raids,” saying the people across the sea were hostile. My father never returned. Well, his body returned. It was his spirit that lingered behind.

I sighed at the memory of the soldiers knocking on our door to deliver the news. “They called the dragons barbaric for mating with our kind, but they never laid with members of their own blood. Nor would they hurt their young if they chose to marry for love rather than duty.”

My mother turned away, ignoring my treasonous comments. “Wash up and put on your best clothes. I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

Despite my mother’s worry, I plucked that bird clean. I really did prefer my meat burnt. My taste buds were as off-color as my hair. She left a pot of boiling water over the fire so that I might wash and make myself as presentable as possible. I stunk of the horses and doubted the water, no matter how scalding, could get the stench out. It was imbedded in my skin.

My lowborn, servant skin.

She had laid out my clothes on my pallet bed. Twenty-four years old and she still attended to me like I was a child. I picked up the clean, dark trousers, and surveyed the tightly woven linen shirt. These clothes were nicer than anything I owned and knew they had belonged to my father.

I made sure to scrub my skin raw, washing every inch of my body that was tanned from the sun. My thoughts turned to Princess Isolde. Her skin as fair as her hair. Looking into her eyes so blue, she appeared to have been sculpted from ice. She had grown even more beautiful since I last saw her. She was only nine then. And I, at fourteen, just becoming a man. She didn’t remember me, but I remembered her.

The kingdom was still tightening control over the land when she was sent away. Not everyone agreed with Savio’s dealings with the shifters. Some felt the dragons were the only true protection our kind had from other invaders. And many rebels would run the risk of being placed on the rack, stretched, and branded if it meant tearing apart the kingdom and taking Savio off of the throne.

When the King’s only son was murdered in his sleep, it was clear that the time of empty threats was over. The child had barely begun his fifth year when the light was extinguished from his eyes. The rebels sought refuge in the Forest of Frost, some were rumored to go to Lassair, and others booked passage across the Salted Sea to gain more allies in their cause. These areas were weeded out, and every man found was publicly executed after days of unspeakable torture. Still, it wasn’t enough to calm the King’s mind. Whispers of others remained.

In order to protect his only daughter, King Savio had her sent away. It was rumored she was hidden in Abhainn, for the House of Fontaine was large and many members of her family still lived there. As the years ticked by, the threats seemed to dissipate until they faded away into whispers and finally stopped all together. With no threats remaining, it was time for the princess to return, wed her cousin, whom the king had declared a prince, and learn the land that she would one day rule.

I hadn’t given her much thought since she left. My duty was horses and saddles. Hers was finery and eloquence. So naturally, I was surprised to find the princess had led her own horse into the stables. Her betrothed would be in for a nasty shock when he discovered how iron-willed she had become. Then again, the rumors of her betrothed were quickly turning from a whisper to a war cry.

Prince Raelan had been caught visiting the brothels just beyond the marketplace. But it was his request that caused such a scandal, for his preference turned out to be for the squire that waited outside rather than the voluptuous bodies that lay inside the sinful walls. He had propositioned the squire, and the story goes that the man refused. Of course, no one can get a true answer, for only the squire and Raelan know the honest tale. And while no one would dare ask Raelan, they cannot ask the squire either, for the boy’s tongue had conveniently been cut out.

Now, not having had the luxury of bedding a maiden myself, I can’t say I’d be much better in the sack than Raelan. Side effect of having hair that looks like I laid all night in the cinders, the women of the city saw me as a monster, the freak who is fit only for the stables. Perhaps I am a freak, but there is one thing I know for sure—I’d certainly appreciate my time with the Princess. I can’t say the same for Prince Raelan.

I got dressed, combed my wild black mane as best I could, and put on my father’s charcoal cloak. The pin seemed to be loose, and not having time to take it to the blacksmith to have it re-soldered, I searched my mother’s drawer for a bit of string to tie it closed. It wouldn’t be the most attractive way to remedy my situation, but time was not something working in my favor. Her drawer held a few odd buttons, scraps of linen used for patchwork, several needles, but no thread. There was, however, a brown leather purse with a drawstring. One I hadn’t seen in years. It belonged to my father.

Taking out the purse, I drew open the strings and slid out what was held captive. A round silver pin fell into my palm, bearing the raised image of a dragon sealed in a ring of flames. It was the sigil of the Clan Drago and the men touched by fire, of that much I was certain. I had never seen the sigil with my own eyes before, but my father had told me enough stories as a child making it easy to identify. But how did it come into my father’s possession? Was it just a token he saved? A symbol of the spoils of war?

Charon, the dragon king, and his clan had ruled our lands for centuries. The men born of fire do not age like mortals. They possess a magic, given to them by fire gods whose memory faded with the last screech of the final executed dragon. They walked like men. Talked like them but could summon a power within their core that changed their skin to scales and their breath to flame.

I slipped the pin back into the purse and removed the leather string. Using it to tie my cloak closed, I was ready to go to the castle for the presentation of the princess. That was what would be on everyone’s mind tonight. But my mind would be back in that drawer, wondering how my father had acquired that priceless pin.