The Dragon Prince Rejected Me, So I Married His Daddy

Amber Lunarys sat in my mother’s chair forty-three days after we buried her. Nobody told her not to. My father watched her reach for the apricot preserve and smiled when she got some on the lace at her wrist, while Amber’s mother leaned over to wipe it away with the corner of her napkin. The new queen had ordered the servants to open the curtains that morning. Sunlight filled the breakfast room for the first time since my mother’s death, catching in Amber’s pale hair until it looked almost white. She had clear blue eyes, skin untouched by freckles or sun, and the soft, pretty face of a girl who had never been blamed for entering the wrong room at the wrong moment. Amber was thirteen, a year younger than me, but beside her I felt older. Too red-haired, too sharp-featured, too visible. “Odette.” My father’s voice pulled my attention away from her. He had finished eating and was fastening the cuff of his coat. “The council will meet in half an hour. You will attend.” My hand stopped around my cup. He had never invited me to a council meeting before, not even when my mother was alive and insisted that I should understand how the kingdom was governed. Whenever she raised the subject, he said there would be time when I was older. Amber looked at me across the table. For a moment, something unpleasant flickered behind her pleasant expression. Then she lowered her lashes and spread more preserve over her bread. “Why?” I asked. My father’s mouth tightened. He disliked questions from me, though he often praised Amber for her curiosity. “Because the matter concerns you.” The new queen placed her hand over his. The gesture was small and familiar, and that familiarity hurt more than it should have. She knew exactly where to touch him. She knew he would turn his palm beneath hers and squeeze her fingers once before letting go. My mother had been dead for forty-three days, but this woman had not learned my father’s habits in forty-three days. I looked down before anyone saw the realization on my face. The council chamber smelled of sealing wax, old paper, and smoke from the fire that burned even though the morning was warm. My father sat at the head of the long table. The new queen took the chair to his right, while I was placed at the far end beside a row of silent men who had known my mother for years and now avoided looking at me. A letter lay open in front of the king. The broken seal was dark blue. “The Aerionar king has accepted the final terms of the treaty,” my father said. There was no greeting and no attempt to explain why the queen was present when she held no official position on the council. “The border will remain open, trade will resume before winter, and both kingdoms will withdraw their soldiers from the disputed territories.” A few of the councillors murmured their approval. One of them released a breath as if he had been holding it for months. I knew about the negotiations. Everyone did. Humans and dragons had spent generations distrusting each other and the past two years finding new reasons to sharpen their weapons. Villages near the border had emptied. Merchants had stopped using the mountain roads. At night, people in the city watched the sky whenever a large shadow passed over the moon. My mother used to say that fear was often more dangerous than the thing being feared. She had said it quietly, with one hand resting on my hair, while my father warned her not to fill my head with foolish ideas. “The peace will be secured through marriage,” he continued. His eyes moved to me at last. “Prince Draco Aerionar will marry a daughter of this house.” I glanced toward the new queen. Amber had not been brought to the meeting, but I understood suddenly why her mother was there. My stomach tightened with an emotion I could not name. “When will Amber leave?” I asked. The silence around the table became so complete that I heard the fire shift behind me. The new queen’s fingers curled against the polished wood. My father stared at me, then gave a short, humourless laugh. “Amber is not leaving.” I looked from him to the woman beside him. Relief had softened her face before she remembered to hide it. “You are the daughter I offered,” my father said. “Offered?” My voice sounded very young in that room. I hated it for betraying me. “He knows nothing about me.” “He knows you are my eldest legitimate daughter and that your blood is royal. That is enough.” The new queen leaned forward, arranging sympathy over her features. “This is a great honour, Odette. One day you will be a princess in one of the most powerful courts in the world.” “I am already a princess.” Her smile faltered. My father’s expression hardened. “You will leave at the end of the week,” he said. “You and Prince Draco are the same age. You will be educated at the Aerionar court, learn their customs and prepare for your responsibilities. The wedding will take place when you are twenty-four.” Ten years. The number was too large to understand all at once. I tried to picture ten winters without my mother’s garden turning white beneath my window, ten birthdays in a palace where no one knew me, ten years sitting across from creatures I had been taught since childhood to fear. “Do they want me to live there now?” “That is what I just said.” “But why can’t I remain here until the wedding?” A councillor shifted in his chair. The new queen watched my father rather than me, waiting for his answer. “A human princess raised among them will be seen as part of their court,” he said. “It strengthens the agreement.” “Then send Amber.” I turned to the new queen before my courage deserted me. “She is a princess too. If living with dragons is such a great honour, she can have it.” “No.” My father answered so quickly that the word struck the table like a fist. He seemed to realise what he had revealed, because his tone changed when he spoke again. “The decision has been made. You are the elder daughter, and this duty belongs to you.” Duty. My mother had spoken that word with pride. In my father’s mouth, it sounded like the closing of a lock. I stood because if I remained in that chair much longer, I might begin to cry in front of all of them. “May I go?” “You may.” The new queen called my name as I reached the door, but I did not turn. My hand was already on the brass handle when I heard her speak to my father in a voice meant to be soft. “You made the right choice.” “I know,” he replied. “Amber will remain here. That is all that matters.” No one came after me. Amber found me later in my mother’s dressing room, where I had opened a trunk and then forgotten what I meant to place inside it. Most of my mother’s gowns had already been removed. The new queen said the dark colours made the royal rooms feel gloomy, and my father had allowed her to give them away. Amber paused in the doorway with both hands clasped behind her back. “Mother says you’re going to marry the dragon prince.” I folded one of my dresses, pressing the sleeves flat even though they were already flat. “Apparently.” “Have you ever seen a dragon?” “No.” “Neither have I.” She stepped into the room and ran her fingertips over the carved edge of my mother’s dressing table. A bracelet circled her wrist, set with small green stones. I had seen it in my mother’s jewellery box the previous winter. “I heard they can tell when humans are frightened.” My gaze dropped to the bracelet. Amber followed it and drew her hand back, hiding the stones beneath her sleeve. “Father says they’re civilised,” she added. “How comforting,” I said. “Especially for you. You aren’t the one going.” A faint flush spread over her cheeks. “I only came to say I’m sorry.” “You can say it from somewhere else.” For once, she had no sweet answer ready. Her lips pressed together, and I saw the anger she usually concealed whenever adults were present. It changed her face more than I expected. “You think you’re better than me because she was queen first,” she said. I stared at her. “My mother was queen until she died.” Amber’s expression shifted. She looked almost pleased that she had hurt me, but footsteps sounded in the corridor before she could answer. By the time her mother entered, Amber’s eyes were shining with tears. “I was trying to comfort her,” she whispered. The new queen drew her close and looked at me as if she had walked in just in time to save her daughter. I did not defend myself. It was becoming clear that the truth had very little value in rooms where Amber was already crying. One week later, my father sent me away with six trunks, two maids, a royal escort, and no embrace. The journey carried me beyond the green country I knew and into mountains that seemed to cut the sky into narrow pieces. Farms disappeared first, then villages. The air grew thinner and colder, and dark shapes sometimes moved above the peaks. My guards would reach for their weapons whenever they saw one, then lower their hands as though embarrassed by the instinct. By the time the Aerionar palace came into view, I had spent so many nights in unfamiliar beds that I no longer woke expecting to find my old room around me. The palace stood against the mountainside, built from stone so dark it seemed to hold the shadows even beneath the afternoon sun. Its towers were broader than those at home, its walls high enough to make our escort look like a line of toys approaching the gates. Inside, the corridors were warm. That surprised me. So did the people inside them. Every person I passed looked entirely human. There was no visible way to tell who could take dragon form and who could not, and I would learn later that none of the palace servants possessed that ability. At the time, I could not distinguish them from anyone else. I was taken directly to a great hall where two people waited at the foot of a raised dais. The boy had to be Prince Draco. He was my age, but already taller than most of the men who had travelled with me. His formal coat fitted a lean, athletic frame, and his pale blond hair had been combed away from a face that would have looked gentle if not for the displeasure in his blue eyes. He was handsome in the clean, polished way of figures painted into palace ceilings. Strangely, his colouring reminded me of Amber. The man beside him looked nothing like either of them. King Tristan Aerionar was the largest man I had ever seen. He was tall enough that everyone around him appeared diminished, with heavy shoulders and a body built more like a soldier’s than a king’s. His dark hair brushed the collar of his coat, and a short beard shadowed a face made severe by a straight nose and a hard mouth. His skin was golden-brown, as though he spent more time beneath the sun than sitting beneath a crown. Only his eyes resembled his son’s, though the king’s were a deeper blue and far more difficult to meet. I stopped before them and curtsied. The movement was perfect; my mother had made certain of that long before anyone thought to send me away. “Princess Odette.” King Tristan’s voice carried through the hall without effort. “Welcome to the Aerionar court. Was your journey difficult?” I had been taught to say that it had been pleasant and that I was grateful for the honour of being received. Instead, perhaps because I was tired, I answered honestly. “It was very long, Your Majesty.” One corner of his mouth moved, not quite becoming a smile. “Then I won’t keep you standing here any longer than necessary.” His gaze rested briefly on my face and red hair, then shifted to the human guards behind me. There was no fascination in it, no unusual interest. He looked at me as he might have looked at any diplomatic matter placed under his protection: carefully, but without warmth. “My household will see that you have everything you require,” he said. “Your lessons will begin after you have had time to recover from the journey.” Draco turned his head towards his father. “She’s staying in the main palace?” “For the present.” “For how long?” The king’s expression did not change. “You know how long.” Draco looked at me fully then. His attention travelled over my green dress, my pale hands and the copper-red braid resting over my shoulder. Disappointment settled openly across his face. “I don’t want a human bride.” Heat climbed from my collar to my cheeks. Several people in the hall looked away, pretending not to have heard him. King Tristan’s eyes hardened. “You will not discuss Princess Odette as if she is not standing in front of you.” “But she is human.” “And you are being rude.” The king did not raise his voice, yet Draco’s jaw closed immediately. Tristan faced me again. “My son’s manners will improve.” Draco made a quiet sound that suggested he disagreed. His father heard it, judging by the muscle that shifted once in his cheek, but he did not prolong the argument before the watching court. “You are a guest of this house and under my protection,” he told me. “No one here has the right to make you feel otherwise. If there is a problem, it will be addressed.” I glanced at Draco. He was staring towards the tall windows, already bored with my presence. “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said. The king left before dawn the following morning. Trouble had broken out near one of the northern territories, and by breakfast half the palace was speaking about soldiers, supply routes and the possibility of another failed negotiation. Weeks passed before I understood that his absence was ordinary. He returned when war or diplomacy allowed it, remained only as long as the kingdom demanded, and left again before his presence could become familiar. At fourteen, ten years sounded endless. I thought there would be time for Draco to grow accustomed to me and for the palace to become something other than the place where my father had sent the daughter he could spare. King Tristan was gone. His son was not.