The Dragon Princess Read online

  The princess moved toward the door, nudging it open with her foot. It cracked off the hinges with more force than she’d intended, flying across the room. She was still getting used to that, though it did get their undivided attention. The men leaped to their feet with hands on their weapons. She strode inside with Kakeru and Ryuko following her.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” Her voice was eerily calm. “I regret to inform you this little gathering will be relocated to the dungeons, as you are all under arrest for treason against the empire.”

  The nobleman bristled, addressing her guard. “Who do you think you are?”

  “We’re…” The princess tilted her head thoughtfully. They only had one first impression. “The… Celestial Assassins, acting under the authority of the empire.” Yes, that would do fine.

  The nobleman smirked. “Some entrance for assassins. This isn’t a child’s game. You’re far outnumbered, little miss.” He pointed his sword at her. “Let’s make an example of these dogs of the empire.”

  Some of the men advanced, hesitantly drawing their weapons, though most of them weren’t even holding them correctly. It was a foolish move, and they would pay for it. As they charged, Kakeru and Ryuko responded without hesitation. Kakeru leaped forward, flourishing his blade with more skill than necessary. He kept glancing at Ryuko as though he were sizing up his skills.

  The princess sighed. She really should have split those two up, but they were going to have to learn to work together at some point.

  Ryuko held out his arm, and the metallic substance swept from his sleeve, forming a glaive. The blade on the end of the pole disarmed his opponents with ease. It moved like it possessed a mind of its own, snaking in different directions. To the rebels, he would be wielding an unknown, powerful force, but compared to her, his control was quite clumsy. He clearly had a comfortable limit he could use in combat, but perhaps she was being too harsh on an ordinary human.

  As the men fell one after another, a few attempted to escape, though she knew exactly how that would turn out with the rest of her guard at the back door. The princess stared at the nobleman, who had taken a step back.

  “I was planning on letting you all live, but you’ve left us no choice. Who do you answer to?”

  He shook his sword at her, a slight tremble in his grip. “What are you on about? We don’t want to answer to anyone.”

  The princess unhooked one of her swords from her side, leaving it sheathed. She connected with his wrist with a light tap, and his sword was flung across the room. His wrist snapped back at an awkward angle. Still too much force.

  “Don’t point that at me. I’ll ask again, are you working for the Mistress?”

  The nobleman’s face scrunched, clutching his wrist. “Who?” he hissed through his teeth.

  The princess studied his face. He wasn’t lying, unfortunately. Perhaps they were just rebelling on their own. Or perhaps they didn’t know that they were being manipulated by that woman. Her imperial guard regathered before her, with the remaining rebels on their knees in surrender. She glanced over them. Some of them were injured, but most of them were alive. No one she recognized.

  “Question them,” she ordered.

  Their stories poured out readily, the mere wave of a weapon enough to make them talk. A disgruntled farmer, a cheated merchant, an insulted noble. The princess rubbed her forehead. These weren’t people truly prepared for a revolt. They didn’t know anything after all. Most of them could be let off after serving time, but the nobleman would have a more severe sentence. She waved her hand at her guard, and they stood down. No, it was better to let them go in order to track their movements. They might still lead her closer yet.

  The princess finally approached the last man, who had his arms wrapped around his knees while making slight rocking motions. He had been like that since they captured them. Hopefully, waiting his turn would have made him more nervous, but something felt off.

  The man looked up at her, breaking into a toothy grin. “You’re asking about her, aren’t you?”

  Not quite the reaction she expected. She leaned forward. “Yes.”

  His grin widened, and he covered his mouth with a dirty hand like he was telling her a secret. “You’re no match for her.”

  Ryuko was suddenly in front of him, gripping his shirt. “Tell me everything.”

  The man threw back his head in a high-pitched giggle.

  The princess tapped Ryuko on the shoulder, and he flinched. Then, he exhaled, slowly loosening his grip and taking a step back.

  “She’s already moving… and you can’t stop her, especially not a selfish princess like yourself,” the man said, bits of saliva escaping his mouth. “And you’re getting nothing more out of me!” He stuck out his tongue briefly, showing them a tiny, round seed, then bit down on it.

  Ryuko lunged again, shaking him violently. It was of little use, and in a few moments, the man’s head lolled to the side. Ryuko threw his limp body to the ground, cursing. “We could have had her!”

  The princess shook her head. “I don’t think so. He wasn’t her underling; he was a fanatic. That woman wouldn’t keep an unstable person like that close to her.”

  Kakeru nodded. “Indeed, the Mistress is far too clever.”

  “Or this was deliberate. As if she’s laughing at us,” Ryuko shot back.

  Cynric knelt beside the man, methodically checking him over. “His heart stopped.”

  Sara pursed her lips. “Only vythorn would cause a rapid death like that, and there are very few places you can find it in the empire. I’ll talk to my father.”

  Ryuko glanced at the man in disgust. “Can’t believe that woman would have admirers.”

  The princess pursed her lips. The poison was a message of either influence or resourcefulness. She looked at the man, and it was unlikely he had either. His clothes were ragged, and his hands told the story of a hard life’s work. That woman could have given the poison to him, but it was too much of a gamble. She couldn’t have known that he wasn’t going to spill more details than intended or even take the poison in the first place.

  Unless that woman is a…

  The princess sucked in a breath. She looked at the body again, concentrating. It only took a moment; her spirit sight was as natural as breathing now. There it was—traces of a broken thread, the soft violet glow fading into nothingness.

  She took off, sprinting out the door. The thread was long gone, but that woman had to be nearby. Her eyes darted around, searching for the Mistress’ presence. Nothing. She dashed around the area, covering every nearby street. Again, nothing. Running aimlessly wasn’t going to help. She leaped onto a roof, scanning the horizon. She concentrated on expanding her range, feeling the presence of those around her. Still nothing.

  The princess restrained the urge to stomp her foot. How could she have been so foolish? If the Mistress was one of those, everything would make sense. It couldn’t be true, though; there was only one of them left.

  She sensed Ryuko behind her, but no one else she didn’t recognize.

  “Did you find anything?” he hissed.

  The princess shook her head. “But come with me. There’s one more person we need to recruit.” Or rather, keep an eye on. She was doubtful that the remaining person was the Mistress, but it was best to make sure.

  The rest of her guard caught up with them.

  “We released them as you asked,” said Sara. “Kakeru is taking the nobleman into custody. I suspect we’ll have created quite the stir tomorrow.”

  The princess nodded. The town criers would have no voice left by the end of the day. At least this part was going according to plan. Order had to be restored, and right now, this was her only option.

  In time, people would come to fear those who came in the night to silence the unworthy, to clean up the scum of the empire, and vanish, leaving behind only what they wanted people to see—the Celestial Assassins.

  Chapter One

  Alexander

 
Present day — Year 2161 of the Fey Dynasty

  Lord Alexander Winter slammed his fist onto the round table. The silverlight wood cracked in half, and translucent shards littered the ground, ever so slightly caked with frost. He leaned back against the wall as he slid to the floor, clutching a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. His fist throbbed, but he didn’t care. The negotiations had failed—if he could even have called them negotiations. Alexander stared at the words as they replayed over and over in his mind.

  The region of Lanadrin officially declares a state of war against the region of Anadrieth.

  It was signed and sealed by Lord Tamar. Alexander slumped against his knees, resting his head in his hands. Scarlet locks brushed against his shoulders, and his stubble pricked at his skin. He wondered what Mina would say. The news had awful timing; it was only a few days before the annual Celestial Dragon Festival for which every person in the empire was preparing. An ironic symbol of peace, equality and unity.

  “What have we done wrong…” he murmured.

  None of it made sense. Anadrieth’s relationship with Lanadrin had been growing tense, but surely, there wasn’t enough cause for war. They hadn’t done anything to anger Lord Tamar that he knew of. It couldn’t be their fault. He had always made sure that he had control of every little detail. His council’s eyes and ears were all over his city. It had to be something else, though he had no idea what. Lord Tamar had refused to respond to any messengers or correspondence thus far. That man was entirely unreasonable.

  There was no ignoring the fact that, against people as strong as the Lanadese, they would be annihilated. He had to save his people. Especially his siblings. Alexander exhaled, rubbing his temples. If he went to Lanadrin in person now, he would probably be killed. The entire empire might be falling apart, but Lord Tamar couldn’t possibly get away with civil war right underneath the imperial council’s nose.

  That’s it!

  Alexander jumped to his feet, scrambling for a fresh sheet of parchment and ink. They still had a little time. Lanadrin would have to petition to the capital before war could be waged, and therefore, he could, too. He paused, a drop of ink falling onto the floor. But to whom could he petition? The imperial council held weight, but it was the prince who would become emperor. His Highness may have more sympathy than a council full of corrupt officials.

  Alexander’s hand swept across the page, carefully choosing his most diplomatic words for the prince. As he gripped the quill, an almost invisible layer of ice spread along it. A few moments later, it snapped in half, and he sighed. This always seemed to happen when he was stressed. He made do with the broken quill.

  He would have petitioned to Her Highness, as well, but the imperial princess had gone missing the very night when she had come of age. The whole situation was ridiculous. The empire had survived far too long without a proper imperial couple, simply waiting for Her Highness to ascend the throne. That extra two years had the five regions at each other’s throats, and the council wouldn’t lift a finger. They refused to give them an emperor without an empress, nor would they select anyone else—all because of some silly legend that was nothing more than a children’s story.

  Alexander carefully sealed the letter and approached the window. His messenger bird ruffled its feathers, shaking off the tiny flecks of snow that had accumulated. Giving his bird the letter, he sent it off, and it soared across his castle grounds and beyond the Celestine Forest. It would only take a day at most for it to reach the capital, but until then, he had to think of an alternate plan. Alexander rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, the weight comforting against his hip. He was never without his beloved sword, his Golden Dawn, not after that incident.

  He shook his head, tucking Lanadrin’s declaration into his pocket and throwing his formal cloak around his shoulders—Anadrieth’s official colors of ash gray and white, with the emblem of a priestess temple embroidered onto the back. It was an odd image, as they didn’t have a priestess temple. Only the capital had one, and it belonged to the last fools of the empire who believed in the legend of the dragon gods. He wanted to have it changed; perhaps the jagged peaks of the Jade Mountains behind them would be more fitting.

  Lord Alexander strode out of his room and down the hallway, putting on his best smile. His people depended on him, and it wouldn’t do to show them his true feelings. The smile came naturally as he nodded to his servants, the well-practiced mask never once failing him for over a decade.

  Alexander hurried through his castle, absorbed in his thoughts. His little brother and sister would want to be involved, of course, but he didn’t need to entangle them in this mess. He needed to inform his council of the situation at once and come up with an alternate plan, as there was every chance that the prince would deny his petition. More importantly, he needed to investigate why in dragon’s name Lord Tamar was declaring war in the first place.

  Alexander rounded a corner, running straight into a young maidservant, and the tray she was holding knocked into her. She yelped as a teapot spilled boiling liquid over her chest before crashing to the floor along with the cups and saucers.

  “Mina!” he cried, snatching the tray from her hands and grabbing her by the shoulders. He was about to call out for cold water and their healer, but he paused. Her skin had a tinge of red, though it was fading fast, and she seemed completely unharmed.

  Mina gazed up at him, and his breath caught in his throat. Ebony locks framed her face, and her matching eyes were as dark as the night. Whenever she looked at him, she always seemed to be looking deeper, like she was peering into his very spirit.

  “I’m fine, Alexander,” she said. Her voice was warm, and the way she said his name slipped over his skin like silk, stirring another kind of warmth within him.

  Alexander blinked, internally slapping himself. There was never a time when her beauty didn’t catch him off guard.

  “Please accept my deepest apologies,” he said, stooping to pick up the pieces of the broken cups and saucers. Usually, Mina was the clumsy one, but this time, it was on him. Alexander frowned. The liquid was still quite hot, and steam rose from the puddle. The teacup shard in his hand even had a drop of blood on it. He was positive that the tea was boiling since Mina would have been taking it straight to his little sister. Strange.

  Another servant girl rounded the corner, and Alexander snapped his fingers at her. The maid hurried to clean up the mess at once. He glanced Mina up and down once more. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Even her expression was calm.

  Mina brushed her damp dress with her fingertips. It was ripped in several places around the arms and hem. He could have sworn that he had ordered the head matron to replace it only a few days ago.

  “I’m quite sure.” Mina tilted her head. “On the contrary, you seem rather upset.”

  Every time, he thought. How does she pick up on it every time?

  She was the only one who ever saw through his mask. Alexander cleared his throat, glancing around them. They were alone, but this still wasn’t where he wanted to discuss something like this. He pulled the letter from his pocket, flashing the Lanadese seal. “Lord Tamar has… declared war. Come by later at the usual time, and we’ll discuss it.”

  Mina nodded. “Then, I’ll be taking my leave for now. I’ll have to get more tea,” she said with a wink.

  Alexander watched her leave, his breath visible in the cold air. She had always been a beautiful mystery to him, and every time he thought that he was getting close, the more questions he seemed to have. But Mina was intelligent, observant and strong-willed; her body literally clung to life when he found her two years ago. If only she hadn’t come to them with an unknown background, he would have asked for her hand already.

  He turned over the shard in his palm. It seemed to be somewhat smaller, though the drop of blood was still there, as though it had eaten away at the ceramic. Alexander’s fingertip brushed against the droplet. He immediately recoiled, dropping the shard and shaking his ha
nd as a burning sensation shot through his arm. It disappeared so quickly that he thought that he’d imagined it. He flexed his fingers, pulling himself together. This wasn’t the time to be stalling; he needed to speak with his head councilor.

  Before he could make it down the hall, Alexander spied his little brother, skulking away through the corridor. Lord Anton Winter was six years his younger but was more serious than their father had ever been. He was walking with his head down, his shoulders stiff and his arms kept close to his body. He looked like he’d overheard them.

  Alexander clapped him on the shoulder. Anton jumped but quickly composed himself.

  “My lord,” said Anton, bowing his head. His hair—the same shade of scarlet as his and their father’s—was ragged and grown out to cover his face.

  Alexander caught himself before he rolled his eyes. “Brother, again, there’s no need to be so formal. Cheer up.” His brother still didn’t meet his eyes, keeping his face slightly turned. He was self-conscious of his scar, as usual. The thin pink line stretched from his forehead to his cheek across Anton’s left eye, the deep shade of ocean blue slightly marred and cloudy.

  Anton shook his head so that his hair fell over some of the scar. “Of course.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Have you heard from Lanadrin?”

  Alexander hesitated. He didn’t want to worry his little brother or force him to carry the burden of his duties. He’d been through enough. But at the same time, the whole region would find out sooner or later, and Anton shouldn’t be the last to know.

  “The outcome has been… unfavorable. But not to worry,” he added quickly, “I’m about to meet Councilor Dallan, and we’ll sort this situation out soon.” Alexander patted him on the head.