Thorn and I follow the four generals of the Verlassen army down the tall hallway. Our steps are softened on the gold-gilded yellow and purple-patterned carpet runner beneath us, and my eyes take in the glistening gold vases on cherry-wood tables stationed perfectly every ten steps, Verlassen guards positioned in pairs between every three vases on either side.
The other thing that surprises me is how slow I feel like the generals are walking—and yet, theirs is no leisure pace. Being around other dragon-bonded has caused me to forget that we are faster. Even now, I remind myself not to make them feel rushed. Thorn seems more accustomed to the change in pace, and smiles a little as I take a couple of quick steps and then pause, trying to keep distance between myself and General Easton in front of me.
We come to a set of doors painted with the Verlassen coat of arms—a gray howling wolf head on a yellow and purple-checkered background—where two doormen stand. On either side of them are two Verlassen guards. Beyond, I can faintly hear music and chattering.
“Announce the generals, and Ward Thorn and Ward Estelle of Adytol,” General Norman says.
The doormen nod and pushed the doors open. “Announcing the four Verlassen Generals,” one of the doormen says, “and Ward Thorn and Ward Estelle of Adytol!”
The soothing string music stops abruptly, as does all talking. I follow the generals and then slow in my steps, staring around.
The throne room is massive! The marble walls arch high above, decorated with painted glass like the Wards’ palace and grand yellow and purple banners proudly displaying the Verlassen coat of arms. Guards are stationed all along the sides of the throne room, and the carpet runner goes straight up to a platform, upon which is set two thrones made of beautiful wood, the edges gilded and inlaid with gems of all sorts of colors. There’s a slightly raised platform in one corner with musicians on it, dressed in the same blue of the servants. Otherwise, there are many, many people in here, most of whom appear to be from wealthy backgrounds of their own, dressed in exquisite clothes. The women wear dresses that look massive on them, flowing out in beautiful colors. The people were standing in line before the throne platform on the other end, but now they are staring at us.
Then my breath catches a little at the sight of the King of Amenyl—King Mahlir Verlassen. Clothed in a deep purple robe trimmed with a speckled gray fur, a grand golden crown with five points on his gray-blonde haired head, King Mahlir looks as regal as I expected on his throne. He’s leaning forward, his gray eyes observing us intently as we walk in.
“Ward Thorn and Ward Estelle of Adytol?” King Mahlir asks, his slightly crackling voice echoing through the grand hall. “Are these the dragon riders that were spotted?”
“Yes, your majesty.” General Norman steps through the people, not paying them any heed as they stare at us, and then kneels and bows low at the base of the platform. “They come as diplomats and have sought an alliance with us.”
King Mahlir stares between Thorn and me, and we both bow. I hold out the scroll we’d brought, hoping I don’t look as nervous as I am. We wait for the generals to straighten before we follow suit.
“Your majesty,” I say. My voice carries surprisingly well—perhaps that’s a benefit of the tall, echoing walls in this grand hall. “Thank you for seeing us. We have brought an introduction on behalf of Ward Veremund, our leader,”
“I will read your introduction,” King Mahlir says.
A blue-garbed servant takes the scroll from my hand and walks up the platform, bowing low as he presents it to King Mahlir with a flourish. King Mahlir hastily reads through the scroll and then resumes staring at us.
At last, King Mahlir looks to his generals. “I presume you have already interrogated them?”
“Yes, your majesty,” General Norman says. “We believe they are sincere.”
General Easton gives a quick recap of what we had told them, as well as what was contained in the scroll. “They bring good news,” he summarizes.
“Indeed!” King Mahlir claps his hands together, relief forming on his slightly aged face. “Once my son arrives, we may commence our afternoon war strategy. However, Ward Thorn, Ward Estelle, please know that you are most welcome in my palace!”
“Thank you for your kind hospitality,” I say.
“Of course, of course!” King Mahlir’s smile broadens as he strokes his graying blonde beard, looking between us. “Forgive me if I seem forward, as I am unfamiliar with the Wards of Adytol, but are you both of the same rank?”
I’m not sure—rank has only ever been noted for Veremund, Neil, and Mortimer, with rumors of Amon being the next in line—but Thorn nods. “Yes. Ward Estelle is our spokeswoman, however,” he says.
I share a small smile with Thorn but then bow my head in agreement.
“Very good,” King Mahlir says. “How long will you be staying in Remyssus?”
“As long as it takes to secure an alliance and an agreement that Remyssus becomes our central communications point,” I say. “As General Easton noted, our ally, Ward Amon, has gone to reach out to the other countries with a similar introductions, and a request that their leaders meet here to discuss war strategies against the Vladykars and against Klevor.”
“I am in full agreement, of course.” King Mahlir glances at the generals, but when they nod their heads, he mimics them, as if using their affirmative response as reassurance. “We will gladly accept the Wards’ aid, and if any country wishes to lend their help to us, we will not turn them away.”
This has gone way easier and faster than even I hoped for. I glance at Thorn. “I’m glad to hear this, your majesty,” I say. “Then, we can take our leave and bring word back to Ward Veremund.”
“One moment.” King Mahlir leans back in his seat. “We do have to wait for my son for final agreement.”
Thorn looks confused, but I immediately bow my head. “Of course.” Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recall the messenger that came to Inizion, announcing Prince Philander’s upcoming coronation.
The doors behind us open, and I hear many of the people in the room—who have been whispering anxiously at the sight of us—begin to applaud. “His majesty Prince Philander!” one of the doormen announces. I turn with the others, preparing to bow. And then I blink.
Striding down the runner is a young man with strawberry-blonde hair that’s grown long and swept to the side, a couple of loose bangs hanging overtop his eyes. He’s dressed as regally as his father, a rich purple cape over his left shoulder, wearing a golden overcoat over a gray shirt and dark gray, gold-trimmed pants tucked neatly into shiny black boots with gold buckles.
But what strikes me are his purple-flecked gray eyes. They look incredibly familiar, as if from a dream, and when his gaze turns to Thorn and I, he pauses.
“Philander!” King Mahlir says cheerily. “May I present Ward Thorn and Ward Estelle of Adytol. They have come as allies.”
Prince Philander suddenly gives a disarming smile. “Welcome to the Golden Palace, Ward Thorn and Ward Estelle!” he says.
I can’t hide my surprise as I start. I recognize that voice, and all of a sudden I know why his eyes are familiar. Shocked, I glance at Thorn, but he’s glaring at Prince Philander.
This isn’t lost on the Prince of Amenyl, whose smile falters a bit. He chuckles, sweeping aside a long lock of hair. “I suppose you are outsiders of Amenyl. For your awareness, it is considered impolite to stare.”
“I’m fairly certain it’s considered impolite to attack diplomats in any civilized country,” Thorn growls.
Prince Philander’s eyes widen, his smile now plastered to his face. “Ward Thorn, what are you—”
“—Your majesty, King Mahlir,” Thorn says before I can stop him, “this man attacked us on the trip here. With a dragon.”
The silence in the throne room is deafening. Afraid to look back at King Mahlir, I put a hand on Thorn’s shoulder. “Perhaps he sought to assure himself of our intentions,” I say, not wanting to lie but trying to smooth over Thorn’s accusation. “Dragon riders are rare in Amenyl.”
“My…you, you dare to accuse my son of this?!” King Mahlir’s voice rises in anger. “Not only that he would attack diplomats, but that he has a dragon?!”
I turn just as Verlassen soldiers lower their spears at us. King Mahlir’s fair-skinned face is flushed with embarrassment. But by the way he glares angrily at Thorn, myself, and Prince Philander, I have a feeling he doesn’t entirely disbelieve us. That doesn’t excuse Thorn’s blatant declaration of treason and secrecy, and after a moment King Mahlir beats on the armrest of his throne. “I will not stand for this! You will apologize to my son!”
“After he apologizes for drugging us to sleep, going through our equipment, stealing our monies, and acting inappropriately to Ward Estelle by undressing her shirt while she slept,” Thorn says coolly.
I put my face in my hand.
“What?!” King Mahlir exclaims.
“Thorn,” I whisper. “Now is not the time!”
“Guards! Guards, I want you to seize these Wards!” King Mahlir spits his words he’s so angry. “Take them out of my palace! They are never to return!”
“Wait, father!” Prince Philander strides up to stand beside me. He puts a hand on his heart and makes his face look dejected. “I do not know of what dragon they speak. But it is true that I investigated them and their belongings rather thoroughly while they slept. They are not wrong about this.”
“What?!” King Mahlir exclaims again, his eyes bulging.
“I was out scouting and feared what harm these dragon riders meant,” Prince Philander says. He bows his head to Thorn and I. “I am deeply regretful of my actions against diplomats of Adytol. Please, accept my apology.”
“You—” Thorn starts to say.
“Of course,” I say quickly. “You were being cautious for your country, and we cannot fault that. Please, accept our apology for our rudeness.” I don’t know why Prince Philander doesn’t want to talk about his dragon, but I get the impression that he’s trying to get all of us out of a predicament. At this point, our best option isn’t to lie, but to let Prince Philander handle the situation. “I would recommend attempting to communicate longer before such investigations in the future, your majesty,” I add.
The corners of Prince Philander’s mouth turn up. “You are most correct, Ward Estelle.”
King Mahlir, his face having turned back to a more-normal color, glances between us and his son anxiously. “So—all is well, then?”
Prince Philander’s medium gray-purple eyes start to twinkle. There’s a mischievous look in his face. “Well. Not entirely,” he says, surprising me. He straightens and takes a step back. “You did still accuse me of stealing from you. Why would I, the Prince of Amenyl, steal from you?”
Thorn starts to step forward. “Why you—”
I grab Thorn’s arm firmly. “We have nothing with which to pay you for such an accusation,” I say.
“Well!” Prince Philander says. “Since tensions are so strained between us—” He holds out his hand to me, giving me a smile. “—Ward Estelle, would you accept my hand in marriage?”
I freeze in surprise, as does every single other person in the throne room, gasps going up all around us. A silverware piece clatters to the ground, and I hear what sounds like one of the strings of the instruments snap.
Prince Philander has, instantly, put me in a terrible position. To decline would be rude enough, an affront to the royal family, but as we’re already on shaky ground with King Mahlir, it could be perilous for us, and our mission, not to accept his offer.
But I don’t love him. I love Amon.
As I stare at Prince Philander, his smile broadens. He knows exactly what he’s done.
Tamara Rivers 
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