The rhythmic thud of Varnyx's hooves on the flagstones was the only sound for a few minutes. The morning mist, thick and insistent, softened the edges of the palace archways and swallowed the usual morning bustle. Arin felt the unfamiliar warmth of Caldan's body behind her, a strange, unsettling anchor she couldn't quite reconcile.
"Can I speak freely now?" Arin's voice was a low murmur, barely audible against the wind. "Or are your public manners still in effect?"
Caldan chuckled, a dry, vibrating sound that resonated through her. "What? Already tired of being the silent, demure attendant?"
"I'm tired of being anything you command," she retorted, a flicker of her usual defiance returning. "Especially when it involves clinging to your horse like a limpet."
"A very obedient limpet," he corrected, his arm tightening imperceptibly around her waist. "And you agreed to be my attendant."
"I agreed because you presented it as the only alternative to being tossed back to the dogs," Arin snapped, turning her head slightly to glare at him over her shoulder. "That's not an agreement, it's a hostage situation."
"And yet, here you are, a hostage riding a warhorse usually reserved for princes," Caldan mused, his tone deceptively light. "Most commoners would consider that an upgrade."
"Most commoners don't find themselves in your company," she grumbled. "Which, I've found, tends to complicate things. Dangerously."
Before he could retort, a low, guttural roar ripped through the mist, closer than anything Arin had ever heard. It wasn't human, nor any beast she knew. The very air vibrated, sending a shiver through Varnyx, though the warhorse held steady.
Arin tensed, her sharp eyes scanning the swirling fog. "What was that?"
Caldan's grip on the reins tightened. "My delightful siblings." His voice was laced with familiar cynicism. "They're making an entrance."
Arin whipped her head around to face him. "Siblings? You have siblings? How many? Are they all… like you?" The thought sent a fresh wave of dread through her. One Caldan was enough.
He let out another low chuckle. "Unfortunately for the realm, yes. And no. Each one is a unique brand of poison."
Suddenly, a massive shadow broke through the mist directly above them, dark scales momentarily visible against the pale sky. A flash of translucent wings, then it was gone, leaving a faint scent of ozone and something cold, like distant mountain air.
"That would be Iryna," Caldan said, his voice almost a sigh. "Always the quietest entrance, even for her dragon."
Arin stared, dumbfounded, her mouth slightly agape. She'd heard whispers of dragonriders, of course, but to see one up close, even shrouded in mist, was entirely different. It was a creature of myth, and it had just flown over their heads.
Another roar, deeper this time, followed by a rush of wind that made Varnyx flatten his ears. This dragon was larger, a blur of dark scales and a flash of moonlight on its belly as it banked sharply, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.
"Tysha," Caldan murmured, a hint of something unreadable in his tone. "Always dramatic."
Then came a roar that shook the very ground beneath them, powerful and resonant. A huge, obsidian-scaled dragon, magnificent and terrible, dove through the mist, its wings beating the air with immense force, sending ripples through the fog. It landed with a soft thud just outside their line of sight, the sound of its massive body settling.
"Auren," Caldan said, his voice flat. "The dutiful one."
Arin felt a strange mix of terror and fascination. These were not just beasts; they were extensions of these royal figures, terrifying and beautiful. She risked a glance at Caldan, whose gaze was fixed ahead, unreadable. He seemed entirely unbothered by these airborne monsters.
A moment later, another dragon shrieked, a high-pitched, almost gleeful sound that made the hairs on Arin's arms stand on end. This one was a blur of crimson, smaller and faster than the others, and it banked low, its head swinging to catch sight of them. Its eyes, even from this distance, seemed to glow with a malevolent light.
Arin felt a sudden spike of alarm. This dragon felt different. More predatory.
The crimson dragon swooped, its maw opening, and a torrent of fire erupted, a blinding, searing orange that painted the mist in an unholy glow.
"Roen, you spoiled brat!" Caldan roared, shoving Arin low against Varnyx's neck, his arm clamped around her like an iron band. "He's drunk!"
Varnyx, with an agility that belied his size, lunged forward, a burst of incredible speed that sent them rocketing past the spitting flames, the heat blistering Arin's exposed cheek even through the mist. The ground where they had been a moment before was now a smoking, blackened scar.
Arin gasped, pulling in a ragged breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of pure terror. She tasted smoke, bitter and acrid. This was real. This was deadly.
Caldan's face was a mask of pure fury, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing. He spurred Varnyx harder, the mighty warhorse galloping with an urgency that blurred the trees on either side of the path. The crimson dragon, still circling, let out another shriek, a sound of mocking laughter.
"Why didn't you use your dragon?" Arin demanded, her voice strained, barely audible over the thundering hooves. The question had been gnawing at her. She'd heard whispers of his dragon, Vaelrix, of its supposed slumber. But surely, in a moment like this, it would awaken?
Caldan's answer was a harsh, clipped whisper. "My dragon doesn't fly for parlor tricks. Now shut up. Unless you want to invite more attention."
Arin clamped her mouth shut, but her mind raced. Roen. That was the prince who just tried to burn them alive. And Caldan hadn't summoned his own dragon. Why? Was the beast truly asleep? Or was there something else, something deeper, preventing him from calling it? The whispers of "Caldan the Fallen" echoed in her mind.
The ride was a blur of pounding hooves and biting wind. They moved with an alarming speed through the winding, damp forest paths, the mist slowly beginning to thin, revealing the gnarled, ancient trees that made up Whisperwood. Their branches were twisted like old bones, their leaves a deep, oppressive green that seemed to absorb all light.
Finally, Varnyx slowed, his massive chest heaving. They emerged into a wide, cleared area just outside the deeper forest. A grand pavilion, shimmering with silks and banners, stood in the center, surrounded by clusters of finely dressed nobles. Their carriages were drawn up in neat rows, their attendants fussing.
Arin's eyes widened. This wasn't just a hunt; it was a spectacle.
At the pavilion, she saw the entire royal family. King Vaelric, a man with a pale, almost sickly complexion, seated on a gilded chair. Beside him, perched on his lap with a self-satisfied smirk, was Queen Sirenyth, looking far too pleased with herself. *Queen Dowager Ysireth, a formidable figure in robes the color of ash, sat nearby, her silence a palpable force. Then Queen Armyra, elegant and poised, her gaze sweeping over the crowd with chilling authority, not a flicker of annoyance at Sirenyth's brazen display. Lady Irevya, sharp-faced and draped in rich purple, was already engaged in a hushed, intense conversation with Princess Elyra, whose beauty was marred by a subtle tension in her jaw.
Arin spotted the dragonriders who had arrived before them, already dismounting from their magnificent beasts. Prince Auren, the obsidian-scaled dragon rider, stood near his horse, his expression thoughtful as he checked its saddle. The crimson dragon, Aenythar, was settling its massive body near the edge of the clearing, and Prince Roen, its rider, was laughing, his arm slung around Princess Tysha, who stood beside him, her silken gown fluttering in the breeze stirred by her own dragon, Lunthyss, as it landed gracefully. Further back, she saw Princess Iryna dismounting from her translucent dragon, Thalneth, her quiet presence almost unnoticed.
A murmur rippled through the gathered nobles as Caldan brought Varnyx to a halt. All eyes were on him, and then on Arin, still perched precariously in front of him on the warhorse. No one ever rode Varnyx. And certainly, no one ever rode with Prince Caldan.
Caldan dismounted first, his movements stiff from his wound. He turned to help Arin down, his hands once again at her waist. As her feet touched the ground, she felt a jolt—not just from the dismount, but from the sudden proximity to him, the faint scent of his skin and the lingering heat of his touch through the wool.
"You're not going to be able to ride your dragon at the hunt, are you?" Arin whispered quickly, driven by a sudden, sharp curiosity. "Is it truly asleep?"
Caldan's eyes narrowed, a flash of something dangerous in their depths. "I told you to shut up, little rat. Unless you want a lesson in obedience you won't soon forget."
Her spine stiffened, but she held her tongue, remembering his earlier warning. Not in the poetic sense. He would do it. He truly would.
Queen Armyra, ever swift and decisive, broke away from a cluster of courtiers and strode towards Caldan, her regal robes sweeping the dewy grass. A faint, almost imperceptible frown marred her perfect composure as her eyes flicked to Arin, dismissing her.
Caldan, surprisingly, leaned down and pressed a quick, almost tender kiss to the side of his mother's head. Arin blinked, momentarily taken aback by this unexpected display of affection from the otherwise formidable prince.
"Caldan, what is the meaning of this?" Queen Armyra's voice was a low, controlled hiss, meant only for him, though Arin, standing so close, could hear every word. "I permitted you to keep this… attendant… in your chambers. I did not give you leave to bring her to the Royal Hunt." Her gaze, sharp as an eagle's, impaled Arin for a brief moment before returning to her son. "What do you intend to tell everyone?"
Caldan straightened, his expression a careful blank. "I intend to tell them nothing, Mother. They can speculate all they like. It will give them something to whisper about besides their own pathetic shortcomings." His words were delivered with a casual cruelty that made Arin inwardly wince.
Queen Armyra's jaw tightened. "And your father? Your grandmother? How do I explain this breach of decorum to them?"
Caldan's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible sneer. "You don't need to explain anything to my father, Mother. He didn't bother to explain why he married the Belly Queen." The words were a venomous strike, delivered with quiet precision.
Queen Armyra's eyes flashed, and she reached out, her hand clamping down on Caldan's arm with surprising force. "Caldan! Silence! Do not speak of your father in such a manner, especially not here, at the Royal Hunt, before the entire court! This is not a matter for public discourse, and you know it. Have you forgotten your training? Your dignity?" Her voice remained low, but the fury in her eyes was unmistakable. She then softened, her gaze sweeping over him with concern. "How is your wound? Can you hunt with it?"
Caldan's jaw hardened, and he pulled his arm from her grasp. "Do not treat me like a child, Mother. I am perfectly capable of hunting. It is but a scratch."
"You are my child!" Queen Armyra retorted, a rare flash of raw emotion breaking through her stoic façade. "And I will treat you as such when you act like a fool. Now, go. And may the Forest Sovereign grant you luck today." She gave him a firm shove towards the grand pavilion, her worry barely concealed beneath her stern demeanor.
Caldan cast a swift glance at Arin, a silent signal for her to follow, before allowing his mother to lead him towards the pavilion. Arin took a deep breath, her heart thudding. She was walking into the heart of the serpent's nest.
As they reached the pavilion, Arin's eyes swept over the assembled royals. Seated with an air of cold authority was Queen Dowager Ysireth, her ashen robes blending into the shadows. Beside her sat King Vaelric, looking frail but sharp-eyed, with Queen Sirenyth still perched on his lap, smiling serenely.
Princess Iryna was already seated, a quiet, almost translucent presence, her gaze unreadable. And Princess Tysha, with her silken smile, was chatting animatedly with Prince Vaeren, whose charming demeanor seemed to hide something sharp beneath. Prince Roen, loud and boisterous, was already drawing attention to himself, a mug in his hand.
Caldan approached the throne, a flicker of something almost imperceptible in his eyes as he met his father's gaze, then his grandmother's. He bowed curtly. "Father. Grandmother." His voice held a practiced respect, devoid of the earlier venom. He offered a slight, almost imperceptible smile to Princess Iryna.
King Vaelric's sickly face brightened slightly. "Caldan, my son. It is good to see you." His voice was raspy, but held genuine warmth. Queen Dowager Ysireth merely inclined her head, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Your health, Caldan?"
"Improved, Grandmother," Caldan replied, a hint of something resembling relief crossing his face. Arin realized he had been holding his breath, waiting to see if the news of his assassination attempt had reached them. It clearly hadn't.
Then, Queen Sirenyth's voice, dripping with saccharine sweetness, cut through the brief moment of familial cordiality. "Did you not see me, Prince Caldan? Or do you disrespect me so blatantly in front of the entire court, simply because I am your father's second wife?" Her tone was dramatic, designed to draw attention, her eyes wide with a practiced hurt.
Caldan turned to her, his expression hardening. His voice, when it came, was a low, dangerous growl that cut through the polite murmurs of the pavilion like a blade. "I see you, Queen Sirenyth. It's rather difficult not to, with your… enthusiastic presence. As for disrespect, I merely reserve my greetings for those whose presence brings me something other than indigestion. Perhaps some might say, the King has a taste for indigestion these days."
A collective gasp rippled through the nobles. Even King Vaelric flinched. Queen Sirenyth's dramatic façade cracked, her face contorting with genuine shock and fury.
"Caldan!" Prince Vaeren said, his voice a low warning, but Sirenyth was already on her feet, her hand flying to her chest.
"How dare you!" she shrieked, her voice rising in pitch. "You insult your father's wife! Your Queen!"
"Oh, do hush, Mother," Roen scoffed, swaying slightly, a faint scent of ale on the air. He stepped forward, a wide, insolent grin plastered on his face. "He's just jealous. All of us came with our dragons, roaring and magnificent, and he had to ride on a horse like a common peasant. A mangy old warhorse, at that!" His gaze swept over Caldan and Arin, lingering on Arin with a sneer. "What a sight. The great Caldan the Fallen, sharing his saddle with a street rat. You've really sunk low, elder brother."
Queen Armyra's voice, sharp as ice, cut through the insult. "Roen! Enough! You will address your elder brother with respect, and you will not disgrace yourself and this family with your drunken ramblings. This is a royal hunt, not a tavern brawl. Control yourself, or you will find yourself confined to your chambers for the remainder of the season!"
"Respect?" Roen laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He turned to his mother, his eyes blazing with drunken indignation. "He insulted you, Mother! He insulted my mother! He's always been jealous of your beauty, of our strength, of the dragons who actually fly!" He gestured wildly towards the dragons lounging beyond the pavilion. He then turned to the assembled nobles, his voice booming. "Isn't that right, my lords and ladies? Should a prince who insults his stepmother, and whose dragon sleeps like a coward, be allowed to even compete in the Hunt?"
A few uncomfortable coughs broke the silence. Some nobles, eager to curry favor with the ambitious Sirenyth and her volatile son, began to murmur in agreement, their whispers like a rising tide.
Queen Sirenyth, seeing the tide turning, began to preen, a triumphant glint in her eye, but then a flicker of genuine alarm crossed her face. Roen was going too far. Even she knew that. This wasn't about her now; it was about Roen's blatant defiance of Queen Dowager Ysireth, who sat motionless, her silence more terrifying than any roar. Sirenyth quickly stepped forward, placing a hand on Roen's arm. "Roen, my darling, that is enough."
"It's never enough when it comes to him," Roen slurred, shrugging off her hand, his eyes fixed on Caldan with pure malice. "He thinks he's so mighty, but he's just a broken prince with a broken dragon. Let him prove his worth in the forest, then! Or maybe, he'll just get lost, him and his little pet commoner, and we'll all be spared his sour face and his silent, cowardly dragon!" He turned again to the nobles, his voice rising, "Who here truly believes Caldan can win this Hunt? Who here believes he is worthy to even step foot in the Whisperwood?"
Caldan's hand, unseen by most, began to inch towards the hilt of his sword. His eyes, fixed on Roen, burned with a cold, terrifying rage. Arin felt a shiver run down her spine. He was going to kill him. Right here, in front of everyone.
Suddenly, a massive, shadowy form descended with unnerving silence, landing directly behind Roen. Its movements were fluid, almost ghostly. Princess Viera was perched on the back of her dragon, Nocthyrm, her face a mask of furious calm. The dragon's massive head lowered, its obsidian eyes fixed on Roen and Sirenyth, and then, slowly, its immense maw opened, a low, guttural rumble building in its throat…