Realm of Dragons. Морган Райс

nodded, not able to quiet the excitement practically bursting from her chest. She walked with her mother and her coterie of maids down through the castle, heading to the antechamber that backed onto the great hall.

      There were so many people in the castle, all working on the preparations for the wedding, many of them also heading down in the direction of the great hall. The castle was a place of winding corners and rooms that led into one another, the whole layout spiraling much like the arrangement of the city, so that any attacker would have to face layer upon layer of defenses. Her ancestors had made it more than a thing of gray stone defenses though, each room painted in colors so bright they seemed to bring the outside world in. Well, maybe not the world of the city; much of that was made far too drab by rain, mud, smoke, and choking vapors.

      Lenore made her way down through a promenading gallery, which had paintings of her ancestors along one wall, each looking stronger and more refined than the last. From there, she took winding stairs that led through a series of receiving rooms, down to a space where an antechamber stood before the great hall. She stood with her mother outside the door, waiting until the servants opened it, announcing her.

      “Princess Lenore of the Northern Kingdom, and her mother, Queen Aethe.”

      They stepped inside, and there he was.

      He was… perfect. There was no other word for it as he turned toward Lenore, sweeping the most graceful bow that she had seen in a long time. He had dark hair in gloriously short curls, features that were refined, almost beautiful, and a form that seemed both slender and athletic, encased in a red slashed doublet and gray hosen. He seemed perhaps a year or two older than Lenore, but that was exciting rather than frightening.

      “Your majesty,” he said with a look to Lenore’s mother. “Princess Lenore. I am Finnal of House Viris. I can only tell you how long I have looked forward to this moment. You are even more lovely than I had thought.”

      Lenore blushed, and she didn’t blush. Her mother had always told her that it was unbecoming. When Finnal held out his hand, she took it as gracefully as she could, feeling the strength in those hands, imagining what it would be like for them to pull her close so that they could kiss, or more than kiss…

      “Next to you, I hardly feel like the lovely one,” she said.

      “If I shine, it is only with your reflected light,” he replied. So handsome, and he could manage a compliment so poetic too?

      “It’s hard to believe that in just a week we will be married,” Lenore said.

      “I think that might be because we aren’t the ones who had to put in long months of work negotiating the marriage,” Finnal replied. He smiled a beautiful smile. “But I am glad that our parents did.” He looked around the room, at her mother and the maids there. “It is almost a pity that I cannot have you here to myself, Princess, but perhaps it is as well. I fear that I might get lost staring into your eyes, and then your father would be annoyed with me for missing so much of his feasting.”

      “Do you always manage such pretty compliments?” Lenore asked.

      “Only when they are warranted,” he replied.

      Lenore felt herself almost swept away with her thoughts of him as she stood beside him at the door leading from the antechamber to the great hall. When servants opened it, she could see the feast in full flow; could hear the music of minstrels and see the tumblers providing entertainment further down the hall where the common folk sat.

      “We should go in,” her mother said. “Your father will no doubt wish to show his approval of this marriage, and I am sure that he will want to see how happy you are. You are happy, Lenore?”

      Lenore looked into the eyes of her fiancé, and could only nod.

      “Yes,” she said.

      “And I shall strive to see that you stay that way,” Finnal said. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips, and the heat of that contact shot through Lenore. She found herself imagining all the other places that he might kiss, and Finnal smiled again, as if knowing the effect he was having. “Soon, my love.”

      His love? Did Lenore love him, so soon after meeting him? Could she love him, when there had been only this brief moment of contact? Lenore knew it was nonsense to think that she could, the stuff of a bard’s songs, but in that moment she did. Oh, how she did.

      Smiling, she stepped forward in perfect step with Finnal, knowing that together they must look like something out of legend to those who watched, moving like one thing, joined together. Soon they would be, and that thought was more than enough for Lenore as they went to join the feast.

      Nothing, she thought, could possibly ruin this moment.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      Prince Vars downed a flagon of ale, making sure he had a good view of Lyril as he did. She lay, still undressed in his bed, sitting up and watching him with just as much obvious interest, the bruises of the night before showing only a little.

      As well she should, Vars thought. He was a prince of the blood after all, maybe not as muscled as his older brother, but at twenty-one he was still young, still handsome. She should watch him with interest, and deference, and maybe fear if she could tell all the things he thought about doing to her in that moment.

      No, better to leave that for now. Being rough with her was one thing, but she was just noble enough for it to matter. Better to leave the fullness of it for those who wouldn’t be missed.

      Lyril was rather beautiful herself, of course, because Vars wouldn’t be sleeping with her if she weren’t: flame-haired and creamy-skinned, full-bodied and green-eyed. She was the eldest daughter of a nobleman who fancied himself a merchant, or a merchant who’d bought nobility, Vars couldn’t remember which, and didn’t particularly care. She was less than him, so she did as he commanded. What else was there?

      “Seen enough, my prince?” she asked. She stood and moved across to him. Vars liked the way she did that. Liked the way she did a lot of things.

      “My father wants me to join him on a hunt tomorrow,” Vars said.

      “I could ride out with you,” Lyril said. “Watch you and offer you my favors as you ride.”

      Vars laughed, and if that caused a flash of hurt to her, who cared? Besides, Lyril would be used to it by now. Ordinarily, he didn’t sleep with women for long before he grew bored with them, or they drifted off elsewhere, or he hurt them too much and they ran. Lyril had lasted longer than most. Years now, although obviously there had been others in that time.

      “Embarrassed to be seen with me?” she asked.

      Vars stepped close to her, stopping her with a look. In that moment of fear, she was as beautiful as anyone he had seen.

      “I will do as I wish,” Vars said.

      “Yes, my prince,” she replied, with another shiver that set its answer trembling along Vars’s arms with desire.

      “You are as lovely as any woman alive, and noble born, and perfect,” he said.

      “Then why is it that you’re taking so long to marry me?” Lyril asked. It was an old argument. She’d been asking, and hinting, and commenting for as long as Vars could remember.

      He stepped in, quick and sharp, grabbing her by the hair. “Marry you? Why should I marry you? Do you think you’re special?”

      “I must be,” she countered. “Or a prince like you would never want me.”

      She had him there.

      “Soon,” Vars said, pushing down his flash of anger. “When things are right for it.”

      “And when will things be right?” Lyril demanded. She started to dress, and just the sight of her doing it was enough to make Vars want to undress her again. He moved over to her, kissing her deeply.

      “Soon,” Vars promised, because promising was easy. “For now though…”

      “For now, we’re meant to be at your father’s feast, celebrating