Storms and Shadows Book 1: The Crown's Shadow

The first light of dawn is a lie.

A symbol of hope, the start of a brand new day, announced in all its grandeur as if to say it will be better than it was yesterday.

But no number of new dawns will bring Marcellus back.

No number of new dawns will make a dragon bond me.

No number of new dawns will save me from the weight of the crown.

And as if dawn itself weren’t brutal enough, I’m nowhere near the castle when the first of the mocking, golden light spills across the land.

Birds sing as the shadows retreat, but one shadow is late. So very, very late.

Vilhelm was clear in his instructions. Take out the target, and don’t be late to the meeting at dawn. That’s it. Two things. So simple.

As my feet fly across the cobblestone, exhaustion fighting to claim my body, I’m contemplating how I will justify being late.

Add in my failure to even glance at the suitor letters Vilko ordered me to read, and I’m beginning to wonder if feeding myself to a dragon could actually be the highlight of my morning.

I’m dead meat either way. The question is merely what’s less painful: razor-sharp teeth, or pissing off my father?

I’m leaning toward the former.

The guards give me no grief as I pass through the gates, perhaps due to the haste of my movements, the sigil on my cloak identification enough.

Or perhaps it’s the numerous weapons on my person, painted with fresh blood.

I round the corner of the castle, heading for the maze of passageways hidden within the walls.

But just before I step into the dark entrance, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The step I take back is slight, hand already freeing the dagger from my belt, but before I can strike, my back hits the ground, the wind being stolen from my lungs.

A boot presses into my wrist, pinning my hand and dagger to the stone.

The Master of Death looms over me, his hood pulled low, not that it hides the disappointed line of his lips.

“Sloppy.” His boot presses further into my skin as he crouches, plucking the dagger from my grasp. “And late,” he adds, turning my own blade against me, resting the sharp point against my throat.

“I don’t have time for this,” I bark, making a halfhearted attempt to get up.

The blade nicks my skin, the sting mild but enough to show Vilhelm isn’t letting me go yet.

“It took me a few hours of surveillance,” I argue. “I couldn’t very well charge in without an idea of what I was looking at.”

“I don’t recall asking for your excuses,” he hisses. “I told you yesterday, do not be late.”

He pushes away from me, tossing the dagger to the ground beside me.

“Keep pushing your luck, daughter, see where it gets you.” Then he’s gone, leaving me muttering curses as I pick myself up, dust myself off, and move on with my day.

It’s not long before I find myself slumped on the dark couch in Vilko’s office, reading proposal after proposal, a pile of discarded letters on one side, and a pile of yet-to-be-read letters on the other side.

I should probably have changed out of my dirty assassin gear, traded it for the princess who is supposed to accept one of these proposals.

But I was already late, and this is far more comfortable than the corset.

I scrunch up the letter in my hands, tossing it carelessly into the growing pile on the floor.

Traditionally, suitors would come to see me in person.

There would be days spent in the throne room hearing proposals, the king’s court present to witness each and every one.

But Vilko and Vilhelm know me well enough that they allowed a written version of the events to take place.

It may be that I can slip into a proper princess most days, as is demanded of me. However, we all knew that if I had to sit for days on end listening to male dribble, I’d likely flee the kingdom never to be seen again.

I tear open another letter, barely making it a sentence in before I throw it into the discard pile.

“Azariah,” King Vilko scolds, “you actually have to read them before you can disregard them.”

Grabbing the letter I just discarded, I read the first line out to my uncle.

“‘Greetings, Princess. I find your disrespect for tradition rather appalling, and having to write you a letter rather than speaking to you face to face feels impersonal; is this what I can expect from you as a wife?’”

I then look over to my uncle. I find his expression as disturbed as my own.

“Okay,” he relents, “that one you can burn…but first give it here, I might just have to pass the name along to your father.”

He holds out his hand, awaiting the letter.

I chuck it back into the pile.

“Come now, uncle, we both know my father won’t give a second thought to such a thing.”

“Have you found any suitors yet that pique your interest?” Vilko asks, looking up from the papers upon his desk.

“Only as targets,” I reply.

“Azariah,” Vilko scolds for a second time. “Whether you like it or not, you will need to marry when you take the throne, even if only to produce heirs.”

Pulling my hood back, I turn to look at my uncle, my features wrinkled in disgust.

“Do you wish for me to lose my breakfast?”

He levels a serious look at me, brown eyes sparking with annoyance.

“It’s your duty, Zar, one we all must do to carry forth the bloodline.”

My eyebrows draw together, a deep scowl set across my brow.

“Easy for you to say, you’re a man. Your part in furthering the bloodline doesn’t include growing the child.”

He shrugs. “Still a duty that must be performed. Even your father produced an offspring for the sake of the bloodline.”

“Yeah, I always wondered what miracle led to that happening. Father doesn’t strike me as the type to have bothered with offspring.”

Vilko cuts me a look.

“We are lucky he did, or there would be no heir to the throne.”

I give my uncle a fake smile.

“Lucky me.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand down his face.

“You need a king consort. As I’ve told you before, you don’t need to marry him until you take the throne, but you need to have one lined up. I gave you time to find someone your own way, fall in love, but time is not something we have the luxury of anymore. Your father is losing patience.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” I mutter, turning my focus back to the task at hand and tearing into another letter.

“Let’s say tragedy should befall my betrothed.”

“No, Azariah,” Vilko cuts in. “Killing your fiancé will not spare you your duty. And should you even attempt such a thing, I’d send Vilhelm to ensure the safety of your betrothed. Tell me, darling niece, how do you think your father would react to such a task?”

There is no lie in my uncle’s tone—he would really do it, and then not only would my betrothed be alive, but my father would likely kill me himself.

“It was just a hypothetical,” I mumble disheartenedly.

“Uh-huh,” my uncle hums. “As hypothetical as my own scenario, I’m sure. Now hurry up and pick one. If I have to tell your father another day has been wasted, he will not be pleased.”

“Aren’t you the king?” I drawl. “And as far as the kingdom is aware, you are my father. So why is it we have to keep him informed of anything to do with this matter?”

“Because he is your actual father, Azariah, and wearing the crown doesn’t mean you no longer have to answer to anyone, something you would do well to remember.”

I just roll my eyes and go back to reading the letter that’s become a little crumpled in my grip.

~

And I think I will save myself a little more time by stopping there.

I add the letter to the discard pile.

“Sir Kleitos told me you were in the Dragon Cavern the other day,” Vilko says.

The papers on his desk must be incredibly boring if he wishes to bring that up for discussion.

“It was a lie,” I reply without so much as a glance his way. “I needed an excuse for my absence, a good one since he had been searching for me. Dragon Cavern worked.”

Speaking of, I’ll need another excuse for my absence this morning.

“You should consider trying again.”

I don’t bother responding, continuing with the tedious task at hand.

“Azariah,” Vilko says, some steel in his voice this time. “You need to try again. You won’t bond a dragon hiding in the shadows.”

“I’m not going to bond a dragon, period,” I snap. “I barely got out with my life last time, and as you and my father frequently remind me, if I’m dead, there is no one to take the throne.”

“Your father and I were talking.”

“Well, that is indeed a shocking revelation, uncle,” I quip sarcastically.

He continues on as if I haven’t said anything. “You should try approaching Eiko.”

My brows knit together with confusion. “The former queen’s dragon?” I clarify, twisting to look at Vilko. “Hasn’t Eiko been unapproachable since the queen’s death?”

Vilko’s eyes fix to a point on the far wall, a soft smile on his lips. “Queen Inanna was a fierce warrior before she accepted my proposal, but she always had a soft side, and it is said her dragon was very similar to her in this way.”

“The deeper the bond, the deeper the dragon will feel the loss of its rider,” Vilko explains. “Eiko was not the only one who wanted to watch the world burn that day.” His smile turns sour, sadness filling his dark eyes.

Queen Inanna was Vilko’s first and only love.

Before her, it is said he was much more like his brother, Vilhelm. He had no desire to take a queen, much like my own repulsion at the thought of having to take a king consort.

But, as he tells the story, from the moment he first spotted her on the battlefield, his world was forever changed.

He was so entranced by her that he was nearly killed, saved by the very beauty he was distracted by.

Apparently, it took a lot of convincing before she agreed to leave her life as a Dragon Rider behind and accept the position of queen.

But she did, for him.

Vilko often tells me that my father never did forgive him for taking one of his best Dragon Riders.

Unfortunately, the queen died in childbirth, leaving Vilko with only one child and a hole in his heart.

I look away from my uncle, the pain in his eyes overwhelming.

“If that’s the case, I don’t think Eiko will be looking for a new rider just yet.”

“Try it,” he implores. “You are as fierce a warrior as Inanna was, and you are destined to be queen as well.”

“I’m an assassin,” I correct. “I don’t fight on the battlefield, I slink in the shadows. Besides, Inanna bonded Eiko before she was queen, and I seriously doubt dragons can see the future.”

“Try it,” he repeats.

“And what happens when it doesn’t work?” I demand, spinning around to glare at him. “What happens when another dragon rejects me, uncle? What happens if Eiko tries to kill me? You’re always telling me to be more careful, and yet you want me to go risk my life in the Dragon’s Cavern again.”

“Do you really think I’d ask you to go there if I thought your life was in danger?” he asks.

I clench my jaw, frustration burning within me.

I can’t admit that it’s not my life I’m really worried about losing. I can’t admit that what I’m really scared of is being rejected again, of having another dragon tell me I’m not good enough.

I think the dragons know as well as I do. I’m not worthy of the throne. I’m not fit to be queen.

“Fine,” I relent. “One last try, I’ll approach Eiko.”

Vilko beams. “Excellent. We will go tonight, after dark.”

I grab yet another letter, waving it in the air as I say, “Then I’d better get finished with these, as it appears we’ll be having a bonfire.”