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  The carriage set off, and they left the covered station and drove through the streets of central Sigma. The sun shone through the patchy sky, casting their golden haze on the pale cobblestones. As usual, the city was a delight to behold. Giant, Eternal-Spring cherry trees lined the Rex Boulevard and created a canopy of glittering pink. Behind them stood buildings boasting classical, limestone facades, adorned with arched windows and stone columns. He sighed. Coming home was a rare occurrence. He’d lived in Fafnir for most of his life. It was a rural island, occupied by St. Fafnir’s Academy, an all-male institution for young dragons.

  Berrin cleared his throat. “Why did you find things difficult?”

  “Very few dragons join at such a young age.” Polaris rubbed his chin. “It meant that I was training with males as much as a decade older than me. Many had already reached their transformations.”

  Berrin suppressed a gasp. Pure-blooded, male dragon shifters reached maturity around the age of twenty-five. Until then, they were only marginally stronger than human males, and they could not transform. In their society, any dragon who had yet to reach maturity was considered an adolescent, regardless of age. Even half-blooded dragons older than Mother and Father who could not transform were not taken seriously in the King’s Court. He ducked his head. In all his dreams of joining the King’s Regiment, he had always imagined training with men his own age. “Are you saying I should go back to St. Fafnir’s?”

  “Not at all,” replied Polaris. “If your heart is set on following this path now, I will support you.”

  Polaris didn’t say anything else after that, so they rode in silence through the streets of Sigma. Berrin stared into his hands, pondering his brother’s words. “You weren’t this discouraging in your letters.” He peeked up at Polaris, who stared back with brows drawn together. “Why are you saying these things now?”

  “You seem to be quite enamored of that girl. If female companionship is important to you, why not spend a year or two with Mother and Father? Enjoy life a little. Get in contact with your blonde beauty. And when you’ve had your fill, you can enroll.” He spread his hands. “The Regiment will wait.”

  Berrin bristled at the thought of using poor, sweet Marigold in such a deplorable manner. “Are you suggesting that I take up with a young lady, only to discard her later?”

  “You would not be the first.” Polaris raised his shoulders. “Women enter into these arrangements all the time. As long as you are clear about your intentions, it could be a mutually beneficial arrangement for all involved.”

  “I wouldn’t be so callous as to take a lady’s virtue and not follow-up with a proposal of marriage!”

  Polaris chuckled and threw an arm around Berrin’s shoulder. “You are precious! In time, you will learn.”

  Heat flared across Berrin’s cheeks. What was so amusing about treating ladies of all classes with respect? He recalled Marigold’s heart-shaped face, framed by golden ringlets, and emerald-green eyes. Pushing away thoughts of touching that creamy skin and kissing those luscious lips, he scowled. A beauty such as Marigold deserved better than what Polaris was suggesting. He folded his arms across his chest. “If the Regiment expects me to mistreat women, I would rather not join.”

  “I apologize,” said Polaris. His chuckles died down into a smile. “It was not my intention to portray the Regiment as a place where young officersp are taught ungentlemanly ways. It is, in fact, the opposite. The King frowns upon his elite soldiers having relationships. Those who marry never progress within the ranks.”

  Berrin’s face dropped. “Oh.”

  “Do you see why I am suggesting the delay? Nobody gave me such advice when I was your age. I have never known what it is to love a woman, and I do not wish the same for you.”

  “You’ve never—”

  “Fleeting encounters aren’t the same.” Polaris waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

  Berrin’s mouth dropped open. The King’s Regiment had been his dream ever since Polaris had joined, but he was now seeing a different side of the institution. “I can’t believe you would take advantage of ladies and break their hearts.”

  Polaris pressed his lips together and smiled.

  Berrin scowled. “You’re laughing at me.”

  Polaris shook his head but remained silent.

  “Yes you are!”

  His brother closed his eyes, lips trembling. Rapid, jerky breaths escaped his nose. Berrin folded his arms and huffed. He thought that turning eighteen and graduating early from St. Fafnir’s would earn him a bit of respect. It appeared that his brother still thought of him as the baby of the family. Because of their age difference, Berrin had viewed Polaris as a father figure of sorts. It had been Polaris, and not Father, who had visited him at the Academy. Their own father was a cold, distant dragon, far too busy governing Austellus to be bothered with his own child. Ever since being sent away to Fafnir’s, he’d seen Mother and Father a total of nine times.

  Berrin sighed and looked out of the window. If becoming a General was what it took to gain Polaris’ respect, then that is what he would do. A pang of regret shot through his heart about missing the opportunity to be better acquainted with Marigold, and he swallowed. It was probably for the best.

  * * *

  The headquarters of the King’s Regiment stood proud at the end of a cobbled road. Tall, red-leafed trees lined the grounds like sentinels pointing their swords to the skies. The building itself was an ancient, walled fortress, consisting of large stones, cut into rectangular bricks. It stood ten stories high with battlements every several feet. The sight of the majestic construction made Berrin’s stomach roil. This was so different to rural life in Fafnir, where the largest building was a two-story Academy.

  A dozen guards standing in front of triple-height, iron gates saluted and waved them inside. About a hundred young men crowded around the main building. Berrin’s heart jumped into his throat. “Will I be competing with all them?”

  “Don’t think of it that way.” Polaris placed a reassuring hand on Berrin’s shoulder. “The regiment will take on any dragon who meets its requirements. If they are all suitable candidates, then they will all be granted admission.”

  Berrin swallowed. “What if none of them are good enough?”

  “Then nobody gets in.”

  “That is… remarkable.”

  The carriage stopped in front of the main building, and Berrin reached for the door. Polaris put his hand on his arm. “Wait for the driver.”

  Berrin frowned, wondering why Polaris was standing on ceremony, but he sat back and did as he was told.

  When the door opened, a hush spread across the courtyard. Polaris placed his hat on his head and stepped out. His stance changed from that of a kindly big brother to a proud warrior. In his ruby red jacket, gold epaulettes and shining medals, he looked like a storybook hero.

  Berrin’s heart soared. Thoughts of the beautiful Marigold faded in the presence of his brother, the hero. Berrin stepped out of the carriage, chin up, chest high. A chatter broke out among the other hopefuls. As he walked up the steps to the main building, he caught snippets of their conversations. Many were admiring his brother, the General, but most were questioning the identity of Polaris’ new protégé. Pride surged in his chest as he walked beside his older brother.

  The guards at the double doors stood to attention and saluted before allowing them entrance. Excitement bubbled in Berrin’s stomach, and he pressed his lips together to suppress a grin. All around them in the tall, stone hallways, officers of all ages and ranks greeted Polaris with salutes. His brother took it in good stride, returning their greetings.

  The assessment room was smaller than Berrin had imagined. It reminded him somewhat of a darkened cave. Bookshelves lined the walls and windows, creating a gloomy atmosphere. Its only other piece of furniture was a huge, knobby old desk lit by a single, beeswax candle. Behind it sat a dragon so old, his bald head had formed scales. Berrin’s heart jumped. He had never met an
elder. They were supposed to be so powerful that they didn’t even need to shift to create fire. And in their Dragon forms, they created a flame so hot it burned transparent turquoise. According to legend, turquoise flames could melt diamonds. Berrin gulped.

  The old dragon raised his head. “Polaris.” His voice sounded like grinding stones. “It is good to see you. How goes the magical catastrophe in Chrysos?”

  Polaris shook his head. “The island is still closed, and its inhabitants trapped. We had hoped that a trio of wizard scholars would help analyze the strange power, but they seem to have gone missing.”

  “It is a pity,” replied the elder. “I would never have thought that a lone female could bring down a dynasty as powerful as that of King Hydrus.” He shook his head. “Did you know that General Unguis believes that Prince Aurelius may be hiding in Habilis?”

  Berrin’s lips parted, and a breath escaped his lungs. Prince Aurelius was the sole, surviving heir to the throne of Chrysos, the wealthiest country in the world. Not only did it contain extremely fertile soil, but it was also the only source of dragon’s gold. This was a rare, precious metal that not even an elder could melt. He stared from the old dragon to Polaris, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  The elder’s violet eyes sparkled like amethyst. “And who is your young companion? From the looks of him, he has the potential to surpass even you.”

  Pride surged in his chest, and before he knew it, the words came tumbling out of his mouth. “My name is Berrin. I am Polaris’ brother. It’s an honor to meet you, Elder!”

  The two other males exchanged the kind of look he often saw old ladies give the little first years at the Academy. A prickly heat formed on his cheeks. Surely, he didn’t appear so young to them? To a Dragon as ancient as the elder, there shouldn’t be much difference between Polaris and himself. Berrin held back the urge to remind them that he wasn’t a child. It was a tactic only used by the little boys at the Academy, which only served to highlight their childishness.

  The elder chuckled. “It is an honor to meet another great potential.”

  Any ill feelings he had about being treated like a sweet little boy evaporated. “Do you really think I’ll be as strong as Polaris?”

  “Stronger, if you work hard.”

  “I will!”

  “Very good. The first part of the assessment is to measure your transformation agility. Turn your fingernails into three-inch claws.”

  Berrin stared down at his hands and stretched out his fingers. Focusing as much magical power as he could muster into their tips, he willed the nails to grow. For a moment, nothing happened. His heart skittered. He could do this. He just needed to concentrate. A frustrated breath escaped his nostrils. He tried again, this time straining hard. “I-I’ve transformed my fingers before. I-It’s just that I wasn’t expecting this to be part of the assessment.”

  The elder nodded. “That is quite all right. I no longer assess on potential. You see, it can be discouraging for a young dragon to enter the Regiment before he is ready.”

  Clenching his jaw, Berrin forced even more magic into his fingertips. Blood rushed to his hands, turning them crimson. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow, and he strained harder.

  “Stop,” said the elder.

  “B-but I’ve done it before, I just need—”

  He raised a scaled palm, cutting off Berrin’s excuses. “Do not overtax yourself, child.”

  A lump formed in Berrin’s throat. He’d been practicing transformation every day at St. Fafnir’s and getting good results. Everyone knew that the first stage of transforming into a dragon was changing the fingernails into claws. He had achieved this several times before, so why was he failing now? He licked his lips and turned his gaze to the elder. “Can I try again?”

  “Of course. Take your time.”

  Berrin sucked in a shaky breath. He glanced at Polaris, who stood to the side, his face grim. Shame crept up on Berrin like a vine, its tendrils squeezing his ribs and making his skin crawl. Failing in front of his brother was not an option. He had to succeed! Closing his eyes, he sucked in a huge breath, held it in his lungs and exhaled, pushing with it a trickle of magic down the bones of his arms, and into his wrists. When the power reached his hands, vibrations traveled down his finger bones and into his nails. He could feel them lengthening and thickening and turning into points. Warmth radiated through his chest, and he glanced up at the elder with a smile.

  The old dragon’s face was impassive. “Take your time.”

  Berrin’s eyes dropped to his hands. Despite his efforts, his nails remained the same! He let out an exasperated breath. “One more time, please!”

  “You are not ready for the King’s Regiment,” said the elder.

  Chest tightening, breath hitching, Berrin bowed his head. He had trained so hard for this moment, studying everything he could about the Regiment, as well as sparring with his classmates. The last thing he had expected was to be told to transform his fingernails. Everyone knew that dragons of his age were not supposed to know how to transform. He shot his brother a pleading look.

  “Thank you, Elder.” Polaris placed his hand on Berrin’s arm. “We will return next year.”

  The pain of Berrin’s heart clenching wrung out his next word. “Wait!”

  “Don’t force it,” said Polaris.

  Berrin’s eyes stung. He balled his fists. “I know I can do it. Please, give me one last chance!”

  The old dragon rose from his chair, placing his clawed fingertips onto the desk. He leaned forward, piercing Berrin with his amethyst eyes. The site of such an ancient, powerful being placing his whole attention on Berrin made his heart freeze. The elder blinked with the slowness and deliberation befitting what was likely his thousand years. “Do you know how effortless it is for a dragon in his prime to transform?”

  “No,” Berrin rasped.

  “It is as easy as blinking.” He paused, as if letting the severity of his words soak into Berrin’s skull. “When a fledgling is not ready to blink, it is prudent to assume that he will not perform other, more complicated tasks with ease.”

  The words were like a sword through the heart. Berrin stole a glance at Polaris, whose face hadn’t changed from his grim expression. He exhaled. Arguing further would only prove he was too selfish to understand the situation from the Regiment’s point of view, and too immature to recognize his own weaknesses. Pressing his lips together, he gave the elder a firm nod.

  The old dragon drew back. “I will see you in a year’s time.”

  “Yes.” For the sake of politeness, Berrin added, “Thank you, Elder.”

  This time, walking back to the carriage at his brother’s side only served to highlight his inadequacy. The ride back was equally as awkward.

  “Rejoice, little brother,” said Polaris. “You have a year of freedom to pursue your beautiful girl. You may even fall in love with her and decide that you wish to stay in Sigma. Father is looking for a new heir, as Matheson is proving unreliable.”

  Berrin stared into the white breeches of his Academy uniform. “I don’t want the Auburn estate. If I’m going to become wealthy, it will be through my own efforts, not from inheriting my older brother’s birthright!”

  “Actually, if I hadn’t disqualified myself by joining the King’s Regiment, I would be inheriting it.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “And Father only inherited the estate because Grandfather deemed Uncle Hartz reckless.”

  Berrin shook his head. “That’s different.”

  “It’s exactly the same situation. Matheson is as careless with money as is Uncle Hartz. Father needs a responsible heir and is considering you.”

  “Maybe he shouldn’t have sent me away for most of my life,” Berrin muttered. St. Fafnir’s hadn’t been a bad place, but it rankled that Father had allowed Matheson to be educated at home.

  “Anyway,” said Polaris, “you have a year to relax and grow into your power. Call on your pretty, new frien
d.”

  Berrin scowled at his brother. “You pulled me away before I could get an address.”

  “I’m sure her companion would be able to direct you to her.”

  “Probably. But I don’t know her either.”

  “Didn’t you recognize Ella Mulciber?”

  He tilted his head to the side. The name was familiar, and fora moment, he couldn’t remember why. A vague recollection of a little, blonde-haired girl who parents were friends with Father resurfaced. “Why is she a servant, now?”

  “That’s a very long story for another time.”

  Berrin shook his head. He would spend his year of training to become a better officer. After that, there would be no time for women. It would be unfair to call upon Marigold, only to let her down later. A lady like Marigold deserved better.

  Chapter 5

  By the time Marigold reached Florus, the sun was hanging low in the sky. It was a suburb consisting of three-story houses, enclosed in tall, walled gardens. The long branches of juniper trees stretched overhead, creating a sweet, woody-scented shade. She stopped at the first dwelling, a white-fronted mansion standing proud behind a wrought iron fence. A bell the size of her head hung high up on its gate. Marigold pulled the cord, alerting the house’s inhabitants. Shortly after, a uniformed footman scurried across the gravel courtyard. He wore a pink jacket and tight, white breeches that did nothing for his thin frame.

  “Hello,” she said. “Are there any vacancies in this household?”

  His gaze flickered down her woolen, threadbare dress. “You should be using the servant’s entrance.” He jerked his head towards the right of the compound. “It’s over there.”

  “Sorry,” Marigold replied.

  With a sniff, he retreated back towards the mansion.

  She walked around the perimeter of the fence. At the second entrance, she found a smaller bell. After ringing it, the side door of the mansion opened, and the same man strode out, holding a large ring of keys.

  He raised his eyebrows. “May I help you?”