"A dragon? My lady, that won't be necessary," said Lord Hugo. His tone was calm, but the knights behind him unsheathed their swords, metal whispering through scabbards.
"Calm, sirs. Sheathe your swords," Dominic said, stepping in front of the queen. "Clareux is not dangerous. Well—unless my company intends to open my throat."
"Fear not, my lord," Hugo replied. "Nothing should happen here between us. Sirs, put your blades away. Another tragedy should not occur today."
His knights obeyed, though their hands remained close to their hilts.
"But tell me, my lady Meriam," Hugo continued, "why do you believe Lord Bernardo was killed at Dark? A loud sound was heard not long ago. You are not trying to lie to me… are you?"
The queen shook her head. "No, my lord. That is not the case. As for the loud sound, it was simply our new bell installed in the castle." She motioned with her hand, and her knights stepped aside, opening a path. "If you don't believe me, I should be kind and show you."
"No need," Hugo said with a wave. "But you asked why Lord Bernardo did not have a mutant guard. Unfortunately, it seems the count held mutants in low regard. In his words, he called them animals—no better than monsters. That is why he refused to have one close."
"Unfortunately for his dislike," the queen replied, "someone was able to take his life because of it." She said it with sadness in her voice, but her eyes betrayed any chance that someone might believe her words.
Lord Hugo's eyes, however, were just as emotionless.
"My lady, my lords," he said, "I should take the high road and make for Asfrodos, to inform King Duarte."
"What of the count?" the queen asked.
"Like any other man, my lady—bury his body. Bernardo is not special." His grin sharpened. "Unless the graveyard is full."
The mockery in his voice made every knight behind the queen stiffen, hands tightening around weapon hilts. Even Dominic's jaw clenched.
Just as quickly as he arrived, Lord Hugo turned and left, his armored escort surrounding him like predators.
The queen struck the wall with her fist. "Damn him. And damn Duarte."
"My lady…" Dominic began.
"My queen," said Sir Mael, stepping forward. "Give the order, and the man will not see Asfrodos again."
"No, Sir Mael," Queen Meriam said sharply. "Send men toward the Empty Ocean, nearing Asfrodos. Tell every man in Rorschach to prepare for an attack."
Sir Mael bowed and rushed off.
Then the queen turned to Dominic. "And you, my lord—fly to the Gold City of the Gash."
Dominic bowed deeply. "As you command."
He parted from the queen and made his way through the castle corridors. Soon he reached an open section with no roof. The sound of wings echoed overhead, growing louder and heavier. When he looked up, he saw her.
Clareux.
Her light-blue scales shimmered brightly, catching the scattered glow from the castle braziers, contrasting beautifully with the pale gold sky. She circled once before gliding down.
When Dominic reached the dragon landing grounds—a wide courtyard of packed earth and stone—the winds grew violent. Leaves spun wildly, debris skittered across the ground, and several chickens pecking nearby were lifted off their feet and scattered away in a flurry of feathers.
Clareux descended with the force of a storm, her enormous wings slicing the air. And yet—not a breath of wind touched Dominic. She controlled her landing for him alone.
As soon as she lowered herself to the ground, Dominic approached. No matter how often he saw her, she stole his breath every time.
Her head towered over him, crowned with two enormous horns. Her teeth, each the size of a man's arm, glinted like polished bone. Her scales were so smooth and reflective he could see his face in them. And her eyes—bright, deep green—followed his every step with unmistakable intelligence.
Beautiful. Terrifying. Loyal.
Clareux huffed warmly and leaned close, tasting his emotion. Then she opened her mouth and began to lick him with a tongue rough as stone, covered in small hook-like ridges.
"Stop, Clareux—I don't want to fly soaked. The air will be cold," Dominic said through laughter, making no real attempt to escape. If he truly wanted her to stop, she would have.
"My lord…" a timid voice called.
A young boy stood behind him, dragging a cart loaded with polished blue plates—dragon-forged armor, shining like carved gemstones in the light. Dominic ignored the boy's nervousness and inspected the armor. Each piece shimmered like a shard of Clareux's own scales.
He began fastening the armor onto himself. The boy rushed forward to help, tightening knots, securing straps, adjusting the lower plates so they would not shift during flight.
Fortunately, Clareux's saddle was already in place; he had only stayed one night in the capital and had to fly again.
Dominic approached Clareux's side. Mounting her was never easy—she was larger than most houses—and she had to lower herself fully for him to reach her back.
Once he climbed onto the saddle, Clareux rose, lifting him high above the ground. Her wings unfolded—vast, shimmering, powerful enough to break stone.
"You'd better run, boy," Dominic called down as he adjusted his grip. "Unless you want to fly with us."
The boy, eyes wide with awe, sprinted back, nearly tripping over his own feet. He abandoned the cart entirely.
Dominic chuckled.
Clareux leapt.
And with one beat of her massive wings, dragon and rider were lifted into the sky—
the boy's cart flying after them in the wind.
__ __ __ __
After seeing Lord Dominic fly off from one of the balconies, the Queen turned away and made her way toward the council chamber. Three knights followed close behind.
They walked through the twisting labyrinth of the Castle of Croixdes Rêves. Paintings lined every wall—landscapes, distant mountains, portraits of the wives of ancient lords, and abstract pieces so distorted Meriam could not tell what they even tried to depict.
That was when a man came stumbling toward her in a desperate rush. Sweat rolled down his grey face in long trails, draining him of all color until he looked no different from Count Bernardo's corpse. At the sight of the Queen, he collapsed to his knees.
"My Queen," he said, his voice shaking so badly the words twisted.
"Rorschach is under siege."
The Queen's heart dropped.
"By who?" she demanded, the edge in her voice slicing through the corridor.
The man lifted trembling eyes to her, fear hollowing out any remaining sense of dignity.
"Asfrodos, my lady," he whispered. "They declared you killed Count Bernardo. Every ear heard it. Even the Crownless army is marching toward the wall."
It felt as if the stone beneath her feet shifted.
Should she send dragons?
No—she could not risk losing even one of the last three.
"Any voice of dragons?" she asked.
The messenger flinched.
"My lady… they say two were painting the land red."
The Queen closed her eyes for a heartbeat. If Rorschach fell, nothing remained on the edge of the Empty Sea to slow Asfrodos. Their armies could march straight into the Gold River and lay siege to all three golden cities.
At least Dominic was flying toward one of them.
"Send word to the Tall Forest and to Ventes," she ordered. "And begin moving the new weapons."
The man sprang to his feet and ran.
"My lady, will you still attend the council?" one knight asked.
The council?
She almost laughed. The only reason she ever set foot in that chamber was for appearances; those old men had nothing to offer but obedience dressed as advice. But she could not say that aloud.
"No, my sirs," she said. "I should return to my chambers. This news weighs heavily on me."
"Then we will escort you," the other replied.
At the doors to her chambers, the knights took their places on either side, stiff as carved statues.
"If someone comes for me, send him away."
They bowed their heads.
Inside, the chamber was wide and warm. A large mirror stood near the window, and a tall candelabra burned with red-tipped candles fading into orange. The bed dominated the center of the room. A man lay on it, reading—not even glancing up when she entered.
Long black hair hung to his shoulders, and a thick beard hid half his face.
When was the last time he called for her love? Meriam could not remember. She had known this man since childhood, but now he felt like a stranger. No emotion lived on his face. No words for their children. Yet she did not blame him. He had not asked to be born a mutant… and though she missed the old him, he was far more useful now.
She removed her clothes.
Unbound her hair, letting it fall to her waist.
Once on the bed she began touching him—his body all muscle, not a single trace of fat. She watched every muscle divide and shift beneath her hands. He did not eat much. Mutants rarely did.
"I want you," she said.
The man, who had not minded her touch, placed his book aside and moved on top of her.
Meriam felt her husband inside her.
She had always loved him.
For him, he had loved another woman—unfortunate, perhaps, but Meriam did not care. She always got what she wanted, even if it meant using her ability on everyone she cared for. Even if it meant the man she bore children with now carried no passion in his eyes.
As long as she was happy—
as long as her wishes came true—
nothing else mattered.
Darkness had forgiven her, she knew, for her mind was at ease with each new day.