Page 4

Raelan

I HEAD HOME AT THE first opportunity. These days, it’s not often I have much time off from my duties at the castle. But it’s a beautiful spring day, warm enough for me to wear only a lightweight long-sleeved tunic, and it’s the perfect opportunity to visit my family.

And to tell them of my new assignment.

I opt to walk into town rather than riding—I could use the movement and the fresh breeze. It’s calming to me, helps chase some of the heat from my skin, and I need that.

Ever since being trapped in the king’s study with Princess Alina, I’ve found myself—and my dragon—more restless than usual. At night, I see her face, imagine what it might feel like to push my hands through her long blue hair. Once, I dreamt of undressing her one layer at a time, then claiming her as my own.

When I woke, I was covered in sweat, and my dragon was raging at the chain around my neck, fighting to get free, to get to her. I was so bothered that I had to go practice my swordsmanship in the moonlit courtyard until the sun rose.

So, I’ll walk. And I’ll feel the cool air on my face. And I’ll not think of Alina.

At least, I’ll make an effort not to.

It’s a short walk, and the cobblestone streets keep my boots from getting muddy. Everyone I pass smiles or lifts a hand in greeting.

After a long cold winter, it seems we’re all grateful for the sun on our faces and the heat upon our backs.

When I arrive in Wysteria, I find the town bustling. Shopkeepers sweep their shopfronts, children chase hoops down the streets, and there’s the sweet scent of baked goods in the air. I follow my nose to a little café called the Wandering Cup and open the door for a woman on her way out. She passes me with a grateful smile, and then I step into the building. Inside, the air smells of coffee and cocoa, with a slight hint of cinnamon sugar.

My mother loves this café, and I’m selfishly hoping that bringing her one of her favorite chocolate-strawberry croissants will soften the news I’m about to deliver.

The woman behind the counter takes my order with a smile, and I wait patiently as she begins gathering up the baked goods, enjoying the sunlight streaming through the big front window.

It’s hard to believe I’ll be headed to Coven Crest with Alina in a few short months. Classes at the academy start in late August, but because she’s a first-year, she’ll be expected early, to move into her dormitory and get settled on campus before the older students return. We’ll be there until her winter break, at which time we’ll return to Wysteria for Yuletide celebrations.

If I survive that long.

I reach up and touch the chain around my neck; it’s warm to the touch, as it always is when I think of the princess.

“Here you are, love,” the shopkeeper says, pulling my attention away from the window and my thoughts of the academy. Her brown eyes sparkle in the light coming through the front window, and she tucks a strand of short brown hair behind her ear as she leans forward with her arm outstretched. Behind her, in the kitchen, a young woman with pale lavender hair works on frosting cupcakes with focused intensity, not even glancing up at me. The women have the same light brown skin—mother and daughter, perhaps.

I take the paper bag from her hand and thank her before heading back out into the spring-warm streets.

My boots clip across the cobbles at a brisk pace. I turn onto Kingfisher Crescent and sidestep two children running down the road. They giggle as they pass me by. Then my strides slow without me meaning for them to. I clutch the paper bag tightly, though I’m careful not to crush the croissants and pastries inside.

I hope she takes this well . . .

The seamstress’s shop where my mother works has the door propped open, and I pop my head through to say hello to Celia, the owner. She’s with a customer, but she waves when she sees me, her hazel eyes crinkling in the corners. Then I take a breath and head up the side stairs to the apartment above the shop, each step feeling heavier than the one before it.

Almost as soon as I knock, the door goes flying open, and my youngest sister, Gilda, squeals and launches herself into my arms, almost making me topple backward down the stairs. It’s a miracle I save the pastries from being squashed by her.

“Who is it?” Mama calls from the back room.

“Raelan’s home!” Gilda yells in return.

I pick her up with one arm, then step through the door and push it closed with my boot.

Inside, the air is pleasant, and one of the windows is opened wide, letting the fresh spring breeze twirl through, sending the drapes billowing.

Though small, this apartment is the nicest place my family has ever lived. When the king discovered my secret ten years ago, he made me a deal: He’d house my family in Wysteria—and help me control my magic—if I agreed to become his page and serve the kingdom of Elarwyn as part of his guard. At the time, my family and I were barely making ends meet, and my mother struggled to feed the four of us. My father was already gone by that time, and I was working as a delivery boy for a few shops in town, scraping together every eldertoken I could in an effort to help feed my two younger sisters.

The king’s offer was a blessing. I wasted no time taking him up on it. And true to his word, he moved my family into this apartment as soon as I started my training as a page. My mother and sisters have lived here for ten years now—it’s the only true home they’ve ever known.

And I will do whatever it takes to ensure it stays that way.

Mama steps out of the back room, where she and my sisters sleep. Her long dark hair is pulled back in a low bun, with a few tendrils hanging loose around her face. When she reaches up to push a strand behind her ear, her fingers brush the deep scars etched into her bronze cheek. The scars reach from her brow down to her chin, and she’s blind in one eye because of them. They’ve been there since I was a child, yet I still take note of them every time I see her. The scars are a reminder of why the chain around my neck is so important, why I have to be careful with the beast that lurks inside me. Because if I’m not, if I lose control of myself for even a moment, I could hurt someone I love. Or worse.

“Raelan,” Mama says, opening her arms wide. “Come here. It’s been too long.”

Still holding Gilda, I kick off my boots, then pad across the room to wrap Mama in my other arm. She smells of linen and rose, just as she always has. Breathing her in helps to calm the worry in my heart.

“Where’s Clarice?” I ask as I straighten up, my gaze flicking to the bedroom in search of my other sister.

“I sent her on a few errands. She’ll be home soon.” Mama sniffs the air, and then she spots the bag in my hand. “You didn’t!” she says happily.

“Of course I did.” I hand her the bag, and when she opens it and a puff of sweet-smelling air comes out, she sighs .

Then her eyes—one dark brown, the other milky from the injury—snap toward me. “Wait a minute. Are you trying to butter me up for something?”

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve never been able to pull one over on my mother. Seems that’ll never change.

I set Gilda down with a sigh, my smile falling. Then I nod once. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

MAMA’S CHOCOLATE-STRAWBERRY CROISSANT SITS ON a tiny porcelain dish, untouched. It has since lost the warmth it had when I left the bakery and no longer steams in the sunlight slipping through the window in the kitchen. Gilda, though, finished her blueberry-vanilla pastry within moments of me handing it to her. Now she’s in the sitting room, a book open on the floor in front of her. She has her chin propped in her hands and kicks her bare feet while she reads, unaware of the seriousness of the conversation happening in the kitchen behind her.

“Can you refuse?” Mama asks, worry coloring her tone. “Perhaps the king will pick someone else.”

I give a firm shake of my head. “I tried. But His Majesty picked me for this personally. It’s set in stone. We leave in August.”

Mama lifts a thumb to her lips and bites her thumbnail, her forehead furrowing. Her gaze darts to Gilda, then back to me. “I don’t like this, Rae. You know you have to stay away from her. How are you going to control yourself when you’re in such close proximity to her? ”

My mother is the only person who knows of my mate connection to the princess. She knows how these work—she was, is , my father’s mate. And she’s one of the reasons I know I have to keep my dragon in control around Alina.

All it would take is one moment of weakness, and I could scar Alina the way my mother is scarred. I could kill her.

I barely know Alina, have only spoken a few words with her, yet my stomach twists at the idea of marring her beautiful face, of hurting her in any way.

The same goes for my mother and little sisters. Anyone close to me could be hurt if my dragon broke free for even a moment.

I reach up to touch the chain around my neck, hidden just beneath the collar of my tunic. The metal links are warm where they rest against my skin, heated from the inside out by the magic that dwells within them. If not for this chain, I don’t know what would happen. I don’t know who I’d hurt.

“I can do this,” I tell my mother, catching the chain with my thumb and lifting it above my tunic so she can see it. “It’s never failed me. The king’s witches are powerful. I trust their magic.”

“Even so,” my mother says, dropping her hand from her face so she can reach across the table and place her palm atop my hand, “what of you? Even if your dragon is contained, you will still want her. No magic can change that.” Her lips pull into a slight frown. Perhaps she’s thinking of my father.

My whole young life, they were good together. They laughed and talked and danced at night after I had gone to bed. Papa was good to me. He taught me what I was .

But his most important lesson to me came on the day he snapped, the day he accidentally let his beast free and scarred my mother’s face and half of her body, nearly killing her in the process. Then he left, choosing to abandon us rather than endanger us with his dragon. I know now that he didn’t mean to harm her, but as a child, I couldn’t comprehend why someone would hurt the person they love.

Now I understand. I know how it feels to unfurl my wings, to feel the earth crumble beneath my mighty claws. I know my power, an unthinkable, unstoppable power. And I know that without the magic wrapped around my neck, I’d be a slave to the beast inside me, unable to contain it, unable to control it.

My feelings are small in comparison.

Yes, being around Alina is painful—excruciatingly so—but I will bear that pain if it means my dragon stays contained and my mother and sisters get to continue living here, in this quaint little apartment over Celia’s shop, drinking tea and eating croissants and watching the snow fall while knowing they’re safe from the cold.

I will not make my mother worry for me. She does quite enough of that already.

I draw myself up at the table, filled with determination.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell my mother, placing my free hand atop hers. “It’ll be no different from the past three years. She’s a princess, and I’m her knight. I will do what needs to be done.”

“Raelan—” Mama starts, but she’s cut off when the apartment door opens to admit my middle sister, Clarice. Her dark brown hair has mostly escaped her long braid, and she has to blow it out of her eyes as she steps through the door, hands full with bags from whatever errands Mama sent her on.

My little sisters don’t know of my dragon, nor do they know of Papa’s. They were too young to understand why he left, and they didn’t inherit the shifter gene. So, as far as they know, I’m just their big brother, a knight at the castle, the one who brings them croissants and pastries whenever I visit.

One day, when they’re old enough to be trusted with my secret, I’ll tell them the truth. Until then, it’s safer for all of us that they don’t know.

And with Clarice home, there will be no more talk of dragons and bonds and magic.

“Rae?” she says as she pushes the door closed. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s breathing hard from carrying all the bags up the stairs, but that doesn’t stop her from sprinting the few steps to the kitchen and throwing her arms around my neck.

As I hug her back, I meet Mama’s eyes.

And I just wish they didn’t look so troubled.