Page 21 of Court of Secrets and Flames (Dragons of Tirene #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

Flanked by two of his guards, King Jasper appears, elegantly decked out in a royal blue tunic with gold trim. From his expression, I can’t tell which version of the king is in the house right now…the sharp-eyed royal who doles out harsh punishments or the smiling older brother he shared a glimpse of yesterday?

That’s another thing the Barda men have in common. Both Knox and his brother demonstrate a big talent for flipping between hot and cold.

My heart sinks. Between my recent death scare and the soreness in my back muscles, I’m not really feeling up to playing a role.

Mustering as much poise as I can manage, I navigate the cobblestones, fighting against the unfamiliar weight of my wings to answer the king’s directive. Wind gusts into my feathers, ballooning them like sails again while I struggle to maintain my balance. Onlookers’ heads shift and mark my short trek to greet their monarch.

“Your Majesty.” I don’t need to fake my breathlessness. The feathered appendages poking out of my back feel like they weigh as much as a small dragon.

The nobles cluster closer, peacocks draped in finery and arrogance.

Another gust of wind catches me off guard, sending me stumbling to the side.

Someone from the crowd titters. “Such grace.”

Heat suffuses my cheeks.

I don’t see who mutters those sarcastic words, and I have to stifle the laugh bubbling in my throat. I know I must look ridiculous, but come on, cut me some slack. At age nineteen, I literally just grew two new limbs.

I wonder if that same person would mock a toddler who just learned to walk for tripping.

Although, to be fair, most toddlers could probably walk with more grace than I’m currently exhibiting.

“Ah, Lady Lark. What an eventful morning you’ve had so far.” Jasper’s eyes gleam as they trace my wings from tip to tip. He’s definitely in full king mode, but I’d like to believe his smile is at least somewhat authentic. He peers into the crowd and raises his voice. “Our wings are a gift, the feature that proves us as true Tirenese. If any of our citizens questioned Lady Lark’s heritage, there can no longer be any doubt.”

Murmurs follow, and I see several heads nodding in agreement.

The king continues addressing his people. “When our children’s wings first come in, we host a yearly feast to commemorate the occasion and honor our ancestors. Through no fault of her own, Lady Lark was stolen from us by our enemy at an early age, and whatever they subjected her to there delayed her manifestation. To welcome her to our beautiful kingdom, let’s salute Lady Lark and show her what it means to be Tirenese!”

With a flourish, he unfurls his majestic wings in a whoosh of air. Snowy white feathers laced with streaks of gold and vibrant green extend like a beacon behind him, the span and coloring a testament to his noble lineage.

A hush falls over the courtyard. When no one moves to join the king after several long seconds, part of me wishes I could sink into the ground or hop onto Dame’s back and fly away.

I remind myself of what Knox told me back at Flighthaven…that not caring what other people think isn’t always a bad thing. Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin, but even my personal growth can’t stop the little ball of sorrow from forming beneath my ribs.

Then, a ripple of motion spreads like wildfire through the assembled Tirenese.

With loud snaps, wings all over unfurl to create a symphony and riot of color and sound. In a domino effect, more and more wings burst free.

Pride washes over me, extinguishing my earlier sorrow and allowing a seed of belonging to sprout a little more when each new person joins in.

A gleam of silver catches my eye. I track it to find Knox airing his massive wings. Agnar and Blair stand on either side, Blair honoring me with soft blue feathers accented by darker markings and Agnar with his copper-colored hues.

Even the dragon tenders and servants join in, a cascade of various shades bursting forth, filling the space with the soft rustle of feathers.

Surrounded by this living kaleidoscope, emotion clogs my chest, and my nose starts to burn. Tears mar my vision, each droplet blurring the spectacle before me. The colorful splendor whispers to me of ancient magic, and for the first time, I wonder if maybe I’m meant to be here.

“Beautiful.” I spin in a slow circle, amazed as I soak in every detail. It’s a moment of pure wonder, a bond shared across bloodlines and titles. The distraction of power struggles and betrayal lifts, leaving me adrift in a sea of awe.

“Aren’t they? I’ve seen so many wing salutes over the years but it just never gets old.” A stately, older woman whispers close enough for only me to hear. “Your coloration is beautiful, dear. Suits you perfectly.”

Lost for words, I bob my head in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”

“I’m Duchess Breann, by the way. It is such a joy to see you’ve finally come into your birthright.”

I lean in, curiosity piqued by her warmth. “At what age do they usually appear?” My voice is barely audible above the rustle of feathers.

“Late puberty for most.” She wrinkles her pointy nose, which makes the slight bump on the bridge more pronounced. “I suspect the delay in your case was due to some sort of magic suppressant.”

A shiver runs down my spine. “You suspect correctly. I took tablets to keep my magic at bay. I thought I was doing it because my ability was too strong to manage as a child, but in reality, I’m not sure that’s the case.” Another reminder of my long overdue discussion with Mother. “If not for the recent chain of events, I might never have learned the truth. I might never have…if the prince hadn’t…I…”

Pushing between the king and me, Duchess Breann wraps a thin arm around my quaking shoulders. “It’s okay. Slow your breathing. We understand. That is why Prince Knox was sent to save you.”

I startle. Save me? Could that possibly be true, or is this revisionist history at its finest?

The whole time I was at Flighthaven, Knox never even hinted about my wings—or his for that matter. And even if Knox did save me on behalf of King Jasper, I seriously doubt altruism was the motivating factor.

The more I learn about my former life and homeland, though, the less sure I am about everything. Regardless, Knox still lied to me. He also used my feelings for him to facilitate his mission and slept with me, more than once, under false pretenses.

Those facts remain undisputed.

“Should you need assistance with learning to fly,” Duchess Breann rises to her full, regal height and stretches her own wings, a cascade of silver and emerald, “seek me out or ask one of your maids. I’ve helped my children and their children deal with this change. I would be happy to help you as well.”

Her kind offer and generosity touch me, relieving my momentary panic. “Thank you.”

King Jasper’s voice cuts through the murmurs, commanding my attention. “Lark, would you mind sharing how your wings first made themselves known to you?”

Squirming a little under all the attention, I launch into a quick recap of my morning. Chuckles erupt as I describe the absolutely terrifying manner in which Dame encouraged my wings to materialize, and how I prayed to Ziva as I fell through the sky. Emboldened by the crowd’s seemingly positive reception, I even share how I’m convinced both Dame and the birds flying past were poking fun at me.

I can’t help laughing myself over the absurdity of the whole thing.

The king waits for me to finish. “Dame? Is that what you call the female dragon you rode in on?”

My cheeks light on fire. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I never learned her true name, so I came up with something to call her on my own. I meant no offense.”

Jasper waves off my concern. “None taken. Many of our dragons are unnamed. You’ve met the dragon Prince Knox rides, Tanwen, I’m sure. He’s one of the few with a name. Why Dame, I wonder?”

“She’s almost ready to clutch. Two eggs.”

My words draw out even more gasps as excitement ripples through the courtyard.

A pleased expression softens the harsh edges of Jasper’s royal mask. “And what about her mate? The orange dragon. Did you name him as well?”

I bob my head. “Yes, Your Majesty, I named him Chirean for the flower. The way he opens up to me, one tiny petal at a time, until the full, intricate, and beautiful bloom is exposed.” Happy sighs follow my explanation. I shrug, causing my wings to tilt as I accidentally activate muscles I’m still not used to. “Also, he’s orange like the flower.”

No need to include the tiny little detail of the flower’s Aclarian origins.

The king takes my hand and raises it to his lips. “Truly, Tirene is a blessed kingdom. May the gods continue to smile on House Barda.”

Whispers of awe and speculation about my sudden emergence into dragoncalling weave through the air like tendrils of magic.

“Such a strong bond,” a mustachioed noble’s voice carries the weight of grudging respect, “to have a brooding dragon confide in her.”

“And a mated pair! Just like the stories of old.”

The silken rustle of wings underscores her words.

King Jasper steps closer, the regal spread of his gold and green streaked wings casting a shadow over me. The glance he bestows upon me is part satisfaction, part apology. I frown, not understanding the silent message until his announcement comes.

“Now, you already know I shared a story the other night about how Lark was stolen from Tirene as a young child, but what you don’t know is that I left off the best part.”

Goose bumps pimple my flesh. I really, really don’t have a good feeling about this.

“What I didn’t tell you is that my father, King Rex, came to an arrangement with Lark’s parents shortly after Lark was born.”

While he pauses for effect, my horror grows. Ziva save me. This better not be headed in the direction I think it is.

“Agreeing that we would make an excellent match, King Rex betrothed Lark to his oldest son, with the understanding that once she came of age, we’d be wed. Obviously, circumstances messed up the timing, but I’m happy to announce that the wedding plans can finally commence.”

The world tilts on its axis as the full weight of King Jasper’s story starts to register and my suspicions prove correct.

Murmurs sweep through the crowd, voices slowly rising. Faces gawk at me as the king’s declaration sinks in.

Holy shit. Me, marry Jasper? Become the future queen of Tirene? Please tell me this isn’t happening.

This. This is the secret he’s been keeping from me. I knew there was something. I just never would have guessed in a thousand years what.

Oh, but it gets worse as the king continues.

“And if Lady Lark is half as good at bearing sons as she is at taming dragons, perhaps the gods will smile on House Barda even more and grace our royal family and kingdom with future generations of dragoncallers!”

While the crowd roars, my stomach churns like I just ingested a raw goat. What the actual fuck? Disgust and anger inject me with the desire to beat the ever-loving snot out of someone, except I can’t because that someone is the godsforsaken king.

My fingernails gouge my palms as I crane my neck to meet Jasper’s eye. Since I can’t beat him upside the head or start cursing that I hope his babymaker falls off, I do my best to call him out with the force of my glare.

Just when things were starting to look up too.

I guess the other shoe finally dropped.