Page 21 of Courting the Dragon Prince (A Royal Arrangement #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

T wo days until the wedding.

Onyx’s boots echoed on the floor as he walked along the corridor in the section of the monastery provided for the Grey Mountains’ royal family.

Two days until the wedding.

Since the couple’s quest, almost two weeks ago now, he’d barely spoken to his betrothed. Sometimes, they’d been seated together at banquets and events. But Luther angled his body away and spoke to others, clearly not wanting to talk to Onyx.

Luther only spoke to him if completely necessary, and those were normally short and sharp sentences. Otherwise, he ignored Onyx entirely.

Since the quest, Onyx had replayed the events of the day over and over. He’d seen another side to Luther during the quest. He’d seen a competent, brave, and intelligent man, one who cared for others. He had traits Onyx could admire.

Every time Onyx meditated and tried to clear his mind, that night would invade his thoughts. He’d think of Luther’s laugh. Of his smile. He’d think of that brief moment when Onyx had hoped they might have a tolerable marriage.

Then it had all gone to hell.

Luther had suggested they go upstairs. He’d been hurt when Onyx turned him down.

Of course, Onyx had wanted to go upstairs with Luther. He should have explained his reasons better. He should have been mindful not to reject Luther so directly. He should have been less blunt at the very least.

Or perhaps he should have discussed his decision with Luther rather than just telling him why it should be that way.

Onyx sighed. He felt so out of his depth.

Why couldn’t he express himself properly? Why couldn’t Luther react less harshly?

Onyx wished he could go to his sister and talk with her about his problems. In moments like this, he missed her more than he could express.

His feet led him to the tearoom where his mother so often spent her days. She sat slumped on the settee. An empty glass stood before her on the table. Purple liquid coated the bottom.

There’d been a time he would have gone to his mother for advice. It was hard to remember in moments like this, but there had been a time when his mother had been there for him. Even when he’d trained at the Mystic Mountain Temple, they’d been frequent correspondents. She’d often sent him letters filled with advice, encouragement, and love.

Now his mother sat right before Onyx, yet Onyx missed his mother so much.

The day Tourmaline died, he’d lost the two closest people to him.

Onyx entered. “Morning, Mother.” Onyx sat opposite her.

After a moment, she turned her glazed gaze towards him. “Onyx,” his mother croaked. She smiled weakly at him. “How are you today?”

Onyx sucked in a breath of air. A spark of hope lit in his chest. This was new. She didn’t normally show any interest in him.

“I’m a bit worried, honestly,” Onyx confessed. “About my upcoming marriage.”

A crease appeared between her brows. “You’re getting married?”

Onyx swallowed his disappointment. “Yes. As part of the peace treaty. Remember?”

“Oh. Right.” She stared at the empty glass in front of her for several long moments. “I wish Tourmaline could have been here to see her younger brother get married.”

“Me too. Should we go for a walk, Mother?” Onyx asked, trying to distract his mother from dwelling on Tourmaline.

He didn’t know why he tried. Distracting her never worked.

“Tourmaline would have made an excellent grand warden. So competent and clever.”

“Yes. She would have been,” Onyx said. “Now should we check out the rock garden? The monks have done an excellent job creating one.”

“She would have been a wonderful ruler.” His mother turned her head and stared at the green wall, seemingly forgetting Onyx was even there. “A great ruler.”

Onyx clasped his hands tightly in his lap until he thought the bones would crack. It had been silly to hope that his mother might be aware enough to pay him any attention.

After several minutes, he rose. He didn’t bother saying goodbye.

What point was there? All her thoughts centred on the daughter who’d died and not the son who still lived.

Leaving the tearoom, Onyx considered returning to his room. Instead, he wandered the monastery, with no notion of where he walked. He just needed to keep moving. He left the Grey Mountains rooms and wandered the upper monastery.

He tried not to be angry with his mother. He tried not to be hurt. She was lost in her grief.

But Onyx was grieving too. He’d lost his older sister. He lost Tourmaline. Shouldn’t this be a time for him and his mother to rely on each other?

His vision grew blurry. He walked to a window that overlooked a garden. He didn’t want to pass anyone who might see the obvious misery etched onto his face.

Onyx forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths. The trees in the garden below blew in the breeze. His gaze turned to the sky. He wished he could see mountain tops. He wished he could gaze upon their magnificent forms and find some peace and strength in their beauty.

He closed his eyes and imagined the Mystic Mountain Temple, where he’d trained with Tourmaline. He pictured his sister on the day they’d both developed their abilities to use their powers. It had been unheard of for two siblings who weren’t twins to develop powers on the same day. But they’d always been close.

At their temple, there’d been a thin, tall tower made of stone. When a trainee used their power for the first time, they were allowed to climb the tower and ring the bell at the top. In his mind’s eye, he could see his sister running up the stairs ahead of him, her trainee robes swirling. They’d reached the top and stared out over the mountain tops and clouds drifting above them.

They’d walked to the bell.

She’d glanced at him and smiled. “Ready, brother?”

“Ready,” he’d said.

Their hands had met as they each grabbed the rope. They’d pulled. The bell had rung.

Onyx blinked back tears. The tower had been reduced to nothing during the war, and his sister was dead.

“I wish you were here today, Tourmaline. I wish I could talk to you and get your advice. You always understood people better than me,” Onyx whispered. “I’m sure you’d know how to talk to Luther.”

Onyx took a deep breath. “I will try and live up to your memory. I will try and do my best for the Grey Mountains. I will never be as great a ruler as you could have been, but I will try.”

Onyx would do what his mother did not seem to be able to do. He would fulfil his obligations. He would focus on what the kingdom required of him.

For the glory of the Grey Mountains.

Below in the garden, a necromancer stepped out. Onyx recognised Shadow Prince Wraith Grimm of Necros. Tall and lean with smooth, perfect pale skin and hair of midnight black, Shadow Prince Wraith had a fragile, deathlike beauty. He wore black robes lined with purple over a shirt of lace.

A hellhound, whose form appeared to be half-fixed, half-smoke, darted out, following at the shadow prince’s heels.

Onyx couldn’t help but take a step back. He’d never liked the necromancers. Never liked what they could do. Seeing the dead rise to fight had always repulsed Onyx. Even if those armies of skeletons and rotting corpses fought on their side, he still despised it.

The fact that the necromancers tended to keep how their magic worked a secret did not assist with building trust between them and the other kingdoms.

What even was a hellhound? The beast circled the shadow prince’s ankles.

He’d met Shadow Prince Wraith a handful of times. But Onyx usually kept his distance. He kept his distance from all the necromancers.

Suppressing a shiver, Onyx continued to walk through the White Monastery, taking turns and not paying attention to where he went. He just walked and walked.

Warrior monks standing guard nodded as he passed. Absently, he nodded in return. He wandered through a long passage. Then another. He took turns and let his feet lead him. For what felt like hours, he walked.

He lost himself to his thoughts and to his fate.

Finally, he looked around. He realised he’d never been in this part of the monastery before. He kept walking.

In a room he passed, he saw several monks bent over large tomes. They did not glance up at him. The sounds of chanting echoed down the corridors. He assumed the chanting was in Lorentath, an ancient language used only by the monks, which they learned when they joined the monastery.

Onyx entered a large hall. The walls had been painted white. Large windows ran along the walls. Rows of wooden pews faced where the grand monk stood.

The grand monk stood before him. “Warden Onyx.”

“Oh. I apologise for disturbing you, Grand Monk,” Onyx said. “I was just blindly wandering the monastery.”

“And you wandered to the lower monastery?” The grand monk raised his brows and smiled.

“Oh. I hadn’t realised.” Onyx glanced around. “Sorry.” The lower monastery was the part of the monastery where the monks resided. That explained the simplicity of the furniture and rooms. And it explained all the monks. And the chanting.

But if he was in the lower monastery, that meant Onyx had wandered straight through the middle monastery without even noticing. That part of the monastery was dedicated to the Dove Healing Academy, where many from the different kingdoms travelled to learn healing magic from the monks.

“It is no issue. You are welcome to visit all parts of the monastery. But not many of our esteemed guests come to this part. And you do not disturb me.” The grand monk gestured to a large scroll lying before him on a wooden table. “I am merely gazing upon the scroll of the Monks of the Way of the Dove. Have you seen it before?”

Onyx shook his head. “I have not.”

“Do you wish to look upon it now?” the grand monk asked.

Onyx wanted to say no. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. But as his mother had once said years ago, a grand warden needed to build good diplomatic relations with others. And here was an opportunity to develop a potentially useful relationship that could benefit the Grey Mountains.

So, instead of making some excuse to slink away, Onyx said, “I would,” and approached the grand monk and his scroll.