Page 11 of Courting the Dragon Prince

After a moment’s indecision, he turned and strode back the way he’d come. Then he turned a corner and headed towards a passageway that led out of the upper monastery.

Not long after, he found himself in the city within the outer monastery. The monks governed the White Monastery and the island on which it stood. But there were quite a few farming villages and a rather large port town on the island inhabited by those who’d not taken the monastic vows, shaved their heads, and donned the beige robes.

However, most of the individuals who lived on the island and were not monks resided in the outer monastery city. They worked as servants, bakers, tanners, saddlers, blacksmiths, silversmiths, basket weavers, brewers, innkeepers, and whatever it was a city needed. Still, they all lived beneath the monks’ protection and governance. Luther had a vague notion that many who lived on the island had been war refugees or descendants of refugees.

Luther strode through the weaving cobblestone alleys and streets. The sounds of string instruments greeted him as he approached a tavern, a place he’d visited several times since the assembly had begun.

He pushed the door open. The heat of the room, alongside the smell of sweaty bodies, smoke, and booze, hit him. Squinting in the darkened room, Luther made his way to the bar.

“Brandy,” he called out and placed a few coins on the stained wood.

The barkeep approached. A cigar dangled from between her lips. She placed a chipped, dirty earthenware cup in front of Luther and poured. Luther downed the drink and signalled for another. Then another. And another.

In the final cup, Luther sprinkled some shimex mushroom dust he’d bought from a herbalist at the White Monastery. He drank it down.

He’d asked for something to help calm his nerves, and this was what the herbalist had given him.

Turning, Luther moved towards the group dancing, comprised of city folk from all walks of life. A man gazed his way, smiling seductively. But whilst Luther gave him a brief smile, he otherwise ignored the man’s lingering gaze.

He hadn’t come here to fuck. Not tonight.

Everyone assumed Luther was always fucking around. That had once been true of him. But since the incident during the war, he’d been less keen to lose himself in sex.

Tonight, he’d come to forget himself in the music and movement of bodies.

Musicians plucked strings. A lady struck a tabor, keeping the beat. A man sang.

Luther linked arms with a woman. They swung each other round and round to the lilting melody. Then they released and moved on to the next person. They danced in a line, in a circle, or in couples.

Luther only vaguely knew the dances. But everyone was too drunk and too lost in the dancing to care.

The music washed over Luther, drowning out his thoughts and feelings. This was what Luther needed. To fly, to dance, to drink, or do whatever he could to keep his mind so overwhelmed and full that there was no place for the memories of the past or the problems of the present.

A few lanterns illuminated the space. Luther clasped hands with a young man, and they clomped along.

Mirth bubbled up inside Luther.

Was this a gift from the shimex mushroom dust?

Shouts of delight mixed with drunken laughter, music, clapping, and the thudding of boots on the wooden floor. Luther smiled, a real smile, one like he hadn’t given in a lifetime.

There was nothing but this moment. No past filled with regret. No future bound to an arrogant prick. No family who didn’t respect him. Nothing but the oblivion of the here and now.

Luther needed to keep moving, keep dancing, keep filling his head with drink and shimex mushroom dust. He went to the bar. He ordered more brandy, pouring the rest of the dust into the cup before downing it all. Then he returned to the dance floor.

Fatigue seeped through his veins. But still he danced on as the euphoria lit him up from the inside. His legs and arms ached. But still he danced on. His eyelids grew heavy. Still he danced on. He felt happier than he had in years.

Luther chuckled. His blood warmed, and his head buzzed. The lantern-light flickered on the musicians’ faces as Luther laughed giddily.

And in the split second before Luther blinked, every single one of the musicians swivelled their heads towards him, their eyes widening and fixing on him.

Luther’s feet stumbled. A woman knocked into him.

“Sorry,” Luther stammered, gripping her shoulders.

She giggled.

And when Luther looked back at the musicians, they all continued to play their instruments, absorbed in the music.