Chapter One

Muirgen stared at the tapestry on the wall—the first Dragon, Sir Baleigh of Cornwall, raising his sword high against the dawn of a new day. The defeat of the Tuatha De Dannan.

“You must find a new Dragon,” Uthyr said, his giant hand over her small, delicate one. Yet still she did not take her eyes from the woven rows before her.

Years. It must have taken years to complete such a work of art. From design to shearing to dying, then finally weaving. Dedication, passion, and hard work.

Be strong, Muirgen.

She nodded finally, turning her head to look at the strong soldier whom she had known since birth, his face lined and beard beginning to turn gray.  He had always been at her mother’s side, and since her mother’s death, was at hers. The dragon emblazoned on his chest a constant reminder of his duty—to protect her at all cost.

“I am old, Muirgen,” he whispered, as if the words pained him to say aloud. “The Northmen are focusing their attacks in a way we have never seen. You need someone with a younger mind, a younger body, to be by your side.”

She scoffed, hardly able to look him in the eye. “You are in the prime of your life, Uthyr.”

He grimaced, and she felt the deep regret that lay below his calm exterior. “The physician disagrees with you, my Queen.”

She knew it wasn’t his choice to leave her, but still. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the tears that welled up. He was the only father she had ever known, her own passing before her first birthday. The thought of losing him was unbearable. Yet she knew he was right, and finally, reluctantly, nodded.

He took her hands in his own, stroking the insides of her palms with his wrinkled thumbs. “You are the daughter I never had,” he said carefully. “That will not change, Muirgen. I will still be here.”

She sighed, trying to smile. “It won’t be the same.”

He pulled her into his arms in a squeeze so tight she could barely breathe. “I know.”

She felt the fine thread of his emotions die as he slammed down his mental door, locking his feelings and thoughts behind it as he always did to maintain privacy. She glanced up at him, surprised he had responded to her thoughts—he usually insisted on maintaining his distance. He pulled back, moving a respectful distance away and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ll need to pick someone strong,” he said, now firmly back to business. “He’ll need to manage the physical and emotional responsibilities of being Dragon. And navigate the political avenues of the realm.”

She grimaced. “I think all hope is lost on that account, Uthyr.”

"Yet another reason I have to step aside," he said with a shake of his head. "Perhaps the next Dragon might do better than I have done."

"Ever the optimist," she noted with a cynical smile.

His glower only served to make her smile grow. "You know I am not."

Muirgen’s smile died, her stomach jerking as she realized that soon the quiet moments of silly banter with him would be over. She pushed her feelings aside and focused on moving forward. “So how do I choose?”

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Traditionally there is a tournament.”

She pressed two fingers against the bridge of her nose, staving off the coming headache. “Fine. We’ll need to get invitations sent out and arrange the event.” She turned to him and added, “I assume you will know how best to plan it, since you were crowned victor last time?”

He smirked. “I’ll attempt to remember what happened...it was 30 years ago.”

Muirgen laughed, “Good. I’ll leave the planning to you then. Call Dain.” He pushed his back off the wall and strode to the door, opening it to murmur something to his men waiting outside. Her stomach pinched as she watched him. His men trusted him. She trusted him. How was she ever to find someone as experienced, as trustworthy, as kind. An unshakeable ally.

When he shut the door again he frowned at her, sensing her thoughts. “Stop worrying.”

Muirgen shook her head, trying to clear it, but failing. “I don’t know how.”

He grimaced. “You need to learn better control, Muirgen. You’ve had three years to adjust, and yet your control is no better than it was on your first day.”

She waved a hand at the familiar complaint. “I’ve had other things to worry about.”

The corner of his eyes tightened at her dismissive tone. "Yes," he replied patiently, "but when the new Dragon takes the oath, at least one of you will need to have the control to stop the flow." They both knew it would need to be her--it would be impossible for an inexperienced Dragon to master the ebb and flow of the link so quickly.

She sighed in relief as someone knocked at the door. Saved from another lecture on the subject. She knew that she had to get better at controlling what went through the link. Uthyr had told her multiple times that the onslaught of her thoughts and feelings constantly was not only exhausting for him, but embarrassing. There were just some things that one needed to keep to themselves. But she hadn’t felt like she had enough time to even relax, never mind focus on controlling the link.

“Come,” she called, forcing herself to relax.

The Royal Event Planner and his team filed into the room, bowing to Muirgen at her desk. "You summoned, your Majesty?" Dain asked as he straightened.

"Please, have a seat," Muirgen replied, smiling and gesturing to the room's ample seating. "We have much to discuss."

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By the time she finished explaining what had to be done, going over the wording of the announcement and having Uthyr detail the events, she felt drained. A new Dragon. Of course, every mother would be overjoyed, their strong, soldier-sons puffing out their chests in readiness for the events that would raise them to overdue distinction.

“And for the dinner arrangements, my Queen, I was thinking…”

Muirgen raised a hand, cutting Dain off. “I think for now we have planned enough. Let us wait for replies to the invitations before getting too ahead of ourselves.”

“But, my Queen, you said you wanted the events scheduled for next week,” Dain squeaked, before clearing his throat and continuing, “We must prepare lodgings, entertainment, meals, everything before they arrive.”

“Which they shall not do for a week,” she said firmly. “Request the reply be as expedited as possible—two days hence. Then we can plan.”

“Two days?” the man asked, his face red and splotchy. “That will not give them the proper amount of time to reply.”

“Their first test then,” she said, slapping a sweet smile on her face. “The new Dragon will need to display quick thinking and decided action. Disqualify any applicants whose replies are late.”

“We must attend to other matters,” the Dragon added, knowing all too well which meeting they had to head to next. The thought made her stomach churn.

The man nodded, hurrying to write down a quick note before standing. He graced her with a feverish bow and a hesitant, "My Queen," then took his leave, the rest of his people filing out after him. Muirgen frowned after him. Dain was good at his job, but that suggestion to invite only the highest ranking officers smacked strongly of Lord Anders. Muirgen could only speculate as to how many of the council were influencing the man with coins and whispered hints. Her fingernails bit into her palms in frustration. If the council didn’t trust her even to preside over organizing a tournament, it wasn’t a wonder they questioned her every other move.

Uthyr held the door open for her, frowning as he felt her irritation and discontent feeding along their line of connection. Muirgen walked out first, tugging an escaping blonde curl back into place. The two soldiers at the door closed it behind the Dragon, trailing a respectful distance behind them as they made their way through the castle to the meeting hall.

“A ball?” Uthyr asked, his voice light as he made fun of her, trying to turn her thoughts to more favorable things.

She groaned. “At least I talked him down to one rather than one each night!”

“He was determined.” He cast a sidelong glance at her. “And right about needing to plan. We’ll be playing host to every male in the kingdom who owns a sword.”

She straightened her back as the door to the council chambers came into view. “And we have other things to worry about.”

The Dragon held the door to the hall open for her, the two soldiers taking their usual post outside the door. Muirgen swept into the room, her head high, mouth in a disapproving, tight line. Be strong.

“My Queen,” one of the lords in the circle said, leaping to his feet, as did the rest of the table. “We feared you had been detained.”

“So I was, Lord Anders,” she said with an incline of her head that allowed them to return to their seats. The Dragon took his place at the table and she took the head, staring down the two rows of seats. The men at the table met her gaze--her supposed allies in hard times, though she would be hard pressed to truly trust the Council of Lords. “I have news. Uthyr will soon be stepping down from his position as Dragon, and we will hold a tournament to find his successor.” She cast a hard eye around the table. “I hope to see each of your sons in the event.”

Several of the lords nodded eagerly, their eyes bright, schemes burning within. She bit the inside of her cheek. The vultures would circle lower soon. They already doubted her ability to rule, and now with such a prominent position opening… Having any of their sons as Dragon would only drag her further into their schemes. She tasted blood and let up. Her mother was a charismatic woman—everyone she met had loved her. The Lords had followed behind because they respected and liked her. She had tried for years to be the paragon her mother was, dining with them, trading candied words. But it was painfully obviously that she had not inherited her mother’s gift. Too quick to temper, her tongue was more leather than silver. And the Lords had taken full advantage.

“The Northmen have landed in Greensbury,” Lord Tristan said, bringing the attention to himself.

Muirgen bit her tongue. Close. They were so close. Getting braver each time. Her stomach pinched in fear and worry. She glanced at Uthyr, his features were unmoved, though she could feel the slight hum of tension through their link.

“Have they withdrawn?” she asked, folding her trembling hands in her lap to keep them steady.

“They have,” Lord Anders replied, tugging on his graying mustache. “But the devastation they left in their wake…the monastery is in cinders. They took many higher officials captive and all the gold stored within.”

Her hands were sweating. “The Dragon’s men will help transport a relief force to the villages affected. Food, clean cloth, any builders and healers willing to lend a hand.” Under the table her hands folded together in prayer. Let them be safe.

“Something must be done,” Lord Beven said, pounding a fist on the table. Muirgen turned toward the sour-faced man, raising an eyebrow at his outburst. He didn’t care about the attacks. As long as he was safe, he couldn’t care less what happened to the towns suffering attack. But the attacks did provide the man with a rather convenient opportunity to question her authority and elevate himself in the eyes of the council. “Our people are suffering, plagued with fear every time a town near them goes up in smoke.”

Her stomach flared with anger and the injustice of his insinuation, but she forced herself to focus on something else to regain composure—his too fine coat. It was made from velvet, embroidery along the edges, and a heavy, jeweled brooch on one shoulder. She took a short breath when she could speak without her voice shaking, “We will take each conflict in turn,and deal with them as we must.”

“We are patching holes,” Lord Beven insisted. “We must be proactive, or you will not have a kingdom to rule.”

She could feel Uthyr loosen his hold on his mental wall, steadily feeding her confidence and patience. It did nothing to lessen the stony gaze with which she pinned Beven. She bit back what she wanted to say, though the look on their faces as she shouted and cursed at them surely would be amusing, and instead settled for a calm tone, “What do you suggest, Lord Beven? No one can predict where they will land. Sometimes we go months without an attack, then several in the span of one month. Their attacks against us remain so unorganized that they are impossible to anticipate. Or do you suggest that we bring all our kingdom here, under safe lock and key?”

“An alliance must be made,” he said, his eyes burning into hers.

Muirgen froze, goosebumps rising on her arms, not at all liking the direction this conversation was heading. Her mind went blank as she tried to think of a way around this. There was none. “An alliance? You want us to make offers of peace? They do not know the concept.”

Lord Beven templed his fingers on the table, smiling condescendingly as he explained, as if to a child, “Their leaders have banded together under one, and those closest to him say that this king of Northmen is looking for a wife. He seems to think agreeably upon an alliance between our countries and would sign a treaty of peace following the birth of a child.”

The selfish fools. For three years she had tried to win their trust and loyalty. To make them realize they needed some alternate idea other than outright war with the Northmen. It was a war they could not win. And they had found their solution, but the idiots had no idea what it could cost them.

Her stomach boiled, rolled in waves of anger and helplessness as she stared at Lord Beven. He wasn’t even bothering to be subtle. He knew he had trapped her and he was relishing it. How long had he kept this information to himself, waiting to use it to his advantage? She couldn’t go to the north—it would risk everything, every human life, that was what they asked of her. “Why is this the first I am hearing of this?”

Lord Beven cleared his throat, “I did not want to bother your Highness with such rumor until it had been confirmed. I did not have time to tell you before today.”

“And yet you had time to negotiate on my behalf?” she asked, her voice quiet as death. Their eyes widened at her tone, glancing at each other in surprise. It wasn’t just Lord Beven. They had planned this together.

“If we cannot predict their attacks, what other option is open to us?” Lord Tristan asked.  

Muirgen looked around the table, at each of their faces. Some had the decency to look abashed, but most stared her down, reveling in the delight of trapping her. She felt so small, sitting with each of the council members staring at her. She dug her fingers into her palms, despair slowly winning over anger. But she would be damned if she let them see her cry. She worked her tongue between her teeth, biting hard to distract herself.

Uthyr leaned forward, his anger spilling over into clipped tones. “The Queen will think upon your suggestion. This meeting is done.” Slowly, too slowly, the Lords left the room.

One of the soldiers poking his head in to check on the Queen and the Dragon as the last of them left. Uthyr stood, going to the soldier. “A few minutes more. Let no one in,” he instructed.

Muirgen stared at her hands as they blurred. Three years of forging and buying alliances. Three years of patching the damage of the Northmen. Three years of trying to help her people, while protecting them from the truth. And this is what it had come to. The door closed, and Muirgen couldn’t hold back the hiccups that ripped themselves from her. Uthyr pulled her upright and held her tight against his chest as she sobbed in desperation.

Author Notes:
Hello everyone! I began writing this novel September 2016, and am excited to let someone other than my close friends and family read it. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. The next chapter will be posted in two weeks, on May 16th. Until then, re-read, leave a comment, or follow me on social media. Thank you so much for reading!

Credit given to:
Photographer Fenix Fox
Models Bill Cozumel and Melody Olander
HMUA Kiersten Carson
Costumes Dark Moon Designs (me)