𝙌𝙐𝙀𝙀𝙉 𝙊𝙁 𝙁𝙄𝙍𝙔 & 𝙁𝙐𝙍𝙔 - 𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡

CHAPTER ONE

Upon her first flight with her dragon, Romilei Ardithian learned quickly that clouds were not as fluffy, soft, and inviting as she had expected. As a child looking into the sky with all of the naive nature of a hopeful and curious girl reaching for the stars, a passion blossomed. The flight that had solidified their bond had seen her returning to the royal rookery outside of King's Peak shivering, drenched, and speckled in ice, the young girl of ten learning that flight was far more bone-chilling and moist than she had expected.
Dexos, the massive mount of her late fraternal grandfather Cadmus, had flown her through an oncoming accumulation of clouds high above the mountains that harbored her families keep, the lavender and gray beast never heading to the fearful yet awe-inspired howling of the Scion as she clung to whatever frills and horns she could get ahold of on the dragon's back, all while looking through slitted eye lids between the she-dragon's curved horns on her giant head.
That flight had been well over twenty-seven years ago. Yet, she could recall their first flight together as if it'd happened yesterday. Dragon bonds length the lives of Ardithian riders exponentially, as well as slowing the aging process. Thirty-seven years old with the appearance of a young woman not a day passed twenty, Romilei contained all of the magic that remained strong within the bond of dragon and rider baffled the Aketnan scholars and small-folk alike.
Dragon-back had been the start of an obsession that the heir had never been able to quench; flying was her addiction. It became such a well practiced activity by the girl that her other duties as a royal and as the Scion of House Ardithian were often neglected. Even as the future Queen of Aketna, her time on dragon-back was something that had to be monitored for quite some time, particularly by her king- father, Aramis II. Otherwise, Romelei might have very well abandoned her responsibilities as the heir to her kingdom to explore the world by way of her dragon's wings.
Her affinity for flight was precisely the reason she flew with fur lined leathers to keep her warm even during the hottest of summers, and a specially made mask to protect her face from the harsh, rushing wind. The air not only grew thinner and harder to breathe the higher one flew, but it became frigid as well. Gloves always covered her hands and she made sure her saddle was always well oiled and maintained by the stable master. The Scion perhaps maintained her saddle and doted on her dragon more than anything else.
The mask in particular served her well as she and her dragon dove toward the city below like an arrow falling from the sky, the mountain's shadow looming over the seemingly endless expansion of buildings that slope away from its base. The wind roared in her ears and her hair whipped behind her as she braced into the saddle, allowing for the horn and slope of the leather to divert the force over her body.
The harsh, stabbing wind of late winter would typically turn a person's skin pink and sodden with moisture and biting pain, as a rider on a horse would experience during a long gallop, but the beautifully crafted mask resting against her face of her family's colors, gold and malachite, served her well enough.
Riders of House Ardithian always wear their masks, the practice becoming a well known symbol of the family as well as a part of their sigil, which donned a black dragon and mask with a field of bisected gold and emerald respectively. They were particularly prominent in war, when the Ardithian's once descended on their enemies with the blank expressions of a natural cruelty before their dragons unleashed plumes of incinerating flames. In the texts written by scholars that told their history, some of her ancestors were said to don masks of spine-chilling expressions resembling foul, blood-thirsty demons to strike even more fear into their enemies.
Rider and mount dove, and the city seemed to grow closer as the layers of clay shingles and stone chimneys became visible the lower they dropped.
"Watch for buildings," Romilei teased mentally down the bond she shared with her dragon.
"I know how to fly, thank you," Dexos replied annoyed, a huff from the dragon audible over the roar of the wind.
Before they came too close to the buildings, Dexos spread her giant wings with a quick swoop, the sound similar to that of a flag suddenly catching in the wind as she caught them both onto a steady coast over the city. Under her mask, the Scion grinned, knowing the small-folk likely saw their lives flash before their eyes anytime an Ardithian dragon came plunging toward them. Romelei had been scolded by her father many times for the fear that she often instilled into the inhabitants of Desrin, a complaint that was often brought forward to the court.
Above, a deafening roar drew her masked face toward the sky above where her fathers dragon, Anubin, gracefully descended from above. A beast nearing three-hundred and fifty years old, Anubin was the largest of the Ardithian dragons, as well as the oldest. He sported a crown of horns upon his giant head that was befitting of the mount of the King of Aketna. The scholars of their country had not known an older or larger dragon for as long as written records had been kept of House Ardithian's great fire-breathing beasts. Once side by side and wing tip to wing tip, the colossal beast of charcoal and crimson made Romelei's  mount look small in comparison, but the two dragons flew next to each other in steady cruise over the city with ease.
Catching sight of her fathers masked face of the color of charcoal, he jerked his head toward the rookery that sat on the flank of King's Peak that held their keep, the area nestled between a large hill and the mountain basin. With a nod of understanding, the Scion goaded Dexos to veer left in the direction of the rookery.
Soon enough, Dexos was landing within the perimeters of the open space of the rookery with giant swoops of her wings before inevitably thudding on the ground, giant legs and clawed paws causing depressions in the earth.
Pulling away her mask, the young woman looked to her mount with a smirk.
"Try not to give the keepers too much headache, yes?" The Scion spoke with her mind to the dragon. Dexos' bright orange eyes blinked slowly, but a flare of her rows of fangs were enough to gain a chuckle from her rider.
"No promises," was all that Dexos replied with, a tinge of playfulness on her tone, producing a flick of her frilled tail trailing behind her.
Communication between rider and mount could be done in different ways, sometimes by feelings and intention alone. It never required any words of the common tongue or even the elder language that was spoken by the Fae that the varying countries of Orientma used to hold political ties with long ago, a language her family learned from a young age by way of tradition.
But more often than not, they preferred talking. The bond made it easy enough. 
"I'm going to hear at least a dozen complaints from the supplicants in court tomorrow after that trick you just did," Aramis II exclaimed as he made his way toward her from across the landing space, his charcoal mask gripped in his gloved hand. Clad in fur-lined flying leathers much like hers, her father rolled his eyes and grinned despite his complaint.
"They'll always have something to complain about," she quipped as she looked from him and back to Dexos, who was beginning to make her way toward her lair that was tucked away deep within the rock of King's Peak, the tip of her frilled tail slightly dragging on the dirt. Soon enough, the dragon-keeper designated to feed, guard, and care for their mounts would be depositing the day's catch for the dragons to feast on: perhaps a half a dozen large sharks, which were harvested from just off the coast that the mountain faced when the dragons themselves didn't go hunting.
"You are right, but I'm still allowed to complain about it myself," Aramis smirked at his daughter. Light banter was never far off from any conversations she had with her father. Their closeness was perhaps one of the best qualities about the relationship she shared with him.
Father and daughter began to make their way toward the carriage that waited on the road that descended down and away from the valley and eventually led to the keep, where it sat carved into the mountain like a labyrinth. Large enough to house the entirety of Desrin within its two-hundred bedrooms and dozens of common chambers and apartments, King Aramis's court lived comfortably within the walls of the stone keep that was rumored to be haunted by ghosts of the past, or so the tales that circulated within its walls claimed.
Romelei and Aesira, her younger sister, grew up hearing stories from their father at bed time. Sometimes even going as far as to venture as far into the keep as they might risk. It was unknown just how far the reaches of the keep went into the mountain it inhabited, some saying there were rooms and chambers untouched since its creation well over five hundred years before.
As they arrived at the carriage waiting for them, Romelei stepped inside to find a seat on the cushioned bench opposite of where her father found his place. The doors closed at the behest of one of the king's guard that would escort them to the keep, the Scion leaning into a comfortable position as the carriage began its descent down the hill. Romelei looked to her right to peer out the window and toward the city below, the docks and the sea looming just passed it in the distance. The sun was beginning its early descent, as the days were short in the winter months.
"Alek has been particularly trying as of late," the Scion stated, looking back to her father after thinking of her younger brother and the nightly dinner they were on their way to attend. Aleksander, the only child born of the current Queen Consort of her father, Sereniz Bacila, had inherited much of his mothers personality. Pampered, entitled, and pretentious, Romelei's seventeen year-old brother's one redeeming quality was his loyalty to their house and family. His pride in being an Ardithian rivaled that of she and Aesira.
"He's young and does not have nearly the same life experience you do," her father replied with reason. "You are twenty years his senior. You had mastered the flame and dragon-back before he could even walk."
She rolled her amber eyes. "True. But he seems to think his lack of a dragon is everyone else's problem."
"He has a lot to learn. Lead by example and he will follow," her father suggested. He titled his head, smirking. His amber eyes glinted with a sort of loving admiration. "He looks up to you, you know this. Show him what it means to be responsible and patient and he will grow into a smart, well-versed man who will help protect Aketna at your side once you reign. Teaching him to tend to duty is the best thing you could do, my sun drop. Which you could do by fulfilling your responsibilities as Scion."
She cocked a brow, her own amber eyes narrowing. "And what do you mean by that?"
With a click of his tongue, he said, "We've had this conversation so many times within the last ten years I'd thought you'd know anytime I was trying to bring it up," he was being serious, but seemed to by playing it off light-heartedly. "I've given you more than enough time to mature and live your life. You need to marry Romelei. As Scion, you will be Queen upon my death. As Queen, you will need your own Scion, which you can only produce with a King consort. You know how this all works."
She sighed, leaning back against the pillows of her seat to sit in a very much unlady-like way, legs somewhat splayed and her arms crossed over the leather riding doublet she always sported when flying on Dexos. A lady's manners were never a quality associated with the Scion, at least not when she was comfortable. The gossip that circulated amongst the court ladies gave proof enough.
"I'm thirty-seven," she muttered. "I'm not even a quarter the way through my life. A husband can wait, and so can heirs."
"The people of our kingdom are lucky enough to make it to your age," her father countered, annoyance beginning to lace his voice. "With their mortal life spans and the ailments of health that affect them in consideration. Just because we are blessed with our dragon-bonds and the benefits they afford doesn't change the fact that we can die just as easily as any other person. All it takes is a knife to the throat or an arrow to the chest."
The dragon-bonds made up for long life spans they lived, a whole other subject that no one was sure how it came about. The dragons and their magic were responsible for the family's longer life spans, but no one knew where their ability to wield flames came from. Yet, any born member of their house could produce a flame strong enough to torch a ship. On the contrary, the Fae that handled in Lorterran themselves could level a city with their power, it was said.
"Which is why I need an heir," she sighed the statement, knowing his words held true.
"The gods forbid you were to pass, or either of your siblings, our house would be in jeopardy." He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose.
"What about cousin Lydia? She has two sons. They have Ardithian blood just as much as I—."
Aramis' face hardened with frustration as he cut her words short with an aggressive shake of his head.
"You're avoiding the point I am trying to make, Romelei," he muttered, his light amber eyes, with the way the setting sun from the window shadowed half of his face and filtered through their irises, almost unsettling to the Scion. "I'm not talking about our cousin's sons. I'm not talking about all of these other alternatives you seem so worried about. I'm talking about your duties as Scion. The duties that you have been well aware of since you were a child."
Her amber eyes focused on her leather clad thighs, fingers gripping into the painted wood of her flying mask. She wanted to curl up and disappear. Angering her father was on the short list of things she truly did try to avoid. His disappointment was a consequence she couldn't bear, not when his word was law to her, literally and metaphorically. She had known her responsibility as her fathers heir but the weight of what it meant always intimidated the woman for as long as she'd been able to understand it.
"The dragons would have no command without our hand," he continued to speak, his tone a little gentler. "They are intelligent, yes, but their nature is guided by chaos, by hunger. When they do not have bonds, they revert to their primal stasis. They would wreak havoc on this world. Cities would burn, thousands would die. We are the only known individuals who are capable of controlling the dragons. That is why our dynasty is so important."
She understood her fathers words and hated that she did.
"Heavy is the head that wears the cobalt crown, the hand that wields the ashen sword," Aramis murmured, his gaze focused out the window of the carriage on nothing in particular. The years he'd ruled were obvious in his shoulders and thin lined lips, which he bit on with his teeth. "You have a long time before you will carry that weight yourself. I only wish to prepare you and help you protect yourself."
Rom knew her father meant well, that he only wanted to prepare her, but the weight she bore as the future Queen of Aketna was no less impending.