Page 5 of Heart of the High King
Chapter 3
1370 AD
Draconis Court of Varius, Market Day
“We have much to sell today; we should make plenty of coin,” Noirin said as she loaded up their table with fresh food from her brother’s remarkable garden.
Aleksander was assisting while trying to drown out the comments people made loudly as they walked past him. Those that were not murmuring about the cursed king were staring at him so intensely, he wondered if they could see his thoughts. It was unnerving and happened each time he left his land. Somehow, the differences in his dragon had spread far and wide after his father had kicked him out, and he’d had the misfortune to be in the castle the night the emperors were murdered. No matter what court the D’Vaires journeyed to, it was always the same.
“They never give us enough room,” Larissa bemoaned as they laid out the dragonskins she’d worked. The colors in their court were remarkable, and they sold nearly all the shedded scales their beasts provided, only keeping the barest essentials for themselves. Although people liked the rarity of the D’Vaire dragons, their family no longer bothered putting Aleksander’s out for sale—they’d never found a single customer interested in his two-toned skin.
“He’s over here,” someone shouted. Aleksander did not have a moment to collect himself before someone spat on his once-clean boots, then threw something solid at his shoulder. “Get out of here, you freakish fiend!”
“Your Highness, come ’round the other side of the table,” Noirin ordered sharply as she tried to shoo away the oafs ruining Aleksander’s day.
Although Aleksander wanted to obey her command and seek shelter under the tent, he was frozen. The clown who’d spat at him had gathered more people to gawk and curse at Aleksander, though the roaring in his ears prevented him from hearing the words clearly. His hands shook as his heart raced in his chest so loudly, he feared it would explode. Rigidity seized him, making it difficult to breathe as terror rushed into his brain. Would they gather up weapons next, and could he find the strength to survive their attacks?
Sweat rolled down his face, and he trembled as his fright rose to a level that he wished to run from, but he was still unable to move. There was no way to know how long he stood there with his back curled to protect himself from whatever blows might rain upon him, but when a hand was laid on him, his entire being clenched.
“Aleksander,” Noirin whispered as she rubbed his spine. “Just get some air into your lungs, love.”
Gritting his teeth, he wanted to do as she said, but it seemed impossible. All he could do was summon enough air to barely remain upright.
“Move on,” Brogan shouted at the people laughing and calling Aleksander horrid names.
“You heard His Grace; return to your stalls,” Dravyn roared.
“You see this?” Madeline yelled. “It’s a hot poker fresh from my fire. If you wish me to stick it in your backside, then do stay close.”
“Oh, that’s well done. You’ve scared them off,” Larissa told her mate.
Noirin’s palm was warm as she continued to move it over his cloak, and Aleksander managed to get a full breath, though it was shaky. Tears escaped from the eyes he’d squeezed shut as Aleksander’s brain kicked into gear. Shame flooded him; he’d made a spectacle of himself by locking up when Fate had supposedly picked him to lead a court.
“You’re fine, Aleksander, just keep on breathing,” Noirin coaxed.
Lifting his head, he was finally able to gain some control. Her fingers went to his face to wipe away the wetness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as his heart continued to pound heavily and panic still raced through his mind.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Noirin stated in a brisk tone. “Now, you’ve had a fright. Are you able to walk yet? Let’s get you ’round the table.”
With some aid from his cousin, he managed to get under the canopy of their small tent stall and sat heavily on the stool they’d placed inside. The fabric around him provided protection from what still felt like a million eyes prodding into his soul.
The side of it was whipped back, and Brogan soon filled the space. “What happened? You had such dread on your face.”
“I know not,” Aleksander responded in a soft voice that sounded hoarse to his ears. Exhaustion engulfed him as he struggled to get his wayward body under control. “I was overcome with fear, I guess.”
Brogan let out a huff. “These fools carrying on about you simply because you’re different. I fail to understand the logic.”
Dravyn gently shoved Brogan so he could see Aleksander; then as usual for the shy dragon, his gaze dropped to the ground. “There’s no need for us all to be here. I was planning on going to our sleeping tent. I think it would be quite safe for you to join me.”
“Good idea, Brother,” Noirin responded. “Brogan will have the hard work of guarding us ladies to sell our goods.”
Madeline lifted the flap on the other side and stepped under it. “We will have a good day. I see no reason why we cannot return home tonight. Dravyn, you and Aleksander can pack up the tent. We fly home as soon as we’ve sold the last vegetable.”
“I’m a king; the other courts will expect me here,” Aleksander said.
“Bah, do you see any of the other kings joining the dragons they send to sell their wares?” Noirin asked. “No, they trail through midday to buy their ladies bits of lace or get meat pies. You need not worry about expectations.”
It was probably cowardice and proved that Fate had erred in making him a king—one hated and feared throughout dragonkind—but Aleksander rose to his unsteady feet.
