Page 87 of A Song of Shadow and Starlight

"So, you don't need magic to rule Tronovia?"

Atlas leans his shoulder against the wall and brushes hair out of his face. "The first born, magical or not, takes the crown. When Ronan becomes king, he will be the first fire wielding ruler since our great grandfather."

"That's incredible! And you said your father is a magic wielder?"

"One of the most powerful, too. It's funny," he chuckles, "for two unmatched fire wielders, you'd think they'd have at least one son with a fire affinity."

I take a step toward him and gaze into his tempting green eyes. "It seems the Celestials blessed their unwavering love with three gifted anomalies."

"Perhaps."

Nyx, who has been quiet this entire time, makes a grunting noise behind us. When we turn around, he's staring at a portrait, puffing his chest up, mirroring the posture of an elderly man dressed in a military uniform.

"Nyx?" My eyes bounce between the youngest Harland and the old man with white, bushy beard chops. "What are you doing?"

"Could he look any more constipated?" he shakes his head.

"Who is he?"

"Hell if I know." Nyx shrugs, dropping the mimicked stance.

"That is our great grandfather and Nyx's namesake: General Nicodemas Delaney. It's rumored he was the last of the Tronovian dragon riders before the fire breathers disappeared."

"Disappeared?" I cross my arms over my chest. "Or went extinct?"

Atlas shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's a very good question. We unfortunately don't know."

A clock chimes in the distance and Nyx says, "We've given Rone enough time. Let's not piss Uncle off even more by making him wait."

I reluctantly follow the brothers up a second grand staircase at the end of the corridor and we make our way down a long hallway that has windows flanking either side. The hall dead ends where double doors with the crescent moon emblem is carved. The attendants dressed in impeccable green uniforms reach for the door handles.

This is it. This is where I discover my fate.

I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath as the doors fly open.

Twenty-Five

Idon'tknowwhatto admire first. Like the Harland brothers' kitchen, the throne room has black and white checkered tile floors that gleam in the late-morning sunlight pouring through the floor to ceiling windows on the right side of the room. Forest green banners with the gold crescent moon of Tronovia are draped along the left wall where eight armed guards are stationed. Three gold chandeliers hang from the wooden A-frame ceiling and a long carpet leads to the dais where Ronan is standing in a dark green military uniform with gold medals pinned to his lapel.

When our eyes meet, Ronan smiles and winks, but what he means to be reassuring doesn't instill a feeling of safety. I'm more nervous now than before.

As we draw closer, I force myself to look at the king of my enemies lounging on a green velvet cushioned throne with gold trim. Ronan is the spitting image of his father. They have a similar build and share the same dark hair and brown eyes. But unlike the prince's fashionable stubble, King Soren has a full, salt and pepper beard. Circling his head is a simple gold band for a crown and his green military coat boasts dozens more medals than his son's. A fur drapes across his shoulders giving him a rugged appearance and even though he's sitting, authority and power oozes from him. I'm surprised to find that his eyes are kind, his smile warm, and when I bow before him, he hops to his feet and flings his arms wide open, as if he's welcoming a long-lost friend.

"Princess Ilaria, it is truly an honor to welcome you to Tronovia," his voice is as deep as it is soothing and seems to put my nerves at ease. "We haven't had a Midorian walk these halls in three hundred years."

I return his smile and easily slip back into my courtly pleasantries. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Highness. Your city is truly breathtaking."

"Well, coming from you, that is certainly high praise." His beaming grin fades and his eyes narrow as he focuses on Atlas and Nyx. "Although, I am sorry your visit is not of your own volition. It seems my nephews have poor judgment. Believe me, they will be dealt with for the unpleasantness you have suffered."

The nightmare of Vesper torturing Atlas flashes in my mind and even though I'm positive the king would never persecute his nephews in such a brutal manner, I feel a strong urge to protect them and say, "I'm afraid there must be some misunderstanding, Your Majesty. I assure you, I am here in Tronovia of my own free will. Your nephews have been excellent escorts and have done so with honor and respect."

The four men exchange dumbfounded glances before all eyes once again rest on me.

"Do you mean to tell me, you were not kidnapped and brought here against your will?" the king asks.

I laugh, hoping I can sell this performance. "Pardon my laughter, Your Highness. That couldn't be further from the truth. I found myself in need of knowledge from your infamous library and your nephews graciously extended an invitation to visit your city for the information I seek."

The king quirks an eyebrow before turning his skeptical gaze to the brothers. "Is that true, Atlas?"

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