Abisai
The kingdom's entrance emerges through the mountain mist.
Only dragons can see it. To any other being flying over this point, there would be nothing but rock and clouds and emptiness. But I know it by heart. The invisible threshold that separates the human world from ours, that line which, when crossed, makes the air change in weight and temperature and scent.
I cross it.
Zabina clings tighter to my back as the landscape transforms abruptly.
Anwar.
The mountains rise on either side like ancient sentinels, black and jagged, their peaks lost among the clouds. The kingdom's walls follow their natural contour, built into the mountain's very stone. They are high, inaccessible, smooth halfway up and then covered in dark vines that climb without having been planted.
I fly low so she can see everything.
The first clans live on the northern mountain slope. Their houses are embedded in the rock, white and spacious, with veined marble walls brought from the interior generations ago. The vines climb the facades and creep through the open windows. There are no small doors in Anwar; everything is built for two forms — the human and the other — and it shows in every arch, every entrance, every plaza that opens between the buildings.
There are temples. Three that I can see from here, with their black stone columns and open roofs to the sky because dragons do not pray under shelter. The figures carved into the columns represent the first ones, the ancestors, with wings spread and mouths open toward the heavens. They have stood for centuries and still intimidate just the same.
Below, Anwar's inner forest borders the river that crosses the kingdom from north to south. It is dense and dark; only the River Clan dragons know how to move within it without getting lost.
And above all, above the clans and the temples, above the forest and the walls, stands the castle of the great emperor.
It rises on a rock that juts from the heart of the kingdom. Its towers are black, its windows enormous, filled with light at this hour, and from here I can see the reflection of the precious stones embedded in the facade.
Below, spread at the castle's feet, the kingdom thrives.
The plazas are full at this hour. Dragons come and go in human form.
From above, they seem small. From above, Anwar seems eternal.
I hope Agur is still alive.
I descend toward the main plaza.
It is enormous, paved in polished black stone that reflects the sky like a mirror. Tall columns surround it, pairs of them, with dragon figures embedded in the stone — not the ancestors of the temples, but the emperors with their names carved at the base in the ancient language. My father is on the last column to the right. Agur will be on the next when the time comes.
I don't have a column yet.
I land gently in the center of the plaza.
The guards stationed at the columns lower their spears and kneel in a single, clean, coordinated line, heads bowed, eyes fixed on the ground.
I wait for her to dismount and transform.
The silence that follows as I regain my human form lasts exactly as long as it needs to.
I turn to Zabina, who remains standing where I landed, her cloak on, her eyes scanning the columns, the figures, the walls, the castle on the rock. She says nothing, but her expression says everything.
"Welcome to Anwar," I say.
She remains still, as if treading on mined ground. I extend my hand to her. She looks at me with those timeless eyes, and at her hesitation, I take her hand in mine and hold it firmly.
"You're with me. Don't be afraid."
I walk through the plaza with my head held high and her by my hand. The guards rise and take their posts.
Levin appears before me. He is the commander of my personal guard. My best friend.
He bows.
"I was beginning to worry, Prince."
His eyes rest on Zabina, who hides behind my back, and it draws a smile from me.
"Drop the formalities when we're alone, Levin. Tell me about my brother."
He inclines his head, and I don't need him to answer. My throat dries, and I grip Zabina's hand tighter.
"Take my guest to my chambers."
"Sir."
"I'll give you specific orders later. Maintain total discretion. I'll go see my father. Meet me in our hall in half an hour."
I turn to Zabina.
"Go with him. I'll find you later."
She doesn't answer. Her eyes rest on Levin and then return to me.
"Will you be long?" she whispers.
"Don't be afraid."
She smiles.
"I'm not."
I look at Levin, who is still staring at her in disbelief.
"Come on, man," I urge.
"Follow me, miss."
Zabina walks behind him with her head down.
I enter the Onyx Pavilion.
My father is meeting with the elders. They are seated on the floor, in their white tunics and bare feet. My father is not wearing his crown. He is dressed like them.
I remove my shoes and enter the sacred space.
"Father."
They look at me.
I bow to the elders.
"Abisai." He stands and walks toward me.
He embraces me and sobs against my shoulder.
"He's dead. My son is dead."
I clench my fists.
No. It can't be. I brought Zabina to heal him. He should have held on longer. He shouldn't have died and left me with this burden.
"Father."
"Tonight I will announce his death. His body is being prepared in the temple. I've already sent letters." He pulls away and looks at me. "You will be my successor, son."
I take a step back.
"Father. The hunters entered the kingdom with the help of a dragon."
He turns his eyes to the elders before looking at me again.
"On my mission, Corin turned against me. He murdered Rader. He set a trap for me. A healer saved me from death. Corin was with the hunters, and I fear our secret must already be spreading from mouth to mouth among the humans."
"What you're telling me is very serious."
"Give me permission to investigate thoroughly. Corin wasn't working alone. I sense other dragons were with him."
"You're suggesting a conspiracy against my lineage, Abisai. Agur's death was no accident…"
"No, Father," I interrupt. "My brother was murdered."
The silence that follows is the heaviest I've known in this pavilion.
He looks at the elders for a long moment.
"This matter does not leave these walls." He looks at me with a frown. "Permission granted. Investigate with discretion. I need our enemy to remain confident."
I turn my back to meet with Levin and my men.
"Abisai."
I stop. I don't turn around.
"The leader of Mordur is coming to the farewell ceremony. He's bringing his daughter."
I clench my fists.
"Prepare to assume your responsibilities."
I keep walking.
After speaking with my men and laying the first threads of the hunt, I enter my chambers.
I look for her. She's not there.
Then I hear the water.
I walk slowly toward the bathroom. The door is ajar. I stop at the threshold, not pushing it, not announcing myself, not doing what I should: turning around and waiting on the balcony like a decent man.
I don't move.
Zabina is inside the stone bathtub, her eyes closed, her dark hair loosely tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her hands rest relaxed on the edges.
She is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And I've seen many beautiful things.
I swallow. I know I should leave now, before I do something foolish and irreversible. But my feet refuse to obey, and she remains unaware of my presence.
Then she stands.
The water slides down her body. My eyes trace her without permission: the pronounced curve of her waist, the generous line of her hips, the soft outline of one of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. The wet skin glows under the golden light of the torches.
The blood in my veins heats in a way I know well, but now it carries a different weight, one that's hard to ignore.
I've seen many naked women. It's never been this hard to look away.
She turns slowly.
And then I see it.
Between her breasts, resting against her damp skin, lies a silver gem. Dull at the moment, almost opaque, like a common stone anyone would ignore… if they didn't know what it truly is.
I know what it is, and that freezes me.
Desire vanishes at once, replaced by something far more complex. My mind pieces it together at full speed: the scent I could never identify, the magic that closed a kirys wound in seconds, that question in the forest…
"Why did you kill the white dragons?"
The way she looked at me when I told her I owed her my life.
I step back before she can discover me.
I return to the balcony and lean my hands on the stone balustrade. The cold wind of Anwar strikes my face. I welcome it. I need it.
Zabina is a white dragon.
I hear her barefoot steps inside the room. The bathroom door opens. When I turn, she's in the doorway, wrapped in a light robe that clings slightly to her still-damp skin. Her loose hair falls over her back in dark waves, and her cheeks are flushed from the steam. She looks at me with shyness and adjusts the fabric over her chest.
"How long have you been there?" she asks softly.
"I just arrived," I lie.
She holds my gaze a second longer, then crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed.
The silence between us has grown dense, charged with something she doesn't know and I can no longer ignore. Now every word I say will carry a different weight.
A white dragon. Probably the last. Alive, hidden, surviving alone in a forest full of hunters who would have sold their souls for the gem she carries on her chest.
I can't let her go.
Not now that I know what she is. Not now that I understand what has had me obsessed since I woke up in her cabin isn't just that she's beautiful, or that she intrigues me, or that impossible scent she carries.
It's all that… and so much more.
"Did you speak with your father?" she asks, tucking a strand behind her ear.
"Yes."
"And your brother?"
"He's dead."
She blinks, surprised.
"I'm sorry."
"Zabina…"
"Yes?"
"Are you hungry?"
She smiles softly.
"Yes."
"I'll have food brought to you… and clothes."
"I'd appreciate that."
I look at her a moment longer. Then I force myself to turn and head for the door before I do something foolish. I need to think.
"Abisai. Wait."
I stop with my hand on the doorknob.
She's standing. She tries to say something but doesn't.
I let go of the door and walk toward her.
I tangle my fingers in her still-damp hair, close my fist gently, and pull her toward me. Our bodies meet first, then our mouths.
When she exhales a trembling sigh, I respond with hunger.
The kiss becomes devouring. My tongue seeks hers, exploring, tasting, claiming. I kiss her as if I want to drink her soul drop by drop, as if the world might disappear the moment we part. One of my hands slides down to her waist, pressing her against me, feeling the heat of her body through the thin robe. The other remains tangled in her hair, tilting her head just as I need to kiss her deeper, more intensely.
She trembles. A small sound escapes her throat. I kiss her harder, until the air between us grows scarce and hot, until only she, I, and this kiss exist.
And the most dangerous thing of all… is that she lets me.