The Dragon Prince's Flower

chapter 11

Daegon stalked his way through the castle, the ivory stone reflecting the moonlight in the air like an ethereal caress. Tapestries lit by candle sticks dotting the edges depicting several historical events through Regalis, the founding, the crowning of several important royal ancestors, a portrait of Diemetra stood atop her dragon mate raising a scepter of stars in the sky. Daegon stopped to admire the portait, specifically the depiction of Mel-Quien. His silver and black scales flowed down his body. Every dragon hoped to be as beautiful and powerful as him, but none achieved it. Dragonkind split into many different types, ice, water, fire, even smoke and light. But Mel-Quien was a dark dragon. His breath created fog, thick and black. Any human caught within it would ultimately suffocate and die, riddled with a poison that rendered them unable to even move until death. There have been no dark dragons since Mel-Quien, and the Elders preferred to keep it that way. They were the ones that witnessed the carnage Mel-Quien was capable of with their own eyes.

Daegon did not understand the need for such shame, Mel-Quien made history. He made the night sky with his darkness, and Diemetra pocked it with stars to remind the humans she was always watching over her kingdoms. A perfect union, history would say. The Elders knew the difference, he supposed. He moved past the tapestries and into a dimly-lit hall that led to a spiral staircase, ascending it with a single purpose. He could feel her haze of sleep within him, drifting through his body like a soft mist as she fell deeper and deeper asleep. He smiled to himself, deciding to sleep with her. His future wife. Tonight would be the first of many nights he'd get to be by her side, and he hoped he'd never have to let her go. His very soul ripped itself apart by the mere thought.

As Daegon ascended the remaining stairs, he was met with a pair of guards standing on either side of the doorway, hands on sword hilts.

"The Princess is not receiving visitors." The man on the right said, a flicker of familiarity rested under his voice. Daegon squinted at the man, his scruffy brown beard hid the gritted jaw underneath, his skin well-aged by the sun with freckles dotting his cheeks and nose under dark grey eyes. Was this the guard who came for Daliah in the field that day?

"And you are..?" Daegon asked as he continued to assess the guardman.

"Ser Arture Yarrow D'Reghinal. I am the Princess's assigned knight." He said firmly, eyes boring into Daegon's.

"I am Daegon Drake, Daliah's betrothed. I am allowed in, as per the agreement made with her father, King Rhoam." Daegon said equally firmly, not breaking from Arture's gaze.

"You would do well not to sound so familiar with the Princess." Arture said, shifting his stance to be prepared to attack Daegon.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Misandi's voice cut through the air like a dagger, spearing Arture into freezing.

"You heard him, he's the Princess's beloved. You answer to her, which means you also answer to him." Misandi stood by Daegon, crossing her arms and glaring at Arture. He gritted his teeth and stood down, loosening off his sword hilt.

"Go on, brother. I'm here to  "chaperone'" she said, nudging Daegon toward the door as Arture opened it for him, his knuckles white against the handle

"Princess?" Daegon called into the room softly, looking around at the ornate room, golden candlesticks mounted on the walls, marble floors and wide, tall arched windows formed around the semi-circles shaped room. A fireplace stood on the opposite end from her bed, a canopy draped over the platform and bed from the ceiling, and behind the sheer white curtain, he could see her sleeping.

Daliah's foot dangled off the side of the bed, she hadnt even bothered to take off her dress. She must've been exhausted from the ordeal in the library. Daegon looked at Misandi,