Gemma Draconica

Chapter 1

A sleek black Mercedes Benz with dark tinted windows glides up a meandering, narrow, two-lane road to a royal estate deep in the French Alps.

At first sight, the palace resembles a formidable fortress with thick stone walls. A tall, rectangular tower stands in the center, rising several stories high. Its stone dragons and stained glass windows exude a gothic, medieval charm.

The car passes through the main gate before halting at the guardhouse. After confirming the chauffeur's ID, the vehicle continues up the cobblestone driveway and parks near a hidden entrance next to the keep.

Inside the magnificent castle, a flurry of staff darts back and forth across the bustling hall, engrossed in their daily chores.

Amidst all the activity, a tall, striking man walks across the room. Mischievous sparks flicker within his golden-brown eyes as he flirts with a passing maid. Blushing, she averts her eyes and continues on her way.

Another maid catches his attention, reciprocating his smile as they cross paths. Her eyes sweep up and down his massive form, admiring the way his muscular body fits in his impeccably tailored navy suit. Returning the grin, he gives her a wink.

This is Marcus Trevelyan Garrandon, Grand Chamberlain to HRM, King Alixander Alarie I, Dragon King of All Supernatural Creatures.

Outside a thick oak door, he comes to a halt and takes a moment to compose himself before pressing the entry button.

ALIXANDER

The glass shatters in my hand before I realize I've tightened my grip. Shards fill my hand, but all I feel is the urge to bare my teeth.

My vision is focused on Varina, Grand Duchess de Alarie. Her eyes narrowed. Her body rigid with tension. Power hums in the air between us, thick and suffocating.

"It's already done," she hisses, her voice as cold as the frost creeping over the window behind her.

I let out a growl, the dragon stirring beneath my skin, ready to shatter the brittle restraint of my decorum.

"Then undo it. You think I'm some pawn to be moved around a board? I'm the king, for fuck's sake."

Her lips curl in a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Yes, you are, but a king without a queen might as well be a boy playing dress-up with his father's crown."

My jaw clenches. The dragon in me flinches at her insult, a raw itch I want to claw out. The beast beneath my skin shifts, eager to retaliate.

"I'll make my own choices, Varina. I won't be a puppet on your strings."

She steps closer, her perfume—a sickly sweet blend of roses and death suffocating the space between us.

"You think you have choices, carus nepos (dearest nephew)? Any choice you had ceased when that crown was placed upon your head. Now, there is only duty."

The ground beneath my feet cracks. A ripple of power surges through the room. My drake roars, clawing to break free.

But then I catch sight of two humans by the door—hands trembling, eyes bulging with fear. They're just doing their jobs, powerless in the face of the raging storm between me and Varina.

Above us, the chandelier trembles; its chains rattle like a final warning before collapsing. Dragon-etched marble gleams under the shifting light. All this grandeur, the irony isn't lost on me—even kings can be prisoners of their crowns.

I step back and let the stewards move toward the fireplace. A soft clink echoes from the corner. Metal hooks drag across the wall as my father's portrait is lowered.