Loren stopped beneath one painting. It was of a man with dark hair falling to his shoulders, dressed in a fine red and black suit emblazoned with a single lion. He had kind, joyful eyes, and what skin was showing bore no mage markings. He looked like a gentle, understanding man; while the portraits of obvious mages had a malice and madness in their smile. Loren’s mouth fell open as she realized whose portrait it was: she had seen him before many years ago. King Aerius Dagan, Haedria and Seraphis’s father.
The princess was roughly pushed along again and she staggered on a few steps. Hamilcar grunted something about being late, but much of the bandit’s earlier bravado had disappeared. He kept glancing uneasily at his men and his captives, shifting his weight and tapping the handle of his axe. He didn’t want to be there any more than Loren did, she realized.
Guards hauled open a large pair of double doors, revealing a long hallway decorated even more oppressively than the last. Columns of firestone were erected along the hall, emanating a soft red-orange light from cracks that ran spider-like inside the otherwise black stone. More of the bronze braziers blazed with flame, burning steadily and not flickering like a normal fire. Attendants stood with their heads bowed, carefully avoiding anyone else’s gaze, and men and women wearing heavy metal collars rushed about bearing platters of food and drink. Their collars and tanned skin marked them as slaves taken from the Eastern Shores.
At the far end of the room stood a towering throne upon a dais. It gleamed with the same light as the columns, having been hewn and carved completely from the firestone from within the mountain. Standing at the dais, her hand on the hilt of a sword, stood Seraphis. The warrior princess wore leather armor exposing her midriff and bore a red cape that covered one shoulder. Her expression was grim as she watched one of the common folk from the city below, kneeling before the throne. One the other side of the throne was a slave girl from the Eastern Shores, sitting on the floor and waiting patiently, her head bowed.
Seated on the throne was Queen Haedria.
The queen sat with her legs crossed, leaning back and resting one arm on the armrest of the throne. She listened to the commoner’s impassioned pleas with a bored expression, her piercing dark eyes long glazed over with disinterest. She rested her chin on her fist and bore the man’s pleas with thinly concealed impatience. She held out her hand to her side, and the slave on the floor immediately moved closer. The woman put her head in the queen’s lap, letting Haedria slowly stroke her mane of soft brown hair.
Loren couldn’t help but stare at the young queen. Haedria’s deep red hair cascaded past her shoulders and down her back, hanging like a curtain of blood over her black sleeveless gown. Her skin was pale, and the mage markings swirled up and down both arms, the pattern disappearing somewhere past her nape. She was the most marked mage the princess had ever seen, and Haedria looked so much like she did when Loren saw her years ago as a child.
The man kneeling on the floor droned on and on, his forehead pressing against the cool stone of the throne room. He was saying something about the fields, how crops planted there now refused to grow, and perhaps the queen could use her magic to help. Haedria sighed, tired of listening. Her eyes wandered the room, passed over Hamilcar and his band entirely, and found Loren in the crowd.
The queen’s grin stretched from ear to ear.
Haedria stood and descended the dais, slowly and deliberately. Seraphis snapped to attention once she saw her sister move. The man on the floor rambled on, speaking more to the floor than to the queen of Sagna.
“Very well.” Haedria said in a clear voice. “Bury a firestone where the paths of your field cross, then plant your crops in the light of the next moon. The harvest should be bountiful, and the tax paid equally so. Now leave my keep at once. I have other, more important matters to attend to.”
The man stuttered his thanks, surprised at being let go with his life. He ran from the queen, hands and feet scrabbling for purchase on the stone floor. The farmer was out the door within seconds, and the throne room was locked behind him.
Haedria turned her attention to the largest man in the room. “Hamilcar, my friend. I see you’ve returned with more gifts for us?” she chuckled, and Seraphis’s eyes widened. The warrior princess went to stand beside her sister, one hand tracing the patterns of her sword’s hilt.
“Yes, my queen.” Hamilcar stepped forward, clearing his throat, but was cut off by Haedria raising a hand. He fell silent and seemed to shrink.
Haedria approached Loren, her piercing dark eyes locked on the princess’s. “Loren, is that you? My, you’ve grown since we’ve last seen each other.”
“It has been many years, Haedria.” Loren replied. Beside her, Kae looked shocked. “You haven’t changed.”
The queen laughed. She raised a slim, pale finger to Loren’s throat and dragged it slowly down till her fingertip rested on the dragon pendant. “We were children, weren’t we? And the dragon was flying freely in the skies above your home.”
Loren shivered at Haedria’s touch. Kae saw the princess’s posture straighten and her gaze grow fierce, matching the queen’s. She knew even without looking that Loren’s eyes had turn gold.
“That didn’t take long, did it?” Haedria chuckled. “I knew you would come seeking me out, one way or another. The whole thing with your mother and that Beastman prince were simply incentives.”
“What are you talking about, incentives?” Kae shot back. “You
