Page 1 of Sugar & Dragon Act I: Temptation

I Dago

Upon receiving an invitation from a queen to share a cup of tea, the average citizen would probably be intimidated—slightly or greatly, depending on their character—but would consider it an honor. Dago was not intimidated, nor did he consider it an honor.

He suspected a trick.

After all, he wasn’t an ordinary citizen. In a perfect world, he would be the one sitting on the throne now. That the lands of Ilion were bound to House Ceres by an unbreakable magical bond was just a stupid coincidence.

Kora Ceres knew that. That was why she invited him to tea every month. She wanted to make sure that the ethics classes her mother’s edict forced him to take were effective, and that his ventures had nothing to do with the words “cut,” “unbreakable,” and “bond,” as was the case with the forge financed by his parents, where a model of a sword that could cut any material was developed.

Dago usually accepted letters from the palace with lenience, for the queen’s attention showed that she saw him as someone to be reckoned with. This time, however, the sight of runes drawn with cold precision by her secretary Haron aroused a strange feeling in him. This was the second invitation he’d gotten this month.

One too many.

Suspicious.

In a perfect world, Dago would have crumpled up the letter and taken a long bath. In this world, he crumpled up the letter, wrote an impersonal reply confirming his presence, bribed Dorian—the imp who oversaw his castle—with cookies to deliver it to the palace andonly thendid he bathe.

In the black tiled bathroom, Dago removed his elegant clothes, took the form of a silvery-white dragon, and dived to the bottom of the cavernous pool. In moments like this, he could understand why his parents had brewed a coup.

He didn’t like having a boss either.

***

“You must be wondering why I called you,” the queen said after two minutes of silent eye contact.

Thanks to years of practice, Dago’s eyelids didn’t even twitch. This wasn’t the first time that Kora emphasized her higher position—she regularly tried to provoke him, using the word “call” instead of “invite”. She probably hoped that he would reveal his rebellious nature and she would be able to legally confiscate his fortune.

“Indeed,” he replied.

He greatly disliked being treated with condescension, but the thought of being treated with condescensionandhaving no money was something he disliked even more, so he’d learned to tolerate the queen—and her taxes—as a necessary evil.

Kora smiled. She looked harmless in a sleeveless emerald dress exposing the ebony skin of her arms and with a thin gold circlet topping her short hair, but though her eyes reminded him of a grassy meadow, there was something at the bottom of her gaze that made him wary. Sometimes he felt like they had something in common.

Not in a romantic sense. In adarksense.

But that was impossible. Kora’s ancestor was a good dream, not a nightmare like Nyx Nemesis.

It was probably the vines squirming around her chair—against the lush foliage of the greenhouse, it looked like the mythical throne of the Queen of Spring—that irritated his survival instinct.

That was probably her intention.

“Master Homer and I had a conversation,” the monarch said. “He mentioned his wish to retire soon.”

This time Dago struggled to keep his expression neutral. He blinked away the spark of interest in his eyes, stilled the muscles in his face trying to smile, and discreetly took a deep breath to discourage his pulse from racing.

“Is that so?” he asked, as if he’d heard low-class gossip rather than the news he’d dreamed of receiving over breakfast, lunch, and dinner. “I was under the impression that Master enjoys his work so much that he would continue to serve as Archmagus even after his body’s death.”

The queen raised her teacup to her mouth and took a long, slow sip. Dago did the same. Part of him wanted to hiss at the woman to hurry up, but that would be inelegant.

Kora set the cup down with a soft clang. “Master is hesitating. As you noticed, he enjoys his work, but he also admits that his body struggles to keep pace with his spirit. He believes it is time to find his successor.”

Though Dago hadn’t added sugar to his tea, he felt as if he’d taken a bite of a cake. “I see,” he said. After a tactful pause, he added, “Did Master suggest a candidate?”

“Yes. Two, in fact.”

The pause that followed these words this time had nothing in common with tact.

“Two?” Dago repeated, unable to hide his surprise. It wasn’t until he saw the amused glint in Kora’s eyes that he remembered he was supposed to pretend to be inaccessible. “That’s interesting,” he added in a tone stripped of curiosity.

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