Page 10 of Courting the Dragon Prince
Onyx exhaled. Onyx’s father had died when he was young. Despite the love his parents had held for each other, his father’s death had not destroyed his mother like Tourmaline’s had.
His mother breathed heavily, chest rising and falling. Onyx gripped his knees, fingers digging in.
To think he’d thought he might find someone to marry who might bring some life and joy back to his broken family. He’d not been entirely certain how. But he’d thought that maybe if he could find love, it would heal the wounds he and his mother carried from the war. Then, somehow, his mother might return to him.
Onyx stared out the window. Since his sister’s death and his mother’s descent into grief, he’d felt so alone in the world. He had no one he connected with. No one to open up to.
He had his uncle. But his uncle had always been so severe. He was someone Onyx went to for practical advice and assistance. Not emotional support.
His mother had a similar temperament to her brother. But she’d had a softness beneath that Warden Flint lacked.
Onyx supposed he also had his cousin, Jade, but they’d never been close. Onyx was twenty-seven, and she was only twenty-three, but perhaps he should work on that relationship.
Onyx rose to his feet and walked to the window. He certainly would not find companionship with his spoiled, fire-breathing future husband. His hands balled into fists. Onyx couldn’t even picture the two of them tolerating each other.
But Onyx would do what he must. For the glory of the Grey Mountains.
ChapterFive
Luther flew on and on, large green wings beating, his gaze fixed ahead on the glowing crescent moon. Wispy clouds drifted by as he swooped and soared through the sky, the wind caressing his scaly body.
He’d flown away from the Island of the Way of the Dove, over the channel, and now over Draconia, his homeland.
He had no idea how long he’d been flying. His limbs ached. His eyes stung. The exhaustion tugged at his bones.
But it wouldn’t be enough. It was never enough.
No matter how hard and far he flew, when he slept, the nightmares always came. He’d once hoped that if he could just exhaust himself enough, he might fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
But it didn’t work. It never worked. Nothing ever worked.
However, if he kept moving, pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion, at least he could stop the memories from invading his waking moments.
Now Luther had another thing to try to not think of: his upcoming engagement to an earth elemental who looked at Luther like he was nothing better than dirt. Like he knew exactly what Luther had done.
As a prince of Draconia, Luther had always assumed his marriage would be arranged. His father would find him someone to marry. But maybe he’d always hoped he’d marry someone he could at least get along with.
Instead, he was marrying Warden Onyx.
Circling back, Luther flew over the trees, mountains, rivers, fields, towns, and farmland of Draconia. Soon, the rocky coast came into view. A salty wind blew. He swooped low over the water. As he flapped his wings, they skimmed the surface. The Island of the Way of the Dove grew larger as he approached. Then the White Monastery rose in the distance.
He flew over the defensive walls, over the city within the outer monastery, where thousands of people lived. He soared above the lower and middle sections of the monastery. He approached the upper monastery, where all the noble guests were staying. Then he tucked in his wings and landed in the courtyard that was designated for such a purpose. A sleepy-eyed servant stood beneath a lit torch.
Luther let out a breath. He closed his eyes and reached inside him for his human form. He let the shift take him. Muscles rippled. Bones shrank and reshaped. His tail retracted. His limbs and torso contracted as the change moved through his body.
Within moments, his dragon form left him and he returned to his human one.
The servant strode forward, presenting Luther with the clothing Luther had removed before shifting.
“Your Highness.” The servant bowed low.
“Thank you.” Luther took his clothes.
He tugged on his hose, tunic, and boots before turning and striding towards the monastery door. He walked towards the section of the monastery provided for the Draconian royal family. No others roamed the corridors in the middle of the night.
His booted feet echoed along the halls, and with every step, dread grew inside his belly. Luther’s footsteps slowed.
Because when Luther’s head hit the pillow, there was a good chance sleep would still evade him. And even if he did manage to sleep, the nightmares would surely come. He stopped walking.
