The Dragon's Heart Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by David Powers King

  Published by Dashboard Books

  All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover Design by Novak Illustrations

  Interior Design by Dashboard Books

  Dedication Illustration by Alex M. Diaz

  Edited by JoAnna Rasmussen

  Orem, UT

  ISBN 978-0-9971308-1-2

  Library of Congress Control Number 2020904828

  Other Books by David Powers King

  WOVEN

  “A superb read. Highly recommended.”

  ~James Dashner, author of The Maze Runner

  THE UNDEAD ROAD: MY ZOMBIE SUMMER

  “Most original spin on zombies I’ve ever read.”

  ~Michael Offutt, author of Slipstream and Oculus

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Pushing the Suitor

  A midnight breeze caught Celesia’s nightdress as the moon’s light guided her steps on the balcony. The early spring air chilled her skin and swept her long auburn hair behind her shoulders. She blinked and then looked around, feeling puzzled as she rubbed her tired eyes. What was she doing outside in the middle of the night? Celesia had no memory of stepping out of her bed, and she hadn’t bothered to slip into her lavender robe. It was still draped over the chair by her vanity.

  Shivering, Celesia looked into the sky.

  What am I doing? Was I sleepwalking?

  A dull thud sounded in the courtyard below her, followed by a sharp cry. Startled, Celesia peered over the banister and searched the torch-lit courtyard. The latticework at her side was gone, splintered and torn up. Before long, she had caught sight of a shattered lute on the ground, next to a young man who was holding his shin. It was the handsome Prince Owen, her latest prospect in a long line of suitors. Celesia was about to call to him when he suddenly growled in pain.

  “My leg!” he bellowed at her. “You broke my leg!”

  Celesia pulled out of sight and pressed her back against the stony archway. Had she pushed him? No. It was impossible. She had no recollection of this, but the damaged lattice beneath her was evidence enough that someone had fallen from her balcony. This had to be a dream, but Celesia was awake, and Prince Owen was hurt. Her breath shook. This wasn’t the first time her memory had failed her, or even the second—although this was the worst offense she had committed yet.

  A hard knock rapped at her chamber door, and it opened before she could answer it. King Lýnivad the Third was standing at the threshold, dressed in a silken nightshirt, his peppery hair frazzled. His eyes swept the chamber before he entered. Two guards joined him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I heard you scream.”

  Did I scream? Surely I would remember that ...

  The king glared at her, demanding an answer.

  Celesia pointed to her balcony. “Prince Owen—”

  Lýnivad dashed to the balcony, his eyes widening at the sight of the injured prince. A pair of guards from the gate below had arrived, kneeling at Owen’s side with lanterns in their hands.

  “Your princess is mad!” Owen shouted. “She could have killed me!”

  “Tend to him,” the king cried. “Fetch the physician, and be quick about it!” Turning slowly, the man looked at her with a penetrating stare. “What have you done?”

  At a complete loss, all Celesia could do was shrug. “I don’t—I have no memory of doing anything—”

  “This again? Are you really going to say this to me again, Celesia? The evidence is glaring!”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know! I woke up on my feet and heard him scream.”

  “He claims you pushed him, so did you?”

  She had no answer. Not an honest one, or a memory of doing anything since retiring for the night. By the look on his face, it didn’t seem like the king was willing to accept her answer, no matter what it was. Owen’s cry blared through the courtyard as the guards carried him.

  King Lýnivad shook his head. “Owen has traveled all the way from Trisontia to be acquainted with you, to court you—and this is how you treat him?” With an exasperated motion of his arm, the king gestured his hand over the side of her balcony. “I’m all out of ideas

  Celesia, so listen well. Until you stop assaulting your suitors, you will remain within these castle walls.”

  His decision resounded in her ears. “You can’t!”

  “I can, and it is too late to discuss this. I must speak with Owen before there is any further calamity.” Clearly disgruntled, the king rubbed his eyes as he and the guards walked out of her room. “Goodnight, Celesia.”

  “Goodnight, Father ...” she replied in frustration.

  Celesia stood silently, her mind racing, reaching for anything that could explain what had happened to the prince. Bringing harm to others wasn’t in her nature, and she was beginning to like Owen, too. It had to be an accident, like all the others before. No matter how hard she sought for a reason, she couldn’t remember pushing Prince Owen—or kicking Kelvin—or stabbing Philliam. And worst of all, the people had witnessed her blackouts and watched her do all of these terrible things that she had no memory of committing. Unbelievable as it was, only one explanation made sense to her.

  “Please,” she prayed to the stars, hoping they would answer her cry, “please, take this curse from me ...”

  Chapter 2

  Breaking the Stallion

  The main hall greeted Celesia as she descended the carpeted stairs. Portraits of past kings and queens of Bëdoustram lined the walls, their colors enriched by the morning sun through high windows. Celesia paused to catch her breath, stopping at the portrait of a beautiful woman. Her face was similar to Celesia’s. Even their light brown eyes and flowing auburn hair matched, but the woman’s eternal smile was far more confident.

  Celesia curtsied the portrait. “Morning, Mother.”

  The woman only smiled back, as she always had.

  Resuming her walk, Celesia adjusted her eyes as she stepped outside. The morning had grown late, but it was the news of a late birthday present that had finally pulled Celesia out of bed. The residing nobles bustled about the courtyard, where some conversed near the flowerbeds. A few of the ladies played badminton along the south wall. Most of them paid no attention to her. Others covered their mouths as they watched her, gossiping about her scandal with Prince Owen, no doubt. Celesia walked past them as quickly as she could.

  She saw two guards on horseback, watchful and alert as they patrolled the grounds. The open gate at the main entrance mocked Celesia, as i
t had all summer. It had been three months since she’d pushed Prince Owen off her balcony—while she was sleeping. Now more than ever, she longed to be standing on the other side of that lowered drawbridge. But then the guards saw her and regrouped to keep an eye on her, like a pair of prison wardens. Faking a smile, Celesia headed for the stables.

  When I leave through that gate, I’ll smile for real ...

  Mayhew, the horse master, stood outside the stable doors, observing a black colt running within his corral. He wore his usual tattered gray shirt and old brimmed hat. A broad smile rose on his face when Celesia neared him. He waved and gave her an informal bow.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” he said. “I’m glad to finally see you out and about.”

  “Morning, Mayhew,” she replied, looking at the prancing colt. “Is that my present?”

  “No, no. Not that one. Lyell is fetching your present now—and he is such a lively young stallion.” Mayhew glanced at Celesia, and his smile wilted the moment her cheeks flushed red. “Erm … I was meaning the horse, naturally! Prince Dálcort’s scouts brought him here last night. The sooner we tame that animal, the better.”

  “Why is that, Master Mayhew?”

  “He’s making the mares nervous.”

  Reminded of her own nerves, Celesia’s thoughts returned to the new prince who was on his way to see her. His name was Dálcort—unusual name, yet strong. Considering all the other suitors she had harmed—or were too afraid to accept her father’s invitation to visit Bëdoustram—this prince had to be especially brave.

  Rumor had it that this prince came from a warm land beyond the South Sea. She was equal parts excited to meet him, and dreaded whatever might follow.

  Mayhew’s smile resurfaced. “We missed your visits all summer, Princess.”

  “So have I,” she said. “I haven’t come since Prince Owen left us.”

  “But there’s plenty of room to ride inside these walls, Your Highness. You could’ve come anytime.”

  She shook her head with a soft sigh. “Prancing in circles is no way to ride a horse.”

  A sharp neigh sounded from the stables. Celesia turned and saw Lyell, the stablehand, struggling with the bridle of a furious white stallion. She wasn’t sure what to make of the new creature. She’d never seen a horse so riled up in her life. The horse’s strength proved too much for the young man, throwing him off his feet. Although it was free, the stallion had no choice but to whicker into the corral. Two maidens standing near the badminton court pointed and laughed at Lyell.

  The soiled stablehand glared at the horse.

  “Infuriating beast ...”

  Enamored by Lyell’s voice, Celesia watched as he scraped mud off his shirt. In spite of the sludge that muddied his hair and sullied his face, Lyell was quite charming. She avoided his eyes as he stood. Although he was a commoner, she still considered him appealing.

  How can I feel this way for him, but not for a prince?

  She blamed her curse, if she could call it that.

  Unlike the hearsay that others freely spread about her, Celesia truly wanted to find a prince, like the ones portrayed in the storybooks she’d read growing up. But there was something within her, a curse perhaps, that wouldn’t allow this to happen. And she knew, being the only princess in the land, had only made her situation worse. The people were counting on her to forge a union with another kingdom—any kingdom—in order to strengthen theirs against others. This stress, and her obligation to keep Lyell and other young men from her heart, was hard—including the boy she liked most.

  “You let him raise his head too high, Lyell!” Mayhew bellowed. “You’ll never tame a wild horse that way.”

  The boy wiped his face with his sleeve. “Let him raise his head?! You try holding onto the neck of that accursed thing!” His eyes met Celesia’s, and he lowered his face. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were here—”

  Celesia shook her head. “Think nothing of it.”

  Mayhew squinted into the corral. “I don’t see how a man could capture an animal like that one on his own strength, not even if I still had my thumb,” he said. “I am especially curious to meet this Dálcort fellow.”

  Abruptly, the stallion calmed down. It faced Celesia and trotted toward the fence that separated them. The creature nickered, and stared into her eyes. This was unusual behavior for a wild horse. The animal nodded, as if it was beckoning Celesia to come close. Raising her hand, she carefully touched the side of its face. A sullen expression was in its eye; an unmistakable plea for help.

  Mayhew came close to her side and whispered, careful not to startle the horse, “Since when have you become a charmer of wild beasts? I’ve never seen an animal tamed this way.”

  Celesia stroked the horse’s cheek. “I have no idea, but I think he likes me.”

  Cheers sounded from the village beyond the castle walls. The sudden blare of trumpets startled them. The stallion whipped back its mane and stormed into the center of the corral once more. The wait was over—

  —Prince Dálcort had arrived.

  A jubilant parade entered minutes later, accompanied by exotic acrobats and cartwheeling jokers. Wagons rolled in, pulled by elegant brown horses. Hunting dogs bore their teeth at those who approached the wagons too closely. Celesia had long awaited for this day.

  Making her way back to the castle’s front steps, the procession came to a halt, led by a rider on a black stallion. He had short dark hair and a thin goatee that traced his masculine chin. Broad shoulders, toned arms, sun-touched skin, forest-green eyes. An embroidered doublet gave balance to his handsome demeanor.

  I hope I don’t have a problem with this one ...

  Celesia watched as the prince guided his horse to the castle steps. But as he neared her, his decorum seemed a little too much, but she was still willing to give him a chance. If the curse had its way, she wouldn’t get one. King Lýnivad soon entered the courtyard and joined her at the castle steps. “Welcome, Prince Dálcort, to the Kingdom of Bëdoustram,” he said.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he answered graciously. A few noble maidens waved their handkerchiefs as he passed. He beamed at the girls, a smile so wide that it sparkled in the sun. He seemed much too preoccupied to let them admire him. His eyes met Celesia’s. The prince dismounted, turned, and presented himself with a bow. “It is an honor to meet you, Princess Celesia.”

  The king gasped softly as he looked at her. “How did you know? You were not formally introduced.”

  “Deduction, Your Majesty.” The prince removed a pair of leather gloves from his hands. “You said she possesses beauty beyond description, and no maiden has captured my attention as she has: perfect physique, enchanting face.” He winked at her. “You may just be the loveliest creature I have ever seen, Celesia.”

  Creature? He was so forward. So blunt. She didn’t know what to think of this prince. “Thanks, Dálcort ...”

  The king whispered in her ear, “Control yourself.”

  Unlike other times, she was in complete control of herself. Dálcort was charming, but something about him rubbed her the wrong way. Dálcort gave her a wide, suspicious smile. “Shocking that no one has laid claim to you, Celesia,” he said. “I mean to change that.”

  “You do?” the king sounded hopeful. “How so?”

  Dálcort’s grin widened. “I have a rare gift, matched by no one; I can tame any creature or befriend any sworn enemy. No matter how stubborn the opposition, I will win. May I give Your Majesty a demonstration?”

  Celesia furrowed her brow and her cheeks puffed. Who does he think he is? I’m not a creature to be tamed!

  Puffing his own cheeks, the king looked at Celesia again, and nodded for the prince to proceed.

  “You there!” the prince called out to Lyell. The stablehand slumped from the wooden post that he was leaning on. “You have a suitable corral here, perfect for breaking that white stallion I captured.”

  “Begging your pardon, Your Highness,” said Master Mayhe
w, making his way to the front steps. “It is a very beautiful horse, but to break a spirit that strong could take a number of weeks.”

  “I understand your concern, good sir, trifling as it is.” Dálcort gestured to Celesia. “I would never chance the harm of your princess before I declare the beast is safe.” He pointed at the stallion. “Harness that animal and I will give you a horse worthy of a goddess.”

  Mayhew rubbed his ears, as if he had misheard. “You mean, right now?”

  Dálcort frowned as he gloved his hands again. “Must I repeat myself?”

  Mayhew nodded and summoned every stablehand into the corral to fetch the poor creature. With effort, they fastened a saddle onto its back. Dálcort handed his doublet to his company, and leapt over the fence. His feet touched the ground, sinking slightly into the mud.

  Celesia crossed her arms tight. What game is he playing? Does he really think showing off will win me over?

  “I don’t think I like him, Father,” she said to him.

  Lýnivad cleared his throat, “We may have no choice, Celesia. He is the only prince I could find who is not afraid to come. You will have to give him a chance.”

  She was willing to give him a chance. A fat one.

  “I fear that your father is right,” said a calculating voice behind them. “If this prince should fail to win your heart—or even fail to survive your attacks, for that matter—dark times may come to Bëdoustram.”