Gemma Draconica

ALIXANDER

Metal hooks tear through the wall as my father’s portrait is dragged down, leaving the plaster raw and white as bone. Every inch his face sinks, crushes another breath from my lungs. Then, silence. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that echoes.

My hands tremble as I step to the window. Outside, the French Alps loom like jagged titans cloaked in mist. A year ago, Father and I shifted into our dragons and flew over those mountains. A year ago, mother and I…

I rub my chest—the spot over my heart—hollowed by the last beat of my mother’s heart, and turn my attention back to the stewards changing the portrait. The space above the fireplace is bare. My picture rises, and the old king is gone. My eyes, cold and grey, stare down at me.

“It’s done,” says the Grand Duchess de Alarie.

Her voice is ice over steel.

“All the necessary arrangements have been made.”

I stalk to the whiskey cabinet and pour myself two finger lengths. Varina is my uncle’s widow. He died a few days after my coronation of the same strange fever that took my mother’s life. She ought to be in mourning; instead, she insists on managing the queen’s duties.

I lock my jaw. Breathe, and take a seat behind father’s—no, my—desk.

“I’m nobody’s pawn. Try to move me again, and I’ll flip the board.”

Varina’s lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Malynda will arrive on Thursday. She’ll stay in the East Wing until the queen’s apartments are ready.”

The glass in my hand shatters. The floor groans beneath my feet. The edges of the room ripple, stained in a crimson haze. Paint blisters on the walls, Chandeliers tremble. Whiskey drips from my fingertips as my claws retract.

“Those are my mother’s rooms.”

Varina dismisses the trembling stewards with a wave of her hand and walks over to my portrait. Her nose wrinkles as her gaze drifts upward.

“Your mother is dead. She doesn’t need them anymore. Lord Achlys will arrive on Saturday for the engagement convocation. After we finalize the details of your marriage contract you and Malynda will greet the press. All the major news outlets. Vogue, of course,” she sighs, “and People Magazine for the humans. ”

“I said no. Cancel it. All of it.“

She arches a brow. “Now is not the time for your stubbornness. Bomris is threatening to retake the Ural Mountains.”

“An Achlys claiming Garrandon territory?” I snort. “What an original idea. He can’t retake what was never his.”

Varina’s expression hardens. “This isn’t a joke natus meus.”

“Neither were the first three wars his horde started over those rocks.” I sip my drink.

“No one wants a war which is why you will marry his daughter. Bomris will be your strongest ally, and all this silly claw-rattling will cease.”

“Allies don’t send their daughters as daggers in disguise.”

“Malynda is no assassin. Her presence will bring style and grace to your court.”

“She’ll poison it.”

“Don’t be dramatic. The Obsidian Council approved the betrothal yesterday. They’ll expect you to follow through.”

“Approved?”

Steady. Breathe.

“Since when do I need their approval for...anything?”

“You must respect the council, Alixander. They’re the only reason the dragon lords haven’t risen against the Alarie throne.”

“I don’t take orders.” My lip curls. “I give them. The Council’s job is to guide the crown, not leash it. My ancestors never allowed anyone to rule them—and neither will I.”

Varina folds her arms. “Do you realize how fragile your throne is? You’re the youngest Dragon King in history. And the first to descend without a consort. During the meeting, Lord Varuna questioned whether you were...ready for the weight of the crown.”

I blink. “That’s borderline treason.”

The silence stretches between us.

“Who else has voiced these...concerns?”

“Lord Nephele commented on your–youth.”

I hum as I rise and walk over to the credenza to refill my drink.

“An alliance with Lord Bomris, would end eons of adversity. And the festivities this weekend should placate the humans for awhile.”

“Placate them? Why should I worry what humans think? Their drones and missles are no threat to us. We’ve ruled this world since before they learned to stand upright.”

“True, but they can hurt other creatures—werewolves, vampires, mermaids—your subjects whom you’ve sworn to protect.”

Varina uncrosses her arms.

“Our world has been in mourning since your parents died. Humans are fighting a neverending war in the middle east… the world needs hope. What could be more inspiring than the Dragon King finding the love of his life?”

I gape. “Malynda? The love of my life?”

Varina shrugs. “We’ll have the press release refer to her as your Gemma Draconica. It’ll dominate every headline—“enemies to lovers.”

“You must be joking?”

The gemma draconica is a myth. The supposed soulmate of our prehistoric ancestors. An unbreakable bond of fire and fate, woven for eternity‌. Mother used to sing lullabies to me about finding my soul’s other half.

“Someday, you’ll find her, cor meum...“

I shake off the memory. Mates are for common shifters. Not draconians. Our lives are not driven by the whims of the Hellenistic gods. Besides, hasn’t love has taken enough from me already?

Love.

The word turns to ash in my mouth. Father’s death left me with an ache in my heart and a vow burned into my soul. I will never allow sentimental weakness to destroy me the way it did him. Love didn’t take him in one blow. It carved him out, piece by piece, until only a shell remained.

“My answer is still no.”

A chill sweeps through the room. Frost spiders across the windowpanes, courtesy of Varina’s glacial bloodline.

“You have no choice. You lost that luxury when your father wasted away.”

“No one is going to control me, least of all you.”

Varina steps closer. Her perfume, a cloying blend of stale roses, suffocates the space between us. A slow smile spreads across her face.

“Drak oruun non curvat cor obstinatum. I’m not trying to control you, natus meus. I want you to succeed. You wear the crown, but you’ve yet to earn its weight.”

I almost let the beast out. Almost. But a knock at the door saves me from myself, and Marcus Garrandon, my best friend, strides in.

He nods to my Aunt as he walks by.

“Domina Ducissa Varina.”

Marcus halts before me.

“Dominus Rex.”

He bows with one fist over his heart.

“Forgive the interruption.”

“Enough with the formalities, Marcus.” I roll my eyes. “In private, I’m still Alix.”

He smirks and gestures to Varina. “Does this courtesy extend to the Ducissa?”

The corner of my lip twitches. “I dare you.”

“No thanks.” He winks. “I like my balls right where they are.”

I chuckle—trust Marcus to cut the tension like he always does. His eyes darken.

“We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“What’s this about?” Varina asks.

“Marcus and I are leaving for the United States.”

“And what, pray tell, is so urgent the newly crowned Dragon King must drop all his duties at a moment’s notice?”

“The Shadow Shroud Coven and the Shadow Moon Pack have had a few skirmishes.”

“Elder Dimitrov and Alpha Schuyler have coexisted for over a century.” Varina waves a hand dismissively. “The king shouldn’t be bothered with something so...trivial."

“I wouldn’t call the disappearance of Zayne Dimitrov’s daughter trivial. It seems she’s been missing for the past year, and yet, I only learned of it this morning. Did Uncle Asher know?”

“Of course,” She sniffs. “The Grand Duke had no time for squabbling vampires and wolves. He was too busy protecting the throne while your father languished. ”

“An Obsidian Council member’s daughter has been missing for a year, and no one thought I should know?”

“And what would you have done?” Varina rolls her eyes. “These matters are what your Chancellors are for.”

I give her a pointed look before turning back to Marcus.

“Did you find out why Zayne hasn’t brought this up in a council meeting?”

Marcus shoves his hands in his pockets. His brow creases.

“Zayne hasn’t attended a meeting since his daughter vanished.”

Fuck. I should have known that.

“When, exactly, did she disappear?”

“She vanished the weekend your mother…” His eyes drift down.

I look away to the ornate map covering the wall opposite the credenza and clear my throat.

“The Shadow Shroud Coven and the Shadow Moon pack are the largest supernatural factions in the americas. If those two start tearing one another apart, every vampire and werewolf in the United States will take sides. They’ll go to war, and we can’t let that happen.”

Varina grimaces. “Alixander, kings don’t gallivant across continents.”

“I’m not gallivanting,Varina. I’m intervening. I will not sit by while North America descends into anarchy.”

I turn to Marcus. “I’m ready. Notify the pilot.”

My muscles twitch at the thought of getting on the plane. I’d rather shift—shed the human form, stretch my wings, and fly west. It would be faster. Easier. More satisfying. But dragons in the sky unsettle the human population.

Marcus bows. “Ut vis, Majesté.”

I clasp his shoulder. “Gratias tibi ago, frater.“

He shoots me one of his signature Hollywood smiles.

“Always my friend.”

He turns to leave and almost collides with my aunt, who has moved to stand behind him.

“Ignosce mihi, Domina.”

Varina flicks her chin up and dismisses him without a word. She approaches slowly while I adjust the silver cufflinks on my sleeves. The ones bearing the Alarie crest—the ones my mother gave me before…

She reaches up to straighten the Windsor knot in my black silk tie, but I swat away the icy hands that are not my mother’s.

“Your father understood the necessity of having the dragon lords on his side.”

“I’m not my father,” I growl.

“No, you’re not,” she mutters.

A soft knock on the door interrupts.

“Enter,” Varina snaps.

Gulielmus, the Grand Mage, sweeps in like a shadow—tall, graceful, wearing a tailored grey suit. His dark eyes soften as they land on my aunt.

“Ducissa. You look radiant today.”

Varina lifts her chin and smiles.

“Gulielmus.”

She allows him to place a kiss on the back of her hand.

He turns his attention to me and bows with a light flourish.

“Majeste.”

“I haven’t given you leave to use that address with me, mage.”

“My–apologies—Dominus Rex.”

He clears his throat.

“Forgive the intrusion, but you haven’t signed the warrant for the rogue spellcaster in Shanghai.”

“You mean the eleven-year-old child?”

Gulielmus tips his head. A sympathetic smile ghosts his lips.

“Ah yes, well, it’s unfortunate when puberty begins in one so young, but–.”

“The girl began menstruating. That’s not a reason to execute her.”

“Maj—” Gulielmus’s expression tightens. “—Rex Draconum– This has nothing to do with–menstruation.” His nose wrinkles. “The girl’s magic manifested. The temple where her ascension was performed recorded her as a level four spellcaster.“

“She’s a harmless child.” I shrug.

“I beg to differ,“ he says, tone clipped. “If she learns to channel into her heart chakra, she would be able to perform aeromancy–wind manipulation.“

“I’m aware of what aeromancy is, mage.” I roll my eyes. “I assure you my skills are better than yours.”

Gulielmus straightens.

“What frightens you, Gulielmus? One day a stronger spellcaster might show up and challenge you?” I smirk. “Potential is not the same as ability. Aeromancy requires complex elemental magic. No human is going to develop that skill on their own.”

His eyes flash with irritation. “With respect humans wielding mana beyond a level three could destabilize the power hierarchy of our world.”

“You think an eleven-year-old human will shake up the balance of power?” I chuckle darkly.

“It’s an abomination.” Varina wrinkles her nose. “Humans were never meant to channel mana.”

“This is why we have the registry, Majeste,” Gulielmus adds.

“Your father wouldn’t have questioned this,” interjects Varina. “He—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” I snarl. “I’m well aware of my father’s history with spellcasters.”

Father held no love for casters. I watched him burn more than a few himself.

Gulielmus clicks his tongue. “I realize this appears–harsh, but it is sovereign law.”

“This isn’t about my law. You want me to sign a death warrant for a child because their parents didn’t put them on your register. It’s not my authority you’re trying to protect; it’s yours.”

Gulielmus’s fingers clench.

“My father gave you a long leash, but as I was telling my aunt before you interrupted, I am not my father.”

Gulielmus takes a breath.

“I was tasked to protect the supernatural world, to maintain it’s order.”

“Order? Control is more like it.”

Gulielmus opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand.

“I’m leaving. That’ll be all, mage.”

Gulielmus bows stiffly to me, before turning to Varina. They exchange a long look before he leaves in a swirl of simmering resentment.

“What has come over you?” Varina gasps.

“I’m not signing death warrants on children to feed his overdeveloped sense of power and importance.” I wave my hand. “I don’t have time for this. Marcus is waiting for me.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You can’t leave now.” Her lips press into a pale, bloodless line. “Lord Bomris will take your rejection as a direct insult.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll care when he brings his army to the Urals. The last time an Achlys army marched, the dinosaurs went extinct.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

I kiss my aunt’s cheek before walking her to the door. As soon as she’s gone, I look at my face on the wall. Thirteen portraits have sat before mine. What would they think?

With a long sigh, I stride out the door and come to a stop at the corner of the hall. The door to my mother’s study stands ajar. Golden light slants across the floor. There’s nothing in here for me now. Just echoing silence. I should keep going. But I don’t.

Her scent lingers. Not strong— a whisper of lilac and heliotrope. Still clinging to the air. Father’s scent faded. Power fades fast, doesn’t it? But love…

Marcus appears beside me. His hand rests on my shoulder—solid, steady. For a moment, we stand in silence—two sons left behind by the same fire. One from her womb, and one from her heart. With a nod from me, he turns, and we walk down the hall. Together.