Chapter 2

NEROKI ARACOVIN, THECrown Prince of Dragons, was blissfully unaware of the turbulent feelings churning through March, and of his father's schemes to find him an appropriate spouse. More to the point, he was blissfully unaware of anything that wasn't how the bright sun felt beaming onto his skin, or how the fizzy wine in his crystal cup sent pleasant bubbles popping in him. He took a sip, stretching his legs a bit before settling back into a relaxed position. Pulling a hat back over his face to shade his eyes, he prepared to snooze again.

Beritz Aracovin, the King of Dragons, strode out to the courtyard with a smile on his face and glee in his heart. A large man with a booming voice and a laugh that tended to reverberate from the walls of rooms, he managed to find joy in most things. Even if this particular joy was tinged with a bit of sadism for his spoiled son.

He loved the boy fiercely, there was no mistaking that, but he wondered now if he should have remarried. His beloved wife had died from an illness while Nero had still been a small toddler. Nero was his first, and last, child. He certainly wouldn't have any others. The prince was good at his core, Beritz thought, but that core was encased in a body that had a weakness for lazing about, and pretty young flesh. Add in his tendency for blind and radical impulse, and it made a pretty poor cocktail of traits for a crown prince.

For himself, Beritz figured he was healthy as a horse. No, he didn't foresee needing to give up the crown anytime soon. He loved ruling, and all the royal duties that accompanied it. But if Nero was the one and only prince, he would have to take it sometime. And Beritz seriously doubted Nero's ability to keep Ikronia thriving until he'd been given some major lessons in humility and maturity. And who better to deliver those lessons than a prim and pretty young spouse? If there was anything that should make his idiot offspring sit up and pay attention, it would be someone like March Cesari.

Standing over his son, he shook his head. Shameful, he thought, listening to the soft snores coming from underneath the sun hat. He took a firm hold of the chair Nero's shiny boots were propped on, and gave it a good yank. Sputtering, Nero jerked awake, hat falling to his chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt your nap?" Beritz asked kindly, propping the chair back in front of the prince and taking a seat.

"Ah," Nero eyed his father cautiously, resisting the urge to squint from the bright rays of the sun. He was a bit hungover from drinking the night before. "Not at all."

"Wonderful to hear. I have news for you."

News, as far as Nero was concerned, was usually a bad sign. It was more likely than not an indicator that something would need to change. And he was more than content with the basket of roses his life was currently nestled in. That being said, his father was generally easy to persuade into a less intrusive sort of decision-making. He'd only need to hear the man out, and gently nudge him in a more desirable direction.

"Let's hear it," Nero answered, sitting up to prop his ankle on his knee. He had good, strong bone structure in a classically handsome face with brown hair that leaned to blonde in the warmer months. Summer was still a week away, but he already had lightened streaks peeking through the thick, tawny waves. His skin was already blooming with healthy color from the time he'd spent out among his beloved dragons, romping through the forest and mountains.

"I've decided you're to marry."

Nero blinked, waiting for the punchline, but was horrified to find his father's expression unchanging. "You're serious." His head was already throbbing, and he wasn't altogether sure it was just from the hangover.

"I've just met with an old friend and her wife. Like you, their son's only just become of age, and I'm confident he's a fit for you and your crown."

Grimacing, Nero could only imagine what manner of woolly mammoth his father, who had no preference for men, would choose for him. "And you're confident that this is someone I could stomach waking up next to?"

Beritz gave him a swat on the arm, frowning. "Don't insult me, boy. I know what you like."

"I would never doubt your wisdom, Father."

When Beritz' steely gaze didn't falter, Nero turned on the charm, giving him a sly grin, though he couldn't have felt less like smiling. The deep dimples in his cheeks granted a touch of innocence to a face that was anything but, and he had no qualms about utilizing them, or anything else, to get what he wanted.

Relenting as usual, the king softened a bit. "You know I wouldn't see you miserable, Nero. This is a good match for you. He's just what you need." Someone responsible, studious, and organized to the point of fussy, Beritz thought, but knew that voicing those traits would only send his son running for the hills.

"I can see you think it," Nero sighed, knowing his father spoke the truth. For all his bluster, Beritz had never truly disciplined him or forced him into anything too unpleasant. "Well, don't keep me in suspense. Who would be my match?" He reached down for his drink, bringing it to his lap to tap his fingers on while his father spoke. He knew Beritz meant well, but he had no plans of being married anytime soon. Knowing he would have to feign interest in the idea to get his father off his back, he fixed what he hoped was an expression of curiosity onto his face.

"He's a rare breed, to be sure, lad. Smart as a whip, a hard worker, and he's got manners immaculate enough to play diplomat for you down the road. He's eager to better this world." Beritz stopped suddenly, wagging his finger when Nero smirked, raising a brow. "I can see what's on your mind. You're wondering about his looks, eh? Typical shallow brat. Believe me, he's easy on the eyes. He's from the house of Cesari, so he-"

Nero choked, throat closing around his drink mid-swallow. Brow furrowed in concern, Beritz gave him a few hard thumps on the back as he hacked. After regaining the ability to suck air into his lungs, the prince set his drink back on the ground. He didn't trust himself to take another mouthful.

"Cesari," Nero repeated numbly, tucking his tongue into his cheek to keep from laughing. Or groaning. "That would be March, then." He vaguely remembered meeting another son of Cesari at one point or another, but surely that one would still be a child. And of course March would be the kind of self-righteous, dreadfully dull puritan his father would want to saddle him with.

"I didn't know you were already acquainted." Beritz replied, surprised. But even a fool could see that his son hadn't met the name with the enthusiasm he'd hoped. "Don't tell me he isn't to your taste?"

Hedging, Nero cleared his throat. He didn't mind bending the truth a bit when it suited the situation, but there was no polite way to explain his nuanced feelings for the prissy noble. If he'd ever had any doubts that the gods could have a cruel sense of humor, the mere existence of March Cesari would alleviate those doubts. How could anyone who looked like that be so high-strung?

"My opinion of him wouldn't be the problem, Father." Nero felt a lick of guilt at dashing the eagerness so obviously emanating from the excitable man, but that guilt was flooded in relief. He doubted March could be convinced to give him a friendly handshake, let alone accept a marriage proposal to him. If that was who his father was keen on tethering him to, his bachelor lifestyle was safe. "I'm fairly certain he would be refusing that offer from you."

Beritz' eyes narrowed in mistrust. "And what makes you so certain? What did you do to him?"

"Nothing!" Nero answered quickly. Too quickly, in Beritz' opinion. "I just think you'll find our personalities don't, ah, suit. He's a bit of a-"

"Enough!" The king interrupted him, cutting a no-nonsense gesture in the air with his hand. "He's to be a guest here, for the length of a season. Whatever problems you've caused with him, you better figure out a way to solve them, Nero."

"A guest here?"

"He's accepted my offer to stay in the castle for the next three months. You'll be spending those months acclimating him to the way we do things here in Ikronia. I suggest you figure out a way for your personalities to, ah, suit," he said, imitating his son's cagey way of speaking.

"You're crazy," Nero decided, shaking his head. "Even if I go along with this plan of yours, I'm telling you he doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Oh, you'll be going along with it, my boy," Beritz assured him. "Fight me on this, and you'll find yourself in a world of pain. I've half a mind to ship you off to the royal army. They wouldn't be treating you like a prince there."

Nero paled, hearing the resigned truth in his father's voice. "You're telling me I have to marry March, or you'll send me to slog through the trenches in the military?"

"You don't have to marry him, at the end of it. But for those three months, you'll be playing the consummate gentleman. I want to see you opening doors, pulling out chairs, and taking long walks on sun-dappled trails."

Rolling his eyes toward the sky, Nero couldn't decide which image he found more unlikely. Himself, clad in a military uniform, crawling on his stomach through a trench of mud, or March agreeing to a leisurely stroll with him across a sunny meadow.

"And if he refuses to be courted by me?"

"That charm of yours that oozes out of every pore? It ought to be good for something other than attracting a bed warmer for the night."

Groaning, Nero rubbed his fingers into his eyes. "March isn't the type to be coerced by charm, Father. He's not exactly what any sane person would call reasonable."

Beritz stood, the bulk of his body casting a shadow over his son. "I'll remind you not to insult an honored guest of our home, and the son of a cherished friend."

"I don't mean to insult him." Not where Beritz could hear him, anyway. "It's just that this scheme you've hatched is bordering on insanity."

"You're my son, and I have faith you'll figure out a way to make this work. I'll leave you to your nap. I wager you won't be having too many of those for awhile, starting next week. From what I hear, he isn't keen on wasting the hours in a day."

LATER, WITH THEsun setting behind him, Nero stalked through the castle gardens, toward the enclosure in the back. The guards who stood at the high stone wall nodded as they let him through. Though he felt surly, he gave them a nod in return. It wasn't their fault he'd soon be miserable.

The area past the wall was hundreds of acres large, rife with forest and mountain and cave. The border that surrounded it was not to keep the dozens of dragons who made their home there in. It was to keep curious and disruptive humans out.

The treaty, based in a mutual trust and love between the Aracovins and the wise dragons, was hundreds of years old. He knew the story of how it had come to be very well, it was something that had been drilled into his head since childhood.

It was a well-known fact that a dragon's body contained elements that could be used to serve humans in a variety of ways. Their blood could be used to cure diseases. Their horns could be ground into a fine powder to provide more stamina, more energy, than any vitamin known to man. Their scales, available in an eye-watering array of shades and hues, would make the most luxurious and expensive jewelry in the world. Even their teeth could be crafted into powerful amulets capable of warding off dark magic. The list seemed endless.

They'd lived in hiding, carefully guarding their nests and their young, for though they had natural size and strength and armor far beyond what a single human could ever be capable of overcoming, humans outnumbered them thousands to one. And humans were nothing if not greedy and persistent.

The story of his ancestors and how they'd forged what was still a powerful bond with the majestic, highly intelligent creatures was a romantic, whimsical tale. It was said that an abandoned young toddler had been discovered by a particularly maternal dragon, and taken in and cared for, growing into a scrappy, adventurous young maiden who was beloved by all the dragons and accepted as one of their own. Through a stroke of intense luck(or destiny), she'd stumbled into a princess' royal entourage. It was said that the princess, who'd been vacationing in a nearby villa in the mountains, had fallen instantly in love with the daring young woman. They'd married after a brief courting period, and after the dragon girl had introduced the princess to her unconventional family, a new and sudden understanding had been forged for the mistreatment of the majestic beings.

In return for the heavily enforced ban on the hunting of their kind, the dragons lived close, giving their loyalty and strength to the royal family freely. It would take an inconceivable army to conquer their mass these days, so a war was nearly unthinkable. Because of their special enclosure, Ikronia Castle was probably one of the safest places in the entire world.

Making his way down a path worn smooth by his own boots, as well as the boots of many of his ancestors, Nero stopped before a massive oak. He knew he wouldn't have long to wait, and there was no need for any signal of sorts.

His favored friend, Perrin, soared in the sky above him, curving to land gracefully on the ground before him. As the Prince of Dragons, Nero had wandered the enclosure freely since childhood. He knew every dragon, both young and old, but he shared a special bond with Perrin in particular, a tradition for all Aracovins.

Your mood is black today, young Nero. Perrin's low voice sounded in his head. The dragons communicated with humans, and with each other, through telepathy.

"Perceptive of you," he responded, kicking a small rock aside petulantly. He wished the king's absurd plan could be dispatched as easily as the pebble. "My father has decided I'm to be married, it seems." There was no need for him to voice the complaint, as Perrin could read every thought in his head, but it felt a bit cathartic to spit it out.

The dragon shifted, lowering himself into a comfortable position of rest. His sleek body and leathery wings gave him a more sinister appearance than some of the brighter, rounder others of his kind, but he was friendly, if a bit rebellious. His scales were black, though like other dragons, they shined with a brilliant opalescent rainbow in the light. Recalling the similarities between the scales of his beloved dragon companion and March's eyes, Nero grimaced, sliding to the ground, back propped to the tree.

Admittedly, my understanding of humans can sometimes be minimal, but I'm under the impression one would typically exude joy when announcing an engagement. But you aren't fond of this March, it seems.

"I'm not getting married," Nero assured him. "Whether I was fond of that priss or not, it would never work. But I have to play along, or I'm screwed."

It is known that Beritz is a pragmatic leader. Do you doubt the wisdom of his plan?

"He just doesn't understand," Nero insisted, though he sounded whiny even to his own ears. "March's like… Like a bowl of cold oatmeal. It would keep you alive, but it's not something you'd race to the table for. Do you get what I mean?" If a cold bowl of oatmeal looked like the most mouth-watering five star meal ever created, he thought bitterly. But looks could be deceiving, as he very well knew.

He was certain that the young noble's qualifications must have looked very enticing on paper, especially to someone like his father, who lived to fulfill his duty to the people of Ikronia. But Nero wasn't sure he could ever respect someone who denied themselves of any semblance of pleasure. Worse, someone who couldn't, or wouldn't, even admit to having desires at all.

Oats are known for their nutritious properties. Do you think your father is putting you on a path that would lead to your prosperous health?

"Undoubtedly," Nero replied, smirking a bit at Perrin's literal mind. "I'm sure he would like nothing better than to stick me with a nagging do-good like that. Perhaps I would live longer, but what's the point?"

Is there a way you can compromise with this March? Join together in the unity that your father desires, while maintaining your way of life?

Nero shook his head, letting the darkness settle around them. March wasn't the type to feel trapped by the idea of an arranged marriage, the prince knew. The pretty male would view it as an inevitability, perhaps even an honorable duty, instead of the prison sentence it really was.

But even still, the idea that the Cesari heir would settle for a marriage of convenience, allowing his husband to be linked with him in name only, was laughable. No, he wouldn't be letting his spouse fritter around outside the marriage bed and sully his good name and reputation. The husband of March Cesari would be righteous and virtuous and probably nauseatingly dull. Nero sometimes doubted he would ever truly be the first two, and sincerely hoped he would never be the third.

"He won't work with me."

Do you know his mind so well?

"He's easy to know. Predictable as the rising sun."

You find this to be an undesirable attribute in a potential mate.

Nero stretched a bit, letting his breath hiss out in a slow stream. "I don't want a mate at all. But if I did, it definitely wouldn't be a stuck-up prude like that."

You do find him pleasing to look at, though. The act of marriage and the creation of offspring don't require true feelings of affection.

Uncomfortable with the idea of pondering the act of creating offspring with the raven-haired puritan where Perrin could probe his mind and see it, Nero only pursed his lips.

"I'll go back to the castle now. See you soon, Perrin."

Enjoy your dinner, young Nero. I would enjoy a ride out to the mountains tomorrow.

"Sure thing," Nero agreed, finding the idea pleasant as well. But he didn't correct the dragon's assumption that he would be going to dinner. The thought of playing a refined cavalier to appease March Cesari for the next three months was enough to ruin anyone's appetite.