The Queen gave me a smile before continuing, “And a King’s duty isn't just to the present, but to the future. Roman has a duty to Avalon to produce as many children as possible. We must ensure that when we are gone, there is a dynasty and a leadership strong enough to keep Avalon united and the Savonians or other threats at bay."

  Noree’s expression softened. She looked down, her hand moving from my cheek to rest gently against her own belly. A slow, radiant smile spread across her face as she contemplated the weight of Yvette’s words. The thought of bearing my children, of contributing to that better future, seemed to wash away her jealousy.

  "I understand," Noree whispered, her eyes bright. "I want that, too. I want to see our children fly above the waves and the stones."

  I took both of their hands in mine, the contrast between Yvette’s poised strength and Noree’s youthful fire reminding me of the precarious balance I had to maintain- not just in my kingdom, but in my family. “Have I told you how lucky I am to have such amazing women in my life?”

  Noree smiled and squeezed my hand.

  “Will you at least see the girl?” Yvette asked, raising a blonde eyebrow as her eyes met mine. She wasn’t going to let me change the subject.

  I didn’t tell her that I had met Petal last night. Yvette would want to know all the details and what I felt about her. I needed time to think about adding the hot tempered half-orc into my life before I made a decision.

  "I'm considering it," I replied. "But I won't give an answer until I meet with Logak and his daughter."

  "The General is waiting to introduce her in the main hall immediately after breakfast," Yvette noted, a small, triumphant smile touching her lips.

  ***

  Monica was waiting for us at the hall’s entrance. The heavy double doors were open. The main hall of Westhill Garth was a cavernous space of cold granite and heavy timber, smelling of old wood smoke and damp stone. As Yvette, Noree, and I approached, the sound of a hushed but heated argument drifted through the opening.

  "For the last time, Petal," I heard General Logak’s voice rumble, thick with exasperation. "The King’s name is Roman. Not Rogan. If you mispronounce the sovereign's name during the introduction, I will have you scrubbing the barracks floors for a month."

  I felt a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. Beside me, Yvette’s eyebrows shot up in confusion, while Monica simply offered a knowing, amused glance. The brunette had likely been listening to the father and daughter argue. We entered the hall just as the echoes of the General's lecture died down.

  Standing in the center of the hall, Petal-Flower looked like a storm cloud stuffed into a silk bag.

  Her father had clearly insisted on the Shearing Festival Gown, but the garment was a disaster for a woman of her build. It was a mass of white frills and delicate lace better suited for a slender, soft-featured girl. The square-cut neckline looked as if it were under structural duress, struggling to contain her full breasts, and the waist was cinched so tight I wondered if she could actually breathe.

  She stood with her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, her long black ponytail replaced by an elaborate hairstyle held together by a set of elaborate, uncomfortable-looking pins. Her heeled shoes made her taller, yet she still somehow managed to look smaller, which was an achievement for a woman who stood six feet tall.

  I realized she was either deeply embarrassed or she was playing the "shy and demure" role Logak had coached her on. The contrast between this frilly, trapped version of her and the barefoot warrior who had been snapping kicks into a mannequin last night was jarring.

  Yvette and Noree stepped forward, their eyes performing a clinical, lightning-fast evaluation. I could see them taking in her height, her strength, and the obvious discomfort she felt in her own skin. Logak stood beside her, his chest puffed out, looking like a man who had bet his entire life savings on a single roll of the dice.

  "King Roman," Logak said, his voice booming with forced formality. "May I present my daughter, Petal-Flower."

  Petal-Flower took a slow, deep breath and finally looked up.

  The moment her reddish-brown eyes met mine, the "demure" facade shattered like glass. Her jaw dropped, and her face went from a pale green to a deep, vibrant emerald in seconds. Shock, confusion, and then a searing, white-hot anger flashed across her features.

  "Dravik!" she sputtered, her voice trembling with anger and confusion.

  "Dravik… Roman Dravik," I said softly, a small smile playing on my lips. "But I think we established that 'Rogan' was a close second."

  Petal didn't see the humor. She saw a King who had spent the previous night watching her struggle, watching her curse him, and "playing" along with the charade. She took two aggressive steps forward, ignoring her father’s frantic hiss.

  "You!" she snarled. Like an angry leopard, Petal lunged out and punched my arm- hard. "You were making fun of me! You sat there and let me talk about... about..."

  "How dare you strike the King!" Monica roared.

  In a blur of steel, Monica was between us, her sword drawn and the tip hovering inches from Petal’s throat. Logak turned pale, his hands shaking. "Petal! Control yourself! Your Majesty, I beg—"

  Yvette gasped and Noree grabbed my arm protectively.

  "Monica, stand down," I commanded, my hand resting on Monica’s shoulder. "It’s fine. Petal and I are just... finishing a sparring lesson."

  Monica lingered for a second, her eyes narrowed at the half-orc girl, before reluctantly sheathing her blade. Petal didn't back down; if anything, she looked even more incensed.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "You stood there in the sawdust, acting like some wandering gladiator! You could have said, 'Hello, I'm the King who’s here to bargain for you with your father.' Why the lie?"

  "It wasn't a lie," I countered, rubbing my arm. “Did you have to punch the same spot as last night? That’s definitely going to leave a bruise.”

  Petal balled her fists and set them on her hips. “Ha! Good–you deserve it!”

  “Petal, mind your tongue!” her father roared in embarrassment.

  “It’s all right Logak, Petal has a right to be angry,” I said before turning my attention back to the half-orc girl.

  "I told you my name was Dravik. And I didn't tell you the rest because I wanted to meet you… not the version your father wanted you to pretend to be. If I’d walked in with a crown on, would you have told me you wanted to be a warrior? Or would you have just stared at your boots like you were doing a minute ago, pretending to be ‘demure’?"

  Petal bit her lip, her anger momentarily faltering. The orc girl looked at the floor, then at Yvette and Noree.

  Her eyes flashed angrily again as she gestured wildly at her frilly gown. "Why would you even want me, 'Roman'? Look at your wives! They are like polished jewels—elegant, quiet, perfect. I'm loud, I’m rough, and I'd rather hit something than talk to it. I’m a brute in a lace curtain. You don't want a girl like me; you want a trophy for your shelf!"

  “What makes you think a former gladiator wouldn’t want a girl like you?” I kept my voice calm.

  I could see her mind working furiously. “How is it possible that the King of Avalon was a former gladiator?”

  “It is a long story,” Yvette answered, a smile playing on her lips.

  The half-orc’s eyes looked at Yvette and then at me again.

  "Why?" Petal demanded, her eyes welling with tears of frustration. "Why continue this farce? You saw me last night. You saw I'm no 'proper lady.' I’m a brute. I’m a joke in this dress."

  With a frustrated growl, she turned on her heel, the frills of her gown rustling loudly as she began to storm toward the exit.

  "Stay."

  The word wasn't a request. It was the voice of the King, and it carried enough weight to stop her mid-stride. Petal wheeled around, her chest heaving against the laces of her gown.

  "Why?" she challenged, gesturing wildly at her outfit. "Look at me! Do I look like a King’s concubine? Do I look like those elegant flowers you keep at your side?"

  I took a slow, deliberate step toward her, closing the distance until I could see the flecks of red in her eyes. Yvette and Noree remained silent, watching with bated breath.

  "No," I answered honestly. "In that dress? You look like you’re being suffocated by a lace curtain."

  Logak let out a strangled sound, but I ignored him.

  "But the girl I met last night?" I continued, my voice dropping to a low, steady tone. "The one who refused to give up on a kick? The one who was more interested in breaking a dummy than following a script? That girl is exactly the kind of strength I want in my household. I would be honored to have her as my concubine."

  The anger drained out of Petal’s face, replaced by a stunned, wide-eyed silence. She searched my face for any sign of a joke, any trace of the mockery she expected. She didn't find it.

  Her voice was soft and uncertain as she gazed at the floor. “You… you don’t care that I am not a proper young lady?”

  I took a slow step toward her, closing the distance. My hand reached out, tilting her chin up so she had to meet my eyes.

  "Exactly," I said. "I preferred the girl who wanted to break my face for laughing at her name. I don't want a 'demure' princess, Petal. I want a warrior who can keep up with me."

  The hope that had been extinguished in the practice room last night flickered back to life, brighter than before. She looked at her father, then at Yvette—who offered a small, welcoming nod—and finally back to me.

  "You... you're serious?" she asked.

  "I'm a King," I said, a playful spark in my eyes. "We aren't allowed to joke about these things. Now, go take off that dress. We leave for Crossroads soon, and I expect you to be ready to ride. In leathers, not lace."

  Petal-Flower didn't wait for a second invitation. She offered a quick, awkward bow before hitching up her skirt and sprinting out of the hall.

  Yvette gave the general a stern look. “I see your daughter is exactly as you described her.”

  Logak’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I assure you, my lady, Petal is a good woman. She is just a bit hard-headed at times.”

  Yvette smiled. “My husband seems to have met her and he apparently approves of her. That is the important thing.”

  I could see the relief in Logak’s eyes.

  Yvette placed her hand on my arm. “Why don’t you take Noree for a walk. Monica and I will sit with the general and prepare the official concubine documents. You and Petal-Flower can sign them after lunch.”

  I turned my attention to Sir Logak. “We will depart for Crossroads after the papers are signed. General, I want you to fly with us to the city. I want your cavalry to also depart today.”

  The general bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  Yvette gave me a surprised look. “Roman, do you not wish to consummate the union tonight? We can depart in the morning.”

  I shook my head. “That celebration will have to wait. We need to get back to Crossroads so we can prepare to pay a visit to the Duchess in Tallwyn.”

  The general spoke up. “My lord, if I may?”

  I gave him a nod to continue.

  “I have a two person saddle that I use to carry my daughter on my dragon. She often travels with me.”

  I recalled what Petal had said about her father keeping her on a short lease. “Good. She can travel with us to Crossroads.”

  Noree took my hand in hers and began pulling me towards the door. Her aquamarine eyes sparkled with amusement. “Now that that is settled, let us get some air. This has been quite the eventful morning!”

  36

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The stone towers of Crossroads rose from the valley floor like a welcoming beacon as our flight of nine dragons crested the final ridge. The red and gold banners of Avalon snapped proudly in the mountain breeze, a stark contrast to the dreary mists we had left behind in Penwyn.

  As Graxion’s massive talons gripped the stone of the central plaza, the impact sent a familiar jolt through my legs. Behind me, Kashko unbuckled his scout-saddle with practiced ease, his elven agility making the descent look effortless.

  "My thanks for the transport, King Roman," the bard said, adjusting his lute case. "Flying is certainly faster than walking, though I suspect my next ballad will need a few verses about the sheer terror of a vertical dive. It adds a certain... gravitas to the melody."

  I chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Just make sure you get my name right in the song, Kashko."

  Lady Agatha was already crossing the plaza, her gold-filigree cane clicking rhythmically against the cobblestones. Beside her stood Lady Sarah, looking weary but alert. Her green dragon Ezza landed nearby to join the others as stable hands hurried over with food for the hungry dragons.

  "Status report," I said, meeting them halfway.

  "The city is stable, my lord," Agatha reported, her sharp eyes scanning our new arrivals, lingering for a moment on the brown dragon and the two half-orcs. "I see General Logak has joined your retinue. I trust your visit with Baron Rockhand proved to be fruitful, my lord."

  “It may prove to be a much more bountiful visit than the King expected,” Yvette added with a half-smile as she glanced at the half-orc girl dismounting from the general’s dragon.

  Lady Agatha let out a cackle. “Excellent! I am glad to hear it!”

  “If I were only young again!” she added with a wink to the queen. Yvette couldn’t help but laugh.

  Ignoring them, I turned to Sarah. "And the north? Any word from our neighbor?"

  Sarah shook her head, her expression grim. "I’ve patrolled the North Road every morning, King Roman. There is no sign of movement from Tallwyn. No scouts, no messengers, and certainly no army.

  Countess Sizuna, who had been listening from atop her blue dragon, cleared her throat to get my attention. “It’s too quiet. A Duchess as ambitious as Miranda doesn't simply ignore a new King on her doorstep unless she’s waiting for something."

  "Or preparing a welcome we won't like," I muttered.

  I informed Monica that I wanted to meet with her, Captain Dagmar and General Logak. "I want to plan our next move. We need to map out the march to Tallwyn. If the Duchess won't come to us, we’ll take the conversation to her."

  Sizuna dismounted from Tamlin with a predatory smile. "I cannot wait to see the look on Miranda’s face when you show up on her balcony with a flight of dragons. She’s always prided herself on having the most important court in Avalon. A few tons of fire-breathing muscle should adjust her perspective nicely."

  By mid-afternoon, the bustle of the arrival had settled into a steady hum of preparation. I had met with my military advisors and was walking back to my rooms when I noticed Petal-Flower standing by the stairs near the keep’s main entrance. She wasn't sharpening her blade or practicing her kicks. She was simply leaning against the stone, her arms crossed, staring at the ground with a look that could have curdled milk.

  "Everything alright, Petal?" I asked, walking over. "The flight was long, but the quarters here are better than the mud we camped in last night."

  She didn't look up. "Nothing is wrong," she snapped, the agitation clear in her voice.

  "You sure? You look like you’re ready to punch another mannequin."

  Petal finally met my eyes, her reddish-brown gaze flashing with a mix of anger and something I couldn't quite place—something that looked uncomfortably like hurt. "I said it’s fine, my Lord."

  Without another word, she pushed off the wall and stormed away through the open entrance towards the plaza, her ponytail whipping behind her with enough force to be a weapon.

  I watched her go, completely baffled. I thought our conversation in Penwyn had cleared the air. I turned to find Yvette standing a few paces behind me, a soft, knowing smile playing on her lips.

  "I take it I said the wrong thing?" I asked.

  "You said nothing at all, Roman. That is the problem," Yvette replied, stepping up to link her arm with mine. She led me up the stairs, her voice dropping to a gentle, instructional tone. "Think of what Petal has been through. Her father has given her to the king as a concubine. She was uprooted from her home and brought into a foreign court. You claimed her as your concubine in front of everyone, yet since we left Westhill Garth, you have treated her like... well, like a soldier."

  "She is a warrior," I protested. "I thought she’d appreciate the respect."

  "She does. But she is also a woman who has just entered a binding union," Yvette explained. "The poor girl is likely wondering if your 'honor' to have her was merely political theater. She is wondering why you haven't consummated the union, Roman. In her mind, until that happens, she is just a guest with a title she hasn't earned."

  I rubbed the back of my neck, the "Earthly" part of my brain still struggling with the pacing of Faewyn customs. "I was hoping to wait. To give her time to adjust. I was actually hoping you and I could spend some time together tonight. It's been a hell of a week."

  Yvette stopped and turned to face me, her blue eyes reflecting a deep, selfless wisdom. She reached up and smoothed the collar of my tunic.

  "I can wait, my love," she said softly. "Our bond is stronger than stone or steel. But Petal is a raw nerve right now. She needs to know she is truly part of this family, not just a tactical asset. You need to be with her tonight. Show her the 'gladiator' didn't disappear just because he put on a crown."

  I placed my hands on her shoulders and gazed into her cornflower blue eyes. "You're an amazing woman, Yvette."

  "I am an amazing Queen," she corrected with a smile. "And a Queen knows how to manage her King’s heart and his family."

  I pulled her tight against my body and kissed her.

  Yvette caressed my face as we broke off our kiss. “I too, want you, Roman. I can wait a little longer.” She let out a long sigh. “The sacrifices a queen has to make.”