Dragon by Midnight Read online

  His one chance of redemption.

  Knightsend Castle perched high on a cliff above Knockingham, its towers peeking over a bristling forest. Mist shrouded the dark pines. Sikandar left behind the cobblestoned streets of the city for a road paved by ancient conquerors, the stones a thousand years smooth. Horses and carriages rattled past at an alarming speed.

  It took him a small eternity to climb to Knightsend. The fortress looked more ornamental than impenetrable, all stained-glass windows and pretty little towers, though gunpowder had rendered castles obsolete. A waterfall churned over the cliff, tossing mist into the dusky evening. When he stepped through the wrought-iron gates, a peacock wandered past. He raised an eyebrow. Shipped from Azurum?

  The guards at the door wore shining plate armor. Also ornamental.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” Sikandar spoke to the guards in his most formal Viridian. “I’m here for the ball.”

  The left-hand guard sneered. “You aren’t a maiden.”

  “Astute observation.”

  Behind Sikandar, a girl giggled. He looked over his shoulder and saw three of them lingering behind him. They whispered behind their hands, their jewelry glittering in the lamplight. His woolen shawl hid his best Azuri formalwear. With a flourish, he stripped off the shawl and tossed it over his arm.

  That got them staring.

  He hadn’t worn his brocade coat since his sister’s wedding. Golden embroidery twisted over shimmering midnight blue silk. His tailored trousers matched, a shade of muted gold. His sister had teased him, calling him a princeling.

  He blinked away the memory like a bad dream.

  “Who are you?” the right-hand guard demanded.

  “A sorcerer from Azurum.”

  The girls behind him gasped at this revelation.

  “Sorcery!” one of them said in a stage whisper.

  “Will there be magic tricks at the ball?” asked another.

  “Perhaps.” Sikandar forced a smile. “But first, I must speak with the king.”

  “You have an appointment?” the right-hand guard said. “His Majesty doesn’t grant audiences to strangers off the street.”

  What a pain. He could teleport inside, but he didn’t want to sound the alarm.

  “My name is Sikandar Zerian.”

  The guards glanced at each other. Surely, they knew of his family’s reputation. A Zerian at the door was never welcomed, though never rejected. Nobody wanted their name written in his family’s meticulous list of enemies.

  “Speak to His Majesty’s steward first,” said the left-hand guard.

  “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  Before they could change their minds, Sikandar breezed past them into the castle. He paused in the entrance hall. Impressive. Crystal chandeliers shimmered from vaulted ceilings painted like the night sky. The royal family had to be fabulously wealthy. Maybe cheese, wine, and clocks weren’t such bad exports, after all.

  “Sir.” A footman materialized by his elbow. “Might I unburden you?”

  Sikandar swung his pack from his shoulders. “Thank you.”

  To his credit, the footman didn’t flinch at the considerable weight. Unbeknownst to him, the pack contained an assortment of sorcerous supplies.

  Nothing too dangerous.

  “And your shawl, sir?”

  “Of course.” Sikandar straightened, feeling a little more like a gentleman.

  “Pardon me!” One of the girls caught up to him. “Mr. Zerian?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you truly from Azurum?” The doe-eyed young lady stared at him as if he were a special treat, imported for the night.

  Obviously, she hadn’t heard of the Zerian family. Or she had, and found danger thrilling.

  “I am. And I’m afraid I’m busy.”

  “Oh, but I would love to speak with you more! I’ve read so much about Azurum. Tigers and rosewater and harems with captive maidens…” The girl clutched her hand to her bosom, looked heavenward, and sighed.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You have read so much, haven’t you?”

  Before she could elaborate upon these fictional harems, he slipped out of the entrance hall and found his way to the ballroom.

  Gods, had they really invited all the maidens in the land?

  A morass of dancers blocked his way. Ladies outnumbered gentlemen. Many unmarried girls clustered in the corners, fanning themselves vigorously and eyeing their competition as one does before entering into ritual combat.

  Wonderful. Now they spotted him.

  Sikandar retreated to a dining room with a buffet table. He grabbed a silver plate and loaded it with sugared grapes, to avoid making conversation. He tracked down the nearest servant, who was refreshing an empty punchbowl.

  “Excuse me.” Sikandar raised his voice. “It’s urgent that I speak with the king.”

  The servant had a placid, almost mulish look. His large ears didn’t help. “Do you have an appointment with His Majesty?”

  “No, but—”

  “Sorry, sir, I’m afraid an appointment is required.”

  “Could I speak with your steward?”

  “The steward is indisposed at the moment. The ball is a rather hectic occasion.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Enjoy the refreshments.”

  Sikandar sipped some of the punch. It scorched his throat on the way down. Grimacing, he set aside the glass. He didn’t drink alcohol. No wonder so many of the guests here tittered stupidly and stared at him for too long.

  Gods, he had to attract the attention of the King of Viridia. But how? Magic tricks?

  He needed the Jewel of Oblivion before it was too late to redeem himself. Was it worth trying to steal it from the Viridian royal vault? With his luck, he would fail miserably.

  “Might I ask why you are guarding the punch bowl?”

  A young lady confronted him. Her burgundy hair clashed with her yellow ballgown. Her skin reminded him of porcelain, too white and flawless, as if she were an imaginary woman from an advertisement selling high-end perfume.

  Glamours. The magic scented the air, almost imperceptibly, with lilacs and lightning.

  “Pardon me,” he said. “The punch bowl is all yours.”

  She refilled her glass and swigged a drink. “Better.” She sighed. “I hate these horrid balls. Mother wants us to marry into money.”

  Sikandar glanced sideways at her. “Isn’t that the point?”

  “Perhaps.” Her gaze traveled over his brown skin. “Where are you from?”

  “Azurum.”

  “I thought so. Do they have balls like this in Azurum?”

  “The equivalent.”

  She curled her lip slightly. “I suppose it’s unavoidable.” Her gaze sharpened. “Who are you, anyway? It’s horribly improper for me to ask you myself, without being introduced by someone, but you have my curiosity.”

  “Sikandar Zerian.”

  “Zerian. That sounds awfully familiar.”

  He kept his face blank. “Does it?”

  “Aren’t they a bad family?” She whispered it like a scandalous secret.

  “Do I look bad?” he deadpanned.

  She arched her eyebrows. “Not particularly.”

  “Nice to meet you. Though I still don’t know your name.”

  “Delicata Darlington.”

  “Do you know the royal family?”

  Delicata laughed. “If only! Then I could simply marry Prince Benedict Charming and make all of Mother’s dreams come true.”

  The sound of applause echoed from the ballroom.

  Delicata followed his gaze. “Speak of the devil.” She poured more punch into her glass. “Until we meet again, Mr. Zerian.”

  Fortified by alcohol, she sauntered back to the ballroom.

  Sikandar followed at her heels. Gasps and laughter rippled through the room. Prince Benedict strode by, a glimpse of fair hair and a grin, before he vanished into a sea of eligible maidens. Sikandar doubted the cr
own prince would come up for air any time soon. He would have to dive in after him and drag him out.

  One of the young ladies collapsed on the floor.

  Down on her knees, she shuddered before sprawling across the wood. Her skin turned blue as her body twisted into another shape. Guests crowded around the grotesque spectacle. A predator’s shriek tore from her mouth.

  Heart hammering, Sikandar lifted his hands, bracing himself to summon defensive magic. He lost sight of her until she unfurled over the ballroom.

  His stomach lurched. “Dragon.”

  Candlelight glimmered on her armor of blue scales. Wicked horns curved from her head. Her jaws gaped, saliva dripping from her fangs, and breath scented with brimstone fouled the air. When she spread her leathery wings, she knocked down a chandelier, which plummeted and chimed into a thousand shards of crystal.

  From beauty to beast in less than a minute.

  The power hit Sikandar’s gut like a sucker punch.

  Screams echoed in the ballroom. Ladies fainted while gentlemen scrambled for the doors, throwing aside dignity and chivalry.

  Prince Benedict drew his dress sword, the gilded blade useless against such a monstrosity. The dragon slithered away, claws gouging the floor. She whipped her head, searching the ballroom. Her fiery eyes looked wild.

  The dragon lunged.

  Instead of taking off the crown prince’s head, she crashed through a magnificent window, scattering chunks of masonry, and fled onto a balcony. Prince Benedict bounded over shards of glass and chased his foe outside.

  Sikandar would prefer not to be burnt to ashes. He didn’t want the royal family of Viridia dead, either. Not when he needed them and the contents of their treasury.

  Swearing, he followed the prince.

  The dragon barely fit on the balcony. Her wings and tail scraped the granite castle walls. Cracks spiderwebbed through the stone underfoot. Sikandar leapt back, stumbling, and caught himself on the rubble. Prince Benedict, rather ridiculously, brandished his sword while balancing.

  The dragon reared onto the railing. Between one heartbeat and the next, she perched on the brink of flight.

  Half the balcony crumbled.

  The dragon plummeted into the ravine, twisting in the air, a serpent with useless wings. Mist shrouded the lake below. She vanished.

  The impact punctuated the waterfall’s roar.

  Silence.

  “Dead?” Sikandar said.

  Prince Benedict glanced back. “Who are you?” He raised his gilded sword. “Did you conjure the dragon?”

  “No!” Sikandar raised his hands. “I’m not that kind of sorcerer.”

  “But you are a sorcerer?”

  Maybe he shouldn’t have worn brocade silk tonight. Playing the part of a mysterious stranger could get him killed.

  “Answer the question.” Prince Benedict pointed the sword at his neck.

  Sikandar kept his face emotionless. “I’m a sorcerer from Azurum, trained at the University of Naranjal.”

  “And?” The prince’s blade edged nearer. “State your name.”

  “Sikandar Zerian.”

  “I know who you are.” Benedict’s knuckles whitened around his sword. “The Zerian family banished their sorcerer son. Murder, wasn’t it?”

  Rumors had reached Viridia already. “I won’t deny it.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Prince Benedict sheathed his sword grimly. “Father!”

  King Archibald Charming of Viridia.

  He didn’t look like a king, regardless of his crown and velvet clothes. More like a woodcutter who enjoyed tavern brawls. He had a grizzled beard, meaty arms, and a nose that must have been broken at least once.

  Sikandar dropped into a low bow, his hair falling into his eyes, hoping he remembered the correct etiquette here.

  “Rise,” said the king, as if commanding a dog.

  Sikandar gritted his teeth, but didn’t risk disobeying. “Your Majesty, I—”

  “Benedict, what the hell happened here?”

  “Father.” Prince Benedict’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “She turned into a dragon.”

  “Who?” King Archibald thundered. “A witch? An assassin?”

  “Just a girl.”

  “Clearly not just a girl, you imbecile.” A vein bulged on the king’s temple. “She destroyed half the castle!”

  Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “But she seemed so sweet and innocent.”

  King Archibald sneered like he had smelled a cesspit. “Don’t be distracted by tits and a pretty face. I would place my bet on a dragon in disguise. She wouldn’t be the first to hide her wicked nature with feminine wiles.”

  “Like a werewolf?” Prince Benedict asked. “Or that siren princess?”

  “Precisely.” King Archibald stroked his beard pensively. “That scaly abomination left your poor cousin Edgar with demon spawn instead of heirs.” He curled his lip. “Benedict, tell me you didn’t kiss that girl.”

  “I only thought about it,” the prince stammered.

  “Thank god.” King Archibald grunted. “That’s how they ensnare you with their diabolical enchantments.”

  Wonderful. Laymen coming to their own conclusions about magic.

  Sikandar cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

  “Who the hell are you?” King Archibald rounded on him.

  “Sikandar Zerian of Azurum.”

  “Zerian?” The king retreated a step, his nostrils flaring like those of a bull. “What do they want?”

  “Don’t ask me, my family banished me.”

  “For murder,” Prince Benedict interjected, unhelpfully.

  “Irrelevant.” Sikandar shook his head. “In my expert opinion, the dragon girl was cursed.”

  A woman’s voice echoed across the broken ballroom. “What was her name?”

  Queen Eira of Viridia glided to them in a wine-red gown. She stopped where the dragon’s claws had ruined the parquet floor. She wore no glamours. Her silvery blonde hair glinted, frosted by age, and she had eyes of palest gray. She looked almost colorless, like she had faded away over time.

  Sikandar bowed again. “Your Majesty.”

  “Cinderella,” said Prince Benedict. “She told me her name was Cinderella, before she confessed her true identity.”

  Queen Eira traced a claw mark with her gaze. “Which was?”

  “Ginevra Darlington.”

  The queen’s stare froze in place. “Darlington,” she murmured.

  She knew more that she wasn’t telling them. Sikandar sensed an opportunity.

  “I can help the royal family,” he said, “by ridding you of the dragon.”

  King Archibald snorted. “For free?”

  “For the Jewel of Oblivion.”

  The king held out his hands as if weighing the magical gem against the dragon. “It seems rather coincidental that you arrived at the same night the dragon did, then offer to make it all go away for a very specific price.”

  Sikandar’s mouth went drier than the deserts of Azurum, but he forced himself to smile. “That would be too obvious. Surely my family has a reputation for more cunning than that? I’m offering my expertise in curses and hexes.”

  King Archibald turned instead to his son. “Benedict, you will slay the dragon.”

  The color drained from the prince’s face, but he squared his shoulders and gripped the hilt of his sword. “Yes, Father.”

  “Wait,” Sikandar said. “Magic can be cleaner than a blade.”

  King Archibald sliced his hand through the air. “There’s no time to wait. Not with a monster rampaging around my kingdom.”

  The dragon was hardly rampaging. She had fled the castle.

  “No,” Queen Eira interrupted. “We should send the sorcerer. The Zerian family understands how to kill with discretion.”

  King Archibald glowered at her. “You would deny our son the honor of a dragon hunt?”

  “Honor matters less than a swift resolution.”

  “Fine.
” The king folded his thick arms. “Let them both try.”

  Sikandar touched his hand to his heart. “The dragon will never darken the skies above your kingdom again. On my honor as a sorcerer.”

  Which wasn’t much.

  The queen met his gaze with her unsettlingly pale eyes. “Sikandar Zerian, if you win, the Jewel of Oblivion is yours.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Save your thanks for your victorious return.”

  Three

  Cinderella

  Hitting the lake knocked the air from Cinderella’s lungs. She sank deep below the inky water, twisting, trapped in an unknown body with claws and wings. Her heart raced with panic. One constant remained.

  Breathe. She had to breathe.

  Cinderella’s tail scraped rocks. The bottom of the lake. Kicking, she surged upward and burst into the air with a gasp. She half-swam, half-scrambled onto the shore, stumbling over boulders. Her limbs felt loose and disjointed, like an unfamiliar puppet. Not even her eyesight was the same. The night looked too stark and bright.

  High above, overlooking the cliff, Knightsend glittered in the moonlight, ruined by broken glass and scarred masonry.

  She had done that. Her dream had become a nightmare.

  Screams still echoed in her memory. She crawled along the shore, her belly and tail dragging on the gravel. When she straightened to her full height, the distance to the ground dizzied her for a moment. She had to be twice as tall as before, and rivaling a draft horse in weight. What was she? But that was a foolish question.

  Dragon. There was no other word for it.

  Only hours before, she had been dancing and laughing with Prince Benedict, feeling a glimmer of hope that she might save Umberwood Manor. Why hadn’t the Fairy Godmother warned her that her spell came with a curse?

  Dragons could still cry. Scalding tears streamed down the scales on her face.

  She fled from the castle. Brambles tangled the edge of the forest. She crashed through the thorns, her wings clamped along her back, her claws gouging the muck. Teardrops sizzled as they landed on the damp leaves underfoot.

  Prince Charming would find her. Not to win her hand, but to slay her.

  Deeper and deeper into the forest she ran. God, she had to stop. Just to let the choking in her throat subside. Endless trees hid the castle from sight. The wind shattered and reshaped the canopy of maple leaves overhead. She was lost in the wilderness. Where she belonged.