Chapter 6

"Skies above, I thought you'd never ask." Waltman thrust his meaty palm into Reynolds's and slammed his shoulder into the prince in what had to be the worst attempt at a pirouette Reynolds had ever seen.

"Not you, you ugly lizard." Reynolds shook his hand free and laughed. "Her." Waltman grinned. "I'm a better dancer."

"Your dancing could take out an entire row of innocent Befelynian maidens in one fell swoop." Luther elbowed her way past Waltman, swatting at him when he pulled on her short dark hair.

"Ah yes, but then I'd have impressed an entire row of innocent maidens, and Reynolds here would have impressed only the one." Waltman wiggled his brows at Reynolds.

"If your goal is to impress girls, save your moves for the sky where you truly shine," Reynolds said as he took Luther's hand in his and spun her into his arms.

"I am a beast in the sky, aren't I?" Waltman clapped his friends on their backs, sending Luther into Reynolds's chest, and then wandered over to peruse the sad remains of the mead barrels.

The song was a blend of pounding drums and wailing violins, but Reynolds couldn't find the energy to keep up the pace. Not with the weight of his impending confrontation with Father sitting like a rock on his chest. Instead, he closed his eyes, held Luther loosely, and swayed while his thoughts circled the situation.

Mother would frown, more because Reynolds had once again fallen short of what was expected of a prince of Befelyn than because he'd been expelled, but later he'd make her laugh as he recounted the story of sealing Master Guntbert in his toilet closet.

Rag would look silently superior, and Reynolds would be honor bound to punch him for it later.

And Father . . . Father wasn't likely to ask Master Guntbert to reinstate Reynolds this time. Not when the chance to redeem himself and graduate with honors was no longer a possibility. No, Reynolds would be sent to the war front to learn responsibility or die trying. Father had threatened as much before, but Mother had intervened.

Reynolds was certain no intervention in the sky above could sway Father this time. He should be afraid of what was coming. He should be making plans to plead his case. Instead, there was relief—a sort of shaky calm at the thought of finally facing the threat that had hung over Reynolds like a blade for the past two years.

Behind him, the storeroom door flew open with a bang. Reynolds turned, his stomach rising up to meet the weight on his chest, his shaky calm evaporating, and met the gaze of a harried-looking castle page.

"The presence of His Royal Majesty Prince Reynoldsvanismir is requested in the throne room."

He followed the page into the long stone hallway that bisected the castle's basement, his twin hearts pounding miserably in his chest.

What would Father say if Reynolds admitted he'd pulled the prank—the epic, legendary, worthy-of-record-books prank—because every other honor in the school had already been earned three years ago by Rag?

His boots scraped the steps as he ascended the stairs and entered the hall that led to the throne room. The long stretch of bronze stone, cooled by the breeze that entered through the open balconies lining the hall, overlooked the spacious castle grounds.

When the enormous throne room doors with their carved runes and golden handles loomed before him, Reynolds's spine snapped into the ridiculously rigid posture Master Guntbert demanded of his cadets. The doors began to open, and suddenly the headmaster himself was there, stepping past the page and wrapping an arm around Reynolds's stiff shoulders. Reynolds jerked back, but the words he wanted to snap at the headmaster for interfering with the meeting Reynolds was about to have died when he looked into Master Guntbert's face.

"Come with me," the headmaster said softly as he turned the prince away from the doors. A maid stumbled out of the room, her hands pressed to her mouth, and ran down the hall.

Reynolds's blood felt too thick for his veins, and his knees began to shake. "What's going on?" Reynolds pulled away from the headmaster, his palms slick

with sweat, his dragon heart kicking louder than his human heart as if it sensed a threat Reynolds had yet to identify.

Master Guntbert's green eyes were puffy, his face pale. "You don't need to go in there."

"Why not? Father already convinced you to reinstate me?" Reynolds's voice was too loud, his breathing too hard as the dragon fire in his chest rumbled. More staff exited the throne room, their faces stricken.

The headmaster's voice held a wealth of grief. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but ogres attacked the reserve unit while your family was asleep in their tent. Your father is dead."

Reynolds's ears thundered with the beat of his dragon heart, and it was difficult to breathe. "That's not . . . It can't be."

"I'm sorry." The headmaster's tone left no room for doubt. Reynolds's legs suddenly felt too weak to hold him.

"Where is my mother? She'll need me with her." Reynolds craned his neck, looking toward the throne room. "She'll need Rag, Hemma, and me."

"Reynolds." Master Guntbert sounded old for the first time in all the years Reynolds had

known him. His rigid military posture sagged, and he leaned heavily against the balcony's railing. "They were all killed. Your father, your mother, and Prince Ragvanisnar . . . they're gone."

"No." Reynolds took a shaky step away from the headmaster. "There's been a mistake."

"I'm afraid not. I just saw their bodies." The headmaster glanced at the throne room, and then whipped a hand out to stop Reynolds as he stumbled forward like he meant to see for himself. "You don't want to see them like that, my king."

King.

Reynolds shook his head, a violent denial that did nothing to soften the headmaster's next words.

"You are the king of Befelyn now, Reynolds. I'm sorry."

Master Guntbert said something else, but Reynolds couldn't hear him over the thudding of his dragon heart. The rush of scorching fire in his veins was a scream of agony. He couldn't stay here, trapped on the balcony, waiting for the grief to swallow him in front of the headmaster and the steadily growing crowd of servants and guards behind him. His skin rippled, an itch that started in his scalp and sped toward his toes, and the heat in his chest spilled out of his nostrils in a stream of ash-Gustav smoke.

Without bothering to shed his clothing first, Reynolds gave in to the pounding of his hearts and let his dragon take him. His bones flexed and shifted, his muscles expanding. The familiar pain was a welcome outlet for the awful grief that tore at him from the inside out. He shook his head and heard the ridges along his spine clattering into place as his skin hardened into the red- gold scales of his dragon.

He thought he heard someone cry out his name, but he was done with listening. His talons dug into the stone balcony beneath him as he roared, emptying his grief and horror into the skies above. Then he unfurled his golden wings with a snap and soared into the air, leaving the castle far behind him.