Courting the Dragon

By Sara R. Cleveland

When Princess Penelope comes home for her kingdom’s summer festival, she is stunned by her father’s ultimatum: choose a suitor by the end of the holidays, or forfeit her place at the Academy of Mages. The only problem is, none of them are the man she wants, the Dragon-Wizard Salarath. Somehow Penelope must dodge her would-be suitors and convince Salarath that their love is something worth fighting for. But as she begins to uncover the secrets someone in the palace is hiding, she may find that she’s courting danger rather than Courting the Dragon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sara R. Cleveland
• Release date: Jan 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005535087

Sara R. Cleveland

Sara R. Cleveland is an indie novelist and software engineer. She self-published her first novel, Saving the Dragon in 2015. When not writing or working, Sara is an avid reader and dabbler in fiber arts. She lives in Northeast Ohio with her husband and their spoiled cats.

Book preview

Chapter One

PENELOPE'S FATHER WAS frowning. Behind half-moon reading spectacles, his blue eyes moved quickly, scanning over the text of the letter he held. Penelope fidgeted in silence, not daring to speak. Behind her back, her fingers twisted her ring around on her right hand. It was a magic ring, capable of transporting her to other places—places she would much rather be. She watched the faint twitches of emotion at the corners of his eyes and lips. There was a tightness there that betrayed the stoic expression he was attempting to maintain.

At last, King Hulbyrd set the letter down on his desk with two others that he'd already perused. He removed his glasses and placed them on top of the folded parchment. For a long moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a gesture that Penelope had started associating with her own misbehavior right around ten years of age. Her stomach tightened.

You've done well. The dean of students is quite happy with you. Everyone speaks highly of your academic accomplishments. And yet, he sounded like a man whose daughter had just announced she was running off to marry the pig boy.

Thank you, Father.

To say that Penelope's academic pursuits were a sore spot between them was a gross understatement. It had taken using magic to trick an evil witch into jumping off a cliff before Penelope could convince her father that she belonged at the Academy of Mages. Even then, he hadn't seemed convinced. A year and a half later, Penelope was still more than a little skeptical of his change of heart. She suspected it might have something to do with wanting her distracted from the other sore spot between them. That sore spot's name was Lord Stefan of Steelbourgh.

Well, sort of.

She'd only been involved with that witch incident because she'd snuck off to spend the Winter Solstice before last with the man she loved, who wasn't exactly a man. Lord Stefan was actually a young dragon-wizard named Salarath who had spent the past fifty-odd years or so playing the role of Lord Stellan Drakeson, Duke of Steelbourgh. Currently, he was alternating between personas, establishing himself as his own heir.

I don't suppose that you've had enough of life at the academy?

Not at all, Father. Every day there is fascinating.

There was a long pause as the king considered what to say next. He seemed to be having an inner battle that he was attempting to cover with a blank expression. Something inside of him must have won because that blankness gave way to something resembling resignation.

I think it's time that we have an important conversation about your future.

Penelope felt her heart rate soar, and her stomach clenched into a knot. She imagined that she must be white as a ghost, but her father didn't seem to actually be looking at her. He was staring at a point over her shoulder rather than meeting her gaze.

You're nineteen now. I think it is past the time to arrange a betrothal for you.

The breath left Penelope's lungs in a rush as if she'd taken a punch to the gut. Little choking sounds escaped before she got herself under control. Pinpricks of dread crawled over her skin, leaving a numb sensation. There was no way her father was going to give his blessing on her relationship with Salarath, which meant…

Did you have someone in mind? she asked.

There are many eligible young men in the city for the festival. I will have invitations sent out to them for the Solstice Ball and a list presented to you. I expect that list to be narrowed down to one or two candidates before you return to school.

Penelope felt her blood pressure rise with every word. By the time he said school, her temper had got the better of her.

Father, I don't need a ball full of men. You know how I feel about Lord Stefan.

There was no blank expression this time. Hulbyrd's features twisted with fury, his ruddy complexion darkening to an unhealthy plum.

He is not an option for your future. Surely, you can understand that.

A memory of the one and only time Penelope and Salarath had ever discussed marriage surfaced in her mind. He had made it perfectly clear at the time that while he loved her, their relationship would eventually have to come to an end. Penelope shoved the memory ruthlessly back down under the water level of her thoughts. Hopefully, it would stay there, maybe even drown and never bother her again. They had never discussed the future a second time after Malinda. Their relationship had strengthened and grown in the wake of the witch's attack, so Penelope hoped the outcome of such a discussion would be different this time.

I understand no such thing. I love Salarath and—

And that is the last time you will mention that name or any of his other names in my presence! He stood as he shouted.

But, Father—

Silence! His fist banged on the desk, making his glasses bounce. A vein throbbed dangerously in his temple, and Penelope shrank back, aghast. Her father had a temper, to be sure, but she had never seen him like this. You will narrow the list down so that I may start negotiations, or you will not be going back to school. He sat back down, muttering, Who knows what nonsense they're filling your head with.

There was silence for a long moment while Hulbyrd collected himself, and Penelope fought to keep the tears from her eyes. Finally, in a calm voice, Hulbyrd asked: Have I made myself clear?

Crystal, Father.

She curtsied, and he gave her a dismissive wave. As she left the study, Penelope snuck a glance back over her shoulder at the king, who was now resting his head in his hands, muttering to himself. She watched as he rose, her letters clutched in his hands, and moved towards the fire. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she turned away, her steps quickening.

❧

When she reached her rooms, Penelope snapped an order at a passing servant that she was not to be disturbed, before slamming the door to her sitting room shut behind her. The princess tore through that room and into her bedchamber. For several seconds she stood in the doorway facing her bed, just willing her breathing and heart rate to slow. She needed to calm down before she could perform any magic. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, in and out. Once she was sure that her rage wouldn't be a factor, she turned around. The dragon language's strange words rolled off her tongue as she muttered her ring's activation phrase.

Instead of stepping into her sitting room, Penelope stepped into a richly appointed study. Although it was summer, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Located in the mountains, Steelbourgh Castle remained somewhat cool and drafty well into the summer. Parchment and books covered the big, ornate desk in the center of the room as always, but the seat behind it was empty. Penelope was just about to turn and sweep from the room when a noise drew her attention back to the hearth. An arm dangled over the side of one of the plush wingbacks by the fire, a book hanging precariously from the tips of its fingers. All the anger and pain in Penelope's heart melted. She tiptoed across the room, slipping the volume from the mage's grasp as she rounded his chair.

Salarath sprawled in it, his long legs stretched out before him. His elegant robes were rumpled, his dark hair was in a state of disarray, and a shadow of stubble shaded his strong jaw. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He looked so amazingly young and vulnerable in his sleep. Seeing him like this, it was nearly impossible to believe he was actually a dragon-hybrid with hundreds of years under his belt. Penelope watched him for several long moments, torn about waking him until she saw the corner of his mouth turn up just a tiny bit. Shaking her head and fighting back a smile, Penelope leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips. A strong hand came up to tangle in her hair and hold her head in place as the wizard deepened the kiss. When they parted, Penelope found herself staring into a pair of eyes the color of molten silver.

How long were you awake?

How long were you standing there?

She laughed and kissed him again. It was several minutes before either of them had the free lips to speak again.

To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?

Can't a woman with magical means visit the man she loves?

Yes, but this particular woman is supposed to be visiting with her father.

When she groaned, Salarath sat up and pulled her down into the chair with him, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder.

That bad, was it?

Worse.

What happened?

Penelope realized her heart was hammering with fear. If she told Salarath about the fight with her father, she'd find out if his opinion on marriage had changed. If it hadn't, she was terrified their relationship wouldn't survive the discussion in light of her father's demands.

He wasn't impressed with the academy's commendations.

Salarath's arms tightened around her briefly, a small squeeze of understanding. She waited for him to say something, but when he remained silent, she knew he expected there was more to the story. Penelope also knew she was squirming, but the gentle circle of his arms prevented her from jumping up. She had the sneaking suspicion he could hear her pounding heart. Not for the first time, she made a mental note to ask about the acuity of dragons' hearing at a more opportune moment.

Father wants me to get engaged. The crackle of the fire filled the silence for several long moments before Penelope added, Before the new term begins.

I see.

He's invited some suitors to the Summer Festival in Saleria. He wants me to give them a chance. He thinks... he thinks you aren't an option for my future.

She didn't dare pull away to look up at him, and she didn't need to. Penelope could feel the tension in the muscles of his arms, hear it in his breathing.

Penelope...

I know we haven’t really talked about this, but—

Penelope.

Salarath shifted, sitting up more and grasping her shoulders to hold her out so they could look at each other. His gray eyes had darkened to the color of cold iron.

We knew that this time would come.

No, she whispered, tears leaking from her eyes. Her tone rose, approaching hysteria. No, no, it hasn't. I won't do it. I won't. He can pull me out of the Academy. I don't care.

A low, rattling sort of rumble rose from deep within the wizard's chest. The princess cut off her pleading, staring wide-eyed. She'd only ever heard such a sound from Salarath while in his dragon form in the dungeon. It had been so easy until now, she realized, to separate that experience out from their everyday relationship. It was so easy to forget he was more than a man.

Penelope, you have a bright future ahead of you. Salarath's voice was hoarse, but his eyes practically glowed as they bored into her. You will graduate from the academy. You'll marry a wonderful man who ... Penelope, listen to me.

She shook her head.

No, listen to me. You'll marry a wonderful man who'll love you more than life itself. You'll be happy. Happier than I could ever make you.

That's not true! Penelope was sobbing now, her eyes stinging, red and puffy as the tears streamed down her cheeks. It's not!

Salarath's jaw tightened. Penelope's pain hit him like a knife to the heart, but he forced himself to keep looking her in the eye. This was for the best, even if the grief killed him. He forced his expression to harden. He glared at her, his gaze steely. He lifted her gently but firmly, setting her on her feet as he stood.

Go home.

Salarath...

Go home, Penelope. The command was accompanied by a shove towards the door. He had to get her out of here before he lost his nerve. Don't come here again.

But, Salarath.

Go! The word came out as a roar—the angry, wounded roar of a dragon.

Penelope's heart froze, and she shrank away from him. They stared at each other for a moment longer. Salarath's heart broke all over again at the fear he saw in her beautiful eyes. Finally, his princess bolted. The words to her ring came out of her lips in a rush, and she was gone.

The wizard stood there, for he knew not how long, staring at the empty space where his love had vanished. His eyes filled with tears until he couldn't see the doorway anymore.

❧

The little man walked through the halls of power and wished he could savor it.

Leon Aurel wasn’t born to power, position, or prestige. The youngest son of a poor cobbler with too many brats to feed, he had grown up scrabbling and scraping, clawing past his siblings and schoolmates to find that thin ray of sun-lit hope at the top of the dog-pile. Now, after so many years of scheming and hard work, he was really here, walking the halls of Saleria’s great marble and granite palace as though he belonged.

Getting here wasn’t easy. Every moment was a held breath and a prayer to gods he didn’t believe in. One misstep, one wrong word or overzealous use of magic, and Aurel could find himself as a rotting decoration on top of the city’s parapets. The mere thought made him clutch at his throat protectively. He gulped, suppressing his nerves and glancing around to be sure no one had observed his momentary lapse. There were those yet among the king’s retainers who still didn’t trust Aurel, including the crown prince.

Now was not the time to ponder the risks. Aurel was now firmly ensconced as the king’s most trusted advisor, and phase two of his plan was finally in motion.

Aurel found the king in his study, pouring over a stack of documents. The advisor frowned for a moment before remembering himself and pasting on a smile.

How did it go, Your Majesty?

King Hulbyrd looked up from his reading and grunted. He removed his spectacles and rose to pace.

About as well as I expected. My daughter is stubborn.

A spike of fear ran through Aurel. The plan would not go smoothly if they couldn’t get the princess to cooperate.

She fancies herself in love already. Hulbyrd heaved a long-suffering sigh. If I just picked one for her, she would never forgive me. Romantic that she is, she expects her heart to be part of the equation.

Nobility rarely marries for anything other than financial or political gain, Aurel reminded him.

None of the neighboring kingdoms have eligible sons. Saleria is in a stable place politically. The crown and the Iksen family are both financially solid. Even profitable. He shrugged. I have no compelling reason to force her into what others might see as an advantageous marriage. He paused, clearly considering his next words carefully. Still, I want to see her taken care of. Even if she doesn’t pick a suitor before the start of the new term, maybe her eyes will open to a possibility other than that blasted wizard.

The princess most certainly would have a betrothed before the start of the new quarter—Aurel would see to that—but for now, he would let the king believe as he wished. The wheels were already in motion.

Chapter Two

AN OPPRESSIVE HEATWAVE held Saleria captive for the last fortnight before the start of the summer festival. It finally broke on the day of the opening gala as a cool breeze off the mountains swept over the sweltering metropolis. Saleria’s inhabitants celebrated by redoubling their festival preparations. Bakers finally lit their ovens, churning out the sweet treats expected at such a grand party, farmers rolled into town with carts overflowing with sweet melons, and the summer caravans, laden with goods both exotic and local, poured into the city as musicians tumbled out from the inns and taverns, filling the streets with a cacophony of competing tunes.

The grand promenade before the palace was as awash with activity as the rest of the city. Merchants and entertainers of all stripes—and all carefully pre-screened—set up shops lining the great stone road. Silk tents, canvas tents, and wood stalls were hastily constructed, popping up one after another all through the afternoon and well into the evening.

Penelope watched it all from the window of a sitting room adjoined to the palace library. Most of the women who came to dance attendance upon her raised an eyebrow at her choice of venue. Much to her dismay, Penelope had learned early that most nobles didn’t bother to educate their daughters the same as their sons. As a result, the women whose company was foisted upon her were, as a general rule, either shallow, empty-headed, vain, ignorant, or some egregious combination thereof.

A lone musician had taken up a spot on the palace steps and begun to warm up on his pipes. The clear, crisp notes rose on the breeze from the general din, floating up to the window where the princess sat. He ran through a few scales and a simple folk tune or two before plying his pipes to something more complex. The melody danced and skipped, running circles around Penelope’s memory. It was so familiar, and yet she couldn’t quite place it.

The piper had gone several bars into his song when a fiddler and lutist joined in. The voices of the instruments blended and melded, forming a richer, more complex picture. As the joyful strains rose in a crescendo, Penelope’s heart clenched painfully. It was a waltz traditionally played at the Winter Solstice, which explained why it seemed so out of place. It was also the first dance she’d shared with Salarath.

Tears welled in her eyes, but Penelope wiped them away ruthlessly. It was just a song. It meant nothing.

Your Highness?

Penelope’s gaze snapped up from the musicians on the steps, and she turned her eyes into the room. One of the ladies attending her was watching the princess with a curious expression. Penelope struggled to remember the girl’s name. Enora, Elenor, something like that. She had a quiet temperament, and Penelope was a bit surprised she had even spoken. She wasn’t even sure what color eyes the girl had since she seldom looked up from her feet.

What is it?

Um, the ladies were just wondering if Your Highness would like to take a walk in the gardens. It’s awful stifling in here, and we thought perhaps some fresh air would be beneficial for Your Highness… She trailed off, wringing her hands. The girl was almost as bad as Penelope’s new lady’s maid.

I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.

Evelyn, Your Highness. Evelyn Teslero. My father is a cousin to Lord Winston Teslero, Duke of Hollis.

It is kind of you to be concerned for my welfare, Lady Evelyn, but I am content to spend the day here in the library. However… She paused as she reached for the bell pull that would summon a servant. Penelope hated to resort to the pull, but she didn’t dare leave her sanctuary. Who knew how many of her father’s guests were already in the palace. If you and the other ladies would like to take a walk in the gardens, I’m sure a proper escort can be arranged. Not that she ever bothered with an escort.

Oh, um, I’m fine here, Highness. Right, ladies?

They all murmured their assent, and Penelope rolled her eyes.

For goodness sakes, ladies. If you wish to enjoy the weather, by all means, go. Do not hole up here on my account. I’m perfectly content to be left in solitude.

A few looked relieved in spite of themselves. Penelope knew they didn’t relish her company any more than she enjoyed theirs. Several ladies curtsied and excused themselves, practically fleeing with their unfinished needlework in hand, and Penelope found herself alone with Lady Evelyn. The two of them sat in awkward silence, Penelope gazing out the window and Evelyn picking at her cross-stitching. Finally, the princess heaved a sigh.

Go on then.

Highness?

I’m sure your cousin or brother have put you up to something. Whatever it is, let’s have it.

Oh, um. Well, he did ask me to speak well of him, Your Highness.

I thought as much. There’s an ambush waiting in the garden, isn’t there?

Penelope watched Evelyn from the corner of her eye. The girl’s flushed face was all the answer she needed.

If I may speak freely, Highness?

Please.

Father always says that when one falls off a horse, one must get back on. I can’t pretend I know what’s happened in your life, Highness; one can only trust rumor so far—the young noblewoman grinned sardonically at this—but perhaps what you need is to get back on the metaphorical horse.

Penelope blinked at her companion, who was watching her with wide hazel eyes. Behind that sweet, empty-headed exterior, there was an unexpected flicker of personality.

You think that’s what I need to do?

Evelyn smiled. There was an odd twinkle in her eyes.

This man who broke your heart, is he someone important? Important enough to be invited to events at the palace?

Penelope considered a moment. Her father and Salarath were not on the greatest of terms, but their personal issues did not change Salarath’s position as a peer of the realm. Before the whole betrothal debacle, Penelope had asked her brother, Michael, to make sure Duke Steelbourgh and his heir were not left off the guest-list for the Solstice Ball. The princess nodded.

Just imagine his face when he sees you on the arm of some handsome suitor. He’ll be so jealous he won’t be able to think straight.

You think I should use one of these suitors to get back at Stefan? That’s a little cold, don’t you think?

Evelyn giggled.

Oh, I’m sure nothing will be hurt but his pride. And who knows? By the time your old beau sees you with another, perhaps you’ll be won over.

Penelope knew for a fact