In the end, when I finally tasted the honey biscuits in Catalin’s bedroom in the commons, it turned out her mother was the best baker.

  “Tell her I prefer her biscuits,” I told my fiancée.

  “But you know she dislikes you!”

  “Well, perhaps she’ll like me a little more.”

  Catalin looked sideways at her desk, cluttered with notebooks and pens. The commons reminded me of a boarding room. There even was a curfew of sorts, after which everyone not living there was escorted out if they didn’t leave by themselves.

  “I wish it could be that easy.”

  I smiled. “Look, it’s all right. She had to learn in one breath that we’d gotten engaged and that I nearly got you killed. It’d freak out any mother, in any world, so it’ll take her some time to get used to me.”

  Besides, it’s not your mother I love. It’s you.

  A clock stroke in the corridor. Curfew, already?

  Catalin sighed.

  “Time to part, Al. Enjoy your stay in Zerta.”

  She sounded a bit jealous, and I could understand why. Neither of us was noble, both of us had been hurt to save the kingdom two months earlier, and yet, only I was invited to the party. The king’s nephew was getting engaged, royal event, traditional celebrations, posh ball in what I supposed would be a ridiculously oversized ballroom…

  The royal palace was a former fortress. It had several impressive drawing rooms, but no ballroom. Does the king even dance?

  I hugged Catalin. There was no refusing Princess Nigella’s invitation, so I’d be attending the ceremony, but I didn’t want to go for the sake of a title I’d never asked for. I didn’t want to be some stupid prophecy’s Great Hero.

  They’ll have to let me be just Al, someday.

  Catalin softly kissed my lips. “Come back soon. I’ll need help studying for my second year.”

  “I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I ran my hand through her thick cherry-red hair. I’ll miss you, you know.

  Guards stared at me when I left the commons and walked back to the west wing, under the seemingly never-ending twilight of the summer solstice. Rising was over. The sun had set. The night was slowly returning.

  We left at dawn on the next morning. Half a dozen coaches were ready in the courtyard when I walked out of the palace and handed my bag to a footman. King Esthar rode with Senior Magus Malin and a few personal valets, while I went with Princess Nigella. Gold Dragon Kossi, black-clad as usual, was kept apart from us, guarded by soldiers.

  With six to eight people in each coach, the procession to the downstream port was quite considerable. Rather comfortable too, as least in Princess Nigella’s coach, which I suspected had state-of-the-art suspension. I remembered bouncing uncomfortably on the cobblestones of Carastra, while riding in a less expensive carriage.

  What do they call it again, in motor sports? Oh, yes, porpoising. Anyway, I guess sailing on the Rekario will be more pleasant. Maybe they even have actual porpoises at the mouth of the river.

  We reached the downstream port in the beautiful golden light of early morning. The docks were larger than the ones of the upstream port, and workers were already busy, except on the much quieter quay where King Esthar’s boats were moored.

  The Rekario wasn’t overly wide in Carastra, so no single boat could accommodate the king and all his entourage for a comfortable two-day cruise. As a result, we got split into three groups. This time, I was separated from the royals and hosted in a small cabin, which I couldn’t complain about. No fuss, no excessive etiquette. I could enjoy the trip.

  The last time I sailed, we were on a mission. Now, all I have to do is relax for the next two days and enjoy this first touristic cruise.

  I stayed on the bed, looking out of the porthole, while the boat unmoored and left Carastra. Then, when it reached cruise speed and I could hardly feel it moving, I walked back up to the deck.

  “Do you need anything, Madam?” asked a sailor.

  I shook my head. “I’ll just be enjoying the view. Don’t mind me. If I stand in anyone’s way, tell me, and I’ll move aside.”

  “As you wish, Madam.”

  He walked away with an expression that suggested I was a bit too excentric for his taste.

  The boat glided on the water between fields and forests, under bridges, along roads and villages. It gathered one tributary after another, and the sailors sang as they worked. I gave the words an ear and couldn’t refrain from smiling.

  Of course, it’s about women and tavern brawls!

  The journey was pleasant, but calm and rather boring. When I wasn’t enjoying the scenery on the deck, I stayed in my cabin to read, eat and sleep. The other guests who traveled with me were remarkably discreet. Didn’t they want to breathe a little fresh air sometimes? I hardly saw a handful of them over the two days we spent sailing down the Rekario.

  The river itself got wider, sometimes flowing around a small island. By the end of the second day, we’d reached the estuary. Looking ahead, to the south, the horizon opened wide, flat and full of promises. The sea. Orman Sea, according to the maps in the king’s office.

  We were following the west bank, and no technology from this kingdom could have built a bridge to the east. Instead, ferries crossed the water, avoiding all kinds of ships sailing up and down the estuary. I could make out a skyline in the distance, roofs and towers overlooking the river and probably the sea.

  “It is Zerta over there?” I asked the nearest sailor.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  They smiled. “Of course it is, Madam!” And they went back to their work.

  I thought we’d sail to Zerta, but we didn’t. Zerta was a sea port. It was wide open to the outside world, and perhaps King Esthar preferred a bit of secrecy, so instead, we moored the boats at an unremarkable quay, in what looked like a lovely fishing village. Houses were made of rendered stone, beige or yellow, a choice of colors that made them look warm and welcoming. The angle of their tile roofs, however, wasn’t exactly Mediterranean. It rained in this place, often enough to have draining in mind.

  In such an ordinary environment, the line of comfortable coaches waiting for us looked out of place. The emblem of Sottarn painted on the sides, with a wolf upon a purple chevron, stood out against the humble background. The locals weren’t mistaken about how special our arrival was. When employees in dark gray uniforms ushered us from the boats to the coaches, curious faces peeked at us from every window.

  This time, I rode with Lord Gimon, his valet, and a few assistants. Lord Gimon’s white beard always made me think of Leonardo Da Vinci, but unlike him, the real Leonardo, the one from my native world, would probably not be the Minister of Finance in any kingdom.

  “Did you enjoy the journey, Great Hero Al?” he asked in a honeyed voice.

  He disliked me. I knew it. What else could a man like him think of a person who’d almost singlehandedly banned popular pigments, striking a small blow at the economy, without proving they were actually harmful? But he was trying to be courteous, so I smiled and bowed my head.

  “It was calm and pleasant, thank you, Lord Gimon.”

  He sighed and looked out of the window.

  “I wish I were as easily entertained as you are. I was bored out of my mind.”

  Then next time, bring books along, as I did!

  The coaches didn’t enter the city of Zerta. We could only get glimpses of tile roofs as we followed a road that went up the bank, and then roughly parallel to the sea. We were avoiding the port and going straight to high walls that overlooked the city.

  I’d read about the Citadel, formerly a fortified district with a cannon battery that defended the port. I knew the old houses inside had been leveled and replaced with a suitable residence for a modern duke. I knew the cannons were still there, although they hadn’t fired for a long time, except on specific ceremonies. Still, the sight of the high baroque building rising above the old fortifications was breathtaking.

  Guards gave a look inside the coach before they let us through the gate. The citadel had been turned into an elegant courtyard and hanging gardens, complimenting the shape of the chateau. The place had two wings, like the royal palace in Carastra, but these were placed symmetrically on either side of a cylindrical central section. The walls were a light beige and the high roofs had the warm hues of clay tiles.

  This place looks southern, compared to Carastra. How can the buildings be so different when the kingdom is so small? It’s not even about the architecture itself. It’s the choice of materials.

  We stopped in the courtyard, but our doors were kept shut. The king’s coach came to a halt in front of ours, and only then did servants let us out. They all wore dark gray.

  The breeze smelled salty. The sea. I didn’t think I’d smell it so easily, let alone feel so nostalgic. I remembered family vacations, my much younger self running on a beach and jumping into the waves, while my mother ran after me with a bottle of sunscreen. I clenched my fists. Now’s not the time to let my emotions get the best of me. This is an official trip. I should keep a dignified attitude.

  A flight of stairs led up to a double door that was wide open for King Esthar and his entourage. The king nodded at everyone, but didn’t talk, until two girls in noble-looking dresses appeared on the threshold.

  They waved at him. He smiled.

  Princess Nigella waved back.

  The two of us walked up the stairs while servants followed with their luggage. I watched them as I waited for my own bag to get untied from the roof of our coach. The girls didn’t look so formal now, and I knew why. I’d never met them before, but with their distinctive light blond hair, their identities were obvious.

  They bowed in front of the king. They curtsied before the crown princess. And then everyone engaged in a group hug, as they should.

  Nigella wasn’t King Esthar’s only surviving child. Her two younger sisters, Adalyn and Zinnia, lived in Zerta with their uncle, Duke Irmel of Sottarn. This was their home, and they were finally seeing their dad again. How long had they been apart? I couldn’t tell. They hadn’t even come to Carastra for my summoning, which was a good thing, given the turn of events.

  As platinum blonde braids merged into one large mane, the three sisters made me think of a Targaryen family reunion.

  A dog slipped past my legs and sniffed the luggage the servants were piling in the courtyard. Sea birds flew in the sky. It’s strange. I didn’t want to come here, but now that I’m by the sea in this atmosphere, I feel like I’m on summer vacation.

  A man in wide navy pants and a royal blue knee-length tunic appeared on top of the stairs. He looked a lot like King Esthar, and I’d met him shortly after my summoning. Duke Irmel.

  “Be welcome, all of you!” he announced before embracing his older brother.

  Ah, here’s my bag. I took two steps and put the bag on my back, using its single strap. Would it be a breach of the Prime Directive if I “invented” more comfortable backpacks?

  I was brutally pulled out of my pondering by everyone around me getting tense. Kossi had just gotten off his coach, surrounded by armed soldiers. Despite being invited by the crown princess, he was still officially a convict, serving an indefinite sentence for destroying part of the royal palace, burning down a whole village, and causing the deaths of over thirty people.

  The servants and guards of the Citadel probably didn’t know his face. His draconic characteristics were subtle in his human form. However, to any person with a functional brain, a tall and strong-looking young man traveling under such a heavy guard could only be a criminal. Kossi bowed his head. There were so many suspicious looks. Some people were possibly guessing who he was, maybe even understanding the soldiers around him were only there for the show. We were in the open. Any second, Kossi could turn into a huge and majestic dragon, shake away bolts and cannonballs like cherry pits, and be gone. He only stayed in custody because he’d agreed to.

  “Why is he here?” complained Princess Adalyn, her voice expressing a surprisingly convincing outrage for a twelve-year-old.

  Nigella gave her a pained look. “He is our friend. What he did, he did against his will, and he works hard to right his wrongdoing. He deserves a break before he resumes the rebuilding of Rabal.”

  Young Zinnia waved at Kossi with a shy smile, but Adalyn shook her head. “How could you forgive him so easily?”

  Nigella sighed. Before she could answer, Duke Irmel spoke up. “Please, come in, dear guests. Princess Jilu and her suite will arrive in no time, and you will want to settle comfortably before welcoming them.”

  One point for conflict solving, but I saw the way Irmel looked at Kossi. He was in the chapel when the dragon attacked, on the day of my summoning. He probably thought he’d end up roasted, along with the rest of the assembly. He still doesn’t trust Kossi.

  I walked up the stairs along with the rest of the king’s entourage. In the entrance hall, the main staircase curved up to a mezzanine that served both wings of the chateau. Straight ahead, several open doors allowed me to peek into a circular room that could probably fit two hundred standing people. An ornate chandelier hung above a stone floor with geometric shapes in green and white. Is it marble? How much did it cost?

  “Great Hero Al? This way, please,” said a woman in the same dark gray uniform as the rest of the personnel. Other servants were already showing Lord Gimon, Senior Magus Malin and other guests to their rooms.

  Mine wasn’t in the chateau itself. It was a simple bedroom in a long two-storied outbuilding. I had a bed, a chair, a table, an access to water, and it was all I needed. To be honest, it was the kind of place I wanted, rather than the oversized apartments I had in Carastra. Still, being downgraded felt a little humiliating.

  Well, Alicia, I guess this is what I get for not being the hero King Esthar wanted.

  The bed was comfortable, though, so there was no reason to complain. I washed with lukewarm water, nice enough in this warm weather. I was about to put on clean clothes when a trumpet blew, and a magically amplified voice announced Princess Jilu’s name.

  Jilu of Folesh, third princess of a kingdom that bordered the Orman Sea, like Brealia. If I understood correctly, the Orman was a bit like the Mediterranean, with coasts one could easily sail along, and a variety of countries and cultures that had traded for centuries.

  Jilu of Folesh, set to marry Crown Prince Sorosiel before he died, and who was finally about to get engaged to his first cousin, Gurvan of Sottarn.

  There would be a party.

  There would be cake.

  And it was all the motivation I needed to get dressed and put my hair up.