With each step, his mind raced with possibilities—was it an impending conflict with another kingdom? Or just some mundane matters of state, not really urgent at all? But try as he might, he couldn’t shake the nagging sense of apprehension that prickled at the back of his mind.

  Approaching the towering doors of the royal chambers, Theo took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, steeling himself as best he could for whatever awaited him on the other side.

  Whatever it was, he hoped it wouldn’t interfere too much with his plans for raspberry tarts.

  The throne room was unnecessarily opulent, in Theo’s opinion. He had never been particularly fond of the gilded candelabras and the way they cast flickering pools of light upon the polished marble floors, nor of the massive stone fireplace dominating one wall, its hearth ablaze with crackling flames that left the room stiflingly hot. It was summer—could they not just skip the fires? Along the walls, portraits of Theo’s ancestors hung, their stern visages glaring down at him as if they already knew he wouldn’t live up to their expectations.

  At the end of the large room, two thrones commanded attention. Crafted from polished white marble and inlaid with gold and precious gems, they gleamed in the firelight. Plush crimson cushions adorned the seats and backs, embroidered with intricate golden patterns depicting the kingdom’s history.

  “I’m here, Father.”

  He stepped inside, his shoes clacking against the floor until he came to stand on a plush velvet carpet. Against one wall stood a grand mahogany table, its surface cluttered with scrolls and parchments, and there was his father, King Frederick. The king was tall and lithe, with dark blonde, borderline brown hair and green eyes, the latter of which Theo had inherited. The rest of Theo’s features—his light blond hair, the round nose, the oval shape of his face, was from his mom, and the painful pang that always followed any thought of her traveled through his body. He missed her.

  Oh, how he missed her.

  His father looked at him with irritation. Theo wished he could make any other expression appear on his father’s face, but particularly lately, that was a futile wish. Even in the past few weeks, his father’s mood had been growing steadily worse. “Finally. When I tell you to sit and read in your room, that is what I expect you to do, Theodore. The servants shouldn’t need to search the castle for you.”

  Theo collected himself with a deep breath. Though he wanted to make his father proud—he really did—he could do nothing right. “I did that. I just took a break.”

  And it wasn’t like I was difficult to find, he added silently, wishing he could give his father some snark but never daring, especially not when his father looked at him like that. Like Theo was a constant disappointment.

  “In the kitchens again, I suppose?” his father asked, raising an eyebrow at him, as if a son who loved baking was the worst kind of failure.

  Theo didn’t want to be a failure. “We made these raspberry tartlets and if I’d just had five more minutes, I could have brought some—”

  His father held up his hand, stopping Theo. “I want you to focus on your duties, not on desserts, Theodore.”

  Theo felt his mood, which had soared in the kitchens and gone down ever since he left there, sour further, like too much lemon in a cup of sweetened tea. Why could his father not even try to understand?

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  “So why am I here?” he asked, pushing his hands into the pockets of his pants to keep from crossing them over his chest like a sullen child.

  “I don’t like that tone,” his father said. “You’re here because you’re the crown prince, and we have a problem the prince needs to take care of. It is time for you to step up, be a man, and show this country your worth.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked, feeling like he was edging closer to a cliff-side.

  His father made a motion toward the table, where a map was spread out among the many scrolls. It was a map of their kingdom, Astoria, and its surroundings. Their capital, Brightfell, was drawn with a castle (the one they were currently in, though its turrets were not quite as high as in the drawing) surrounded by tiny houses, and then the fields spreading out. To the north lay massive mountains with tops so high there was snow at the top all year round, even now in the height of summer, like the Silvershard Mountains, home of the dwarves, and the Craggy Peaks, which was the dragons’ territory. The rest of their surroundings were a mixture of lush hills, forest, and smaller villages, with dwindling roads connecting them.

  Beyond the mountain ranges were other kingdoms—Celestheim and the Western Isles, Kyreanor—and the strange Empty Plains, none of which Theo had never visited. Really, Theo had barely been outside their capital, because his mother had always wanted to keep him safe, so much of the world was shrouded in mystery to him. He felt safe within the walls of the castle and if allowed, he would stay here.

  He had a feeling he wouldn’t be allowed to.

  “There is unrest among the dragons,” his father said.

  Theo’s stomach lurched.

  The dragons. Not good news after what he’d heard in the kitchens.

  “We’ve received reports for a while about unrest,” his father continued. “At first, it was isolated incidents of them straying from their usual territories, sightings in the night and the like, but lately, it’s been escalating. Two villages not far from here have reported full-on dragon attacks with scorched crops and slaughtered livestock. We need to stop this before entire villages are ruined.” His father paused and looked Theo in the eye. “You’re going to meet with the Nebulon clan because they’re closest, hear what it’s all about, and keep them from burning down all of our fields in the north.”

  Theo’s gaze flicked to the map, and he thought of his mom again. She would never let his father do this. Dragons? He was no dragon-fighting prince—he was more likely to injure himself than any dragon with a sword. Really, the most he wanted to use a knife was to cut pretty patterns into his bread dough, and even then, scissors were usually handier.

  “Your Majesty,” Freya said. “Is it really wise to send His Highness to meet with dragons? Surely, there is someone better suited—”

  Theo couldn’t even find it in himself to be upset that she didn’t believe in him—he didn’t believe in him. He would get torn to pieces by the dragons, especially if there was unrest among them.

  The king shook his head. “The ancient decree allows only someone of royal blood to appeal to the dragon kind. And bringing more than a single bodyguard will be taken as us wanting a fight—something we most certainly want to avoid.”

  That clears up why it has to be me, at least, Theo thought. There was a distinct shortage of royalty these days, what with Theo being an only child, his parents having never managed to have another live child, even though Theo had longed for a younger sibling. Perhaps a sister to play with?

  He shook his head, pulling back to the present. He understood why his father wouldn’t go on the mission—that would mean leaving Theo in charge, and Theo had yet to prove that he was up to the task.

  His father looked back at Theo. “It’s time for you to be a man, Theodore.”

  Fear traced down Theo’s spine. “Yes, Father.”

  He already knew there was no getting out of it—and a part of him wanted to do it, despite the fear. It wasn’t only his father he needed to prove his worth to, it was himself as well.

  “You’ll bring Knight Tarnell, of course,” the king said, glancing at Freya. “Maybe you should just let her do all the fighting.”

  Theo nodded, mouth dry. Facing a hoard of furious dragons? This day could not get any worse.

  “And then, once you return with the great news of having settled whatever is wrong with the dragons, you will announce a bride.”

  All right, it could get worse.