Dragon Fate Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Part I

  Part II

  Epilogue

  Part I

  Part II

  Part III

  Epilogue

  Part IV

  Part V

  Dragon Fate

  Misty Woods Dragons

  Juniper Hart

  Dragon Fate: Misty Woods Dragons

  Text Copyright © 2018 by Juniper Hart

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing, 2018

  Publisher

  Secret Woods Books

  [email protected]

  www.SecretWoodsBooks.com

  Contents

  Dragon Fate

  Bonus Books: Royal Dragons

  Bonus Books: Shifters and Billionaires

  Dragon Fate

  By Juniper Hart

  Prologue

  Heaviness hung within the dank castle walls, each brother more distraught than the next.

  The cavalry—soldiers on foot—was coming, but who could say how long it would be before help arrived? Would it be a day? A week?

  The six princes of Misty Woods knew they did not have such a luxury.

  “We are doomed,” Cassius murmured, pausing between the grey slate of the stone to stare into the darkness. “We have called too late for salvation.”

  “You must not speak so ridiculously,” Marcus growled, pacing along the hearth, his heavy wolf cape draped about his shoulders. “They will come. We will be saved.”

  “We are the sons of King Rui. We have never failed at battle, and we will not commence today!” Anders declared hotly, slamming his sword into the scarred round table and scowling at his brothers. “We bleed royal blood. We carry the seed of Misty Woods in our loins. Cease your doubts and hold your heads high as Father would have had us do! Whether they come or not, we will go into battle and fight for our kingdom!”

  His brothers did not seem to be convinced.

  “I must go to Nora,” Ansel muttered, turning to flee the room. Maximus stood solidly in his way.

  “You will see your maiden when the kingdom has been spared,” Maximus spat.

  “And what if the kingdom is not spared?” Titus demanded, undoubtedly thinking of his own love, locked away in the turret with the other women and children for their own protection against the impending battle that loomed not so far away.

  “Then we shall all perish together!” Cassius roared.

  “You needn’t perish, my lords,” a creaking voice called out to them, and the princes whirled to the source.

  From the shadows beneath the cast iron candle holders, the old sage grinned toothlessly at them, her wretched face a twisted compilation of glee and malice.

  “You!” Maximus shouted, lunging toward her. “How did you get in here?”

  “I come in peace, my lord—lords,” she cooed, seeming unperturbed as the oldest brother yanked her from the wall and paraded her forward. “I have come to offer you safety in this time of terrible peril.”

  “You?” Ansel snorted. “You are decrepit and useless. Who do you fight with?”

  The old sage cackled, and each man felt a shiver of apprehension slide through them as they realized the crone was not intimidated by the threat of six towering men of power and weaponry.

  “As you said, my lord,” the witch demurred, “I am ancient and without benefit. I do not wish to take sides.”

  “Put her in the barracks!” Marcus howled. “We are wasting valuable time bantering with this hag!”

  “My lord!” she cried imploringly. “Before you lock me away, hear my words, and then decide to do what you will. I only beg a moment of your precious time.”

  Her black eyes seemed like hot coals as the brothers turned their attention to her.

  “Speak!” Maximus snapped. “We have matters of battle with which to contend!”

  “It is of those matters I wish to speak,” she assured them. “You cannot win against the Northmen.”

  “Nonsense!” screamed Titus. The princes advanced on her, their swords drawn, ready to behead the her for uttering such treasonous words.

  “I beg of you, my lords, hear my words before you strike me dead!” she continued, offering them a nearly toothless smile. Her grin widened, even though she was encircled among the six princes of the kingdom, as though their presence inspired amusement in her rather than fear.

  “The soldiers you have requested from the realm will not be here until the day following the full moon,” the sage explained. “And the Northmen will attack at dawn. You know as well as I do that they have already conquered the villages. Their next skirmish will be the castle walls. They outnumber you. It will undoubtedly be a brief, humiliating fight.”

  “How can you know that?” Ansel demanded, but even as he spoke the words, he knew the woman had her ways to obtain the knowledge she desired.

  “I assure you, my lord, it is so,” she said. “I am offering you a chance to win against the Northmen without fear. You will be regarded as legends, and the minstrels will sing about you for generations to come!”

  “We are the princes of Misty Woods,” Anders growled. “We fear nothing!”

  “There are already many a ballad about our bravery!” Marcus called.

  The old sage shook her head, as if there was little else she could do to change their minds.

  “Then you will die,” she told them, her tone flat and certain. “And Misty Woods will no longer be.”

  A stillness hung in the air, not broken or interrupted even by a breeze from the open window as the six princes stared at the old witch. Her statement had cut each of them deeply, and they could do nothing but inherently recognize the truth. Without help, their kingdom would certainly cease to exist.

  “How can you prevent it?” Cassius asked quietly. He sensed the disapproval of his brothers for asking, and although none of them protested his question, he still lowered his gaze.

  “I have the power to invoke the will of Mother Nature and turn you into beasts who breathe fire,” the sage told them. “For three days and three nights, you will sprout wings and fly above your enemies, touting flames from your throats until they have all been sent back to the fiery hell where they belong!”

  “Witchcraft!” the brothers yelled. “A spell! Underworld debauchery!”

  “It is the will of Mother Nature,” she assured them, demurely lowering her eyes. “It is only a short miracle, but a miracle nonetheless.”

  The princes stepped back and glanced at one another, unsure of how to respond.

  “If it is the work of Mother Nature…”

  “If it is only for three days and nights…”

  “If this ensures our victory…”

  They turned back to the woman, who waited patiently for their response, her black eyes glittering.

  “Why would you help us,” Ansel demanded, “if you claim to have no side?”

  “Ah, my lord,” she replied smugly. “Just because I do not choose, it does not mean I do not hate.”

  “And what do you have to gain by this?” Titus insisted. They wanted to know why she would willingly help them fight against the Northmen.

  The old witch smiled enigmatically. “I am serving my kingdom, my lord.”

  Once more, the brothers exchanged
a long look. The old woman had been nothing but trouble for them and for Misty Woods, but if she could give them a chance to defend their kingdom… if they could save their people…

  Slowly, the six princes began to nod, one by one, their hearts filled with hope once again.

  “We shall prevail!” Anders cried, and they all roared in consensus, raising their swords to toast their newfound power.

  And in their surge of arrogance, they did not see the witch’s smile grow cruel and cold, for they had not thought to ask her which kingdom it was that she served.

  Not until it was much too late.

  1

  Time was of the essence.

  The mounting confusion swept through the castle as Titus pushed his way through the scared masses, his mind fixated only on one thing: finding her.

  The women and children had been placed in the turret, and each step he took brought him closer to the panic oozing from the high tower.

  They are terrified, he realized. They haven’t a clue we are all about to be saved.

  But were they? How could they know for certain? Titus had no reason to trust in Opal or her teachings. Her reputation preceded her, after all.

  No matter how she claims we have a common enemy, she is not worthy of good faith.

  She was a source of curiosity, an abomination, not someone schooled in the art of war. Yet, if what she had told them was true, she was the only chance they had. In any case, Titus was outnumbered. His brothers had spoken. Opal was permitted to do her magic.

  “Your Highness, what is happening?” Corinne cried, grabbing his arm as her small daughter clung to the hem of her skirts, their eyes an identical shade of blue terror.

  “Not now,” he told his cousin. “I must find Isabella.”

  “But Titus—”

  Titus ignored her, knowing that it was cruel to keep the women in the dark, but the others were not his concern at the moment. All he cared about was finding his beloved.

  He saw her sitting near one of the high windows, surrounded by young faces, her comely cheeks etched in serenity as though the realm was not in a state of chaos. As Titus neared, he paused, the crowded space seeming to disappear while he studied her stunningly lovely expression, her lips appearing to move slowly as time lost traction.

  An intricate headdress covered her reddish-blonde curls, nary a strand out of place despite the cramped quarters. Her face seemed unusually porcelain, crystalline emerald eyes glittering as her rosebud mouth uttered words Titus could not make out. He knew whatever she spoke was creating comfort among the castle’s children, who seemed captivated by every word springing from her pink lips. Her gown was a deep blue, a flattering color for her fairness, dipping low at the front to expose the swell of her ample bosom beneath the kirtle and falling into a flowing mass from the waist to the filthy floor of the turret.

  Isabella looked up and met his eyes, the soft smile freezing on her lips, as if seeing the reluctance in his gaze.

  I needn’t speak. She can sense the danger we face.

  Of course, it would be difficult not to recognize the peril they faced when the Northmen were so close, their options seemingly hopeless.

  Titus raised a hand to wave her closer, his fur cloak parting at the gold forged clasp. Isabella nodded slowly, reassuringly patting the children on their worried faces as she slipped away to join him. Titus could hear their cries of protest, followed by his lover’s assurances that she would return shortly.

  “I will come back,” she explained, “and I will tell you the tale of the bear and the beauty.” They haltingly allowed her to leave, casting Titus spiteful looks for taking away the fair maiden who had succeeded in distracting them from their fears. “What is it, my lord?” Isabella whispered as she neared him. “Have you come here to prepare me for death?”

  The words stabbed through Titus like a thousand blades to his heart.

  “Come with me,” he ordered her, grasping her hand and pulling her from the overcrowded tower.

  “Titus, what is it?” she begged, her voice rising an octave as she recognized the seriousness on his face. “We will not be saved, will we? You have come here—”

  “Hush now, my little dove,” he told her tenderly, pulling her down the stairs to rest upon the center landing. They slipped into the corner, and Titus gathered her in his arms, his grey eyes bright with worry and love as he stared into her face. “We might be saved,” he said. “The castle and the entire kingdom.”

  Hope colored Isabella’s cheeks, and she dropped her head against his chest.

  “Oh, praise the heavens,” she mumbled. “Who is it? Who has come to aid us?”

  “Opal,” Titus said. “It is Opal who will save us…” He did not add his doubts about the matter, even though they threatened to spill from his lips. I must not worry Isabella. She must have faith in us and our plan.

  “Opal?” Isabella echoed. “She is a witch, Titus! How can she save us?”

  “She has arranged to put the castle under a spell, keeping us safe until the threat of the Northmen has passed,” he explained. “It is only temporary, but we must be prepared for three days of changes.”

  Isabella stared at him, her jade eyes shocked.

  “You have agreed to a curse upon our heads?” she gasped. “You have sold us to a witch?”

  A flash of anger coursed through Titus.

  “We have not been sold!” he snapped. “She has come to us to help!”

  “Then you have merely given us away, souls and all!”

  “It is the only way to keep us safe!” Titus insisted. “You must not fret, Isabella.”

  “I will not stand by while a witch casts a curse upon us!” she protested, and Titus grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes glittering.

  “You will do as you are told. Return to the turret while Opal prepares to lay the shroud of protection over the kingdom. I will come for you when the war is over.”

  “Titus—”

  “You will not argue!” he growled. “Back to the turret with the others!”

  Isabella lowered her eyes. “Yes, my lord,” she whispered, turning away.

  Titus seized her, guilt touching his heart. She is afraid. She is skeptical. I must show her there is nothing to fear. He dropped his full mouth against hers, and she accepted his kiss.

  “Please,” Isabella whispered. “Please do not allow Opal to do whatever it is you have agreed to do.”

  “Back to the turret now,” he ordered. “It will all be over soon.”

  Isabella cast him one last look, her green eyes wide with misty emotion.

  “Goodbye, my love,” she murmured, gathering her skirts to disappear up the stone stairs.

  It is not goodbye, he thought angrily, watching her go, but even at that moment, Titus could not suppress the sensation that her words were ominous.

  2

  PRESENT DAY

  A bizarre tune came from the radio, and Titus had to lift his head to look at the boom box, questioning what his ears were hearing.

  “What the hell is this?” he asked his border collie, but Janus only cast him a baleful glance, as if to blame him for the poor music choice. Titus grunted, placing a soldering iron down on the worktable before switching the stations. He had no idea how songs made it onto the radio anymore.

  Talent is an extinct trait, he mused. It seemed almost impossible to account for some tastes. His fingers worked to dial another station, and Janus barked abruptly as a shadow appeared in the garage.

  “Have you heard some of the crap that passes for music these days?” Titus asked without raising his head. “No one even tries anymore!”

  “I imagine you long for the days of The Clash and The Rolling Stones?” Marta, his housekeeper, offered, striding inside the garage-turned-workshop to place a cup of coffee and a sandwich at his side.

  Titus snorted but didn’t comment. He didn’t need to remind her that Keith Richards was still alive… somehow.

  I long for the days of minstrels telling
stories of genuine pain and victory, not a bunch of teenagers crying about the angst of buying an avocado.

  “You need to eat something,” Marta told him.

  “I need to find a proper station,” he said, his fingers still working the dial. “I can’t work without something in the background.”

  “Tito,” she sighed. “No offense, but not only are you one of the richest men on the planet, you also own a cutting-edge tech empire, and you still use this blasted little radio when you could have a robot singing music to you. Hell, you could have a robot composing music for you.”

  Titus laughed and turned to wink at her. “I like to keep in touch with my roots,” he replied, but Marta only grunted.

  “Leave the radio,” she insisted. “Please eat something.”

  Titus grinned at her affectionately. “Thank you, Marta. I will eat.”

  She muttered something under her breath. but she turned away as he finally settled on a news station.

  “—considered armed and extremely dangerous. She was last seen at St. Francis Airfield, where she disembarked a private plane and disappeared. If anyone has any information leading to her capture, a reward is being offered. Please contact the South African Police Service immediately. Again, she should not be approached.”

  “Inmate escape?” Titus asked aloud, even though he knew Marta had already disappeared back to the main house, leaving him alone with Janus. The dog barked, and Titus turned back to the circuit board he had been studying most of the morning. He wasn’t even certain he knew what he was doing, but that had never stopped him in the past.

  Marta had not been exaggerating when listing his credentials. His company had been around almost as long as computers themselves, Titus managing to stay ahead of the trends in a way his competitors could only identify as superhuman.