The Royals: Part 1

Dragons arrive in the north for the first time in sixty years, and in their wake comes a displaced princess with a secret she needs a disgraced knight to keep. A LVNDR Romantic Short Story.

The roar echoed through every room of the cabin, pulling Edwin out from underneath the riptide of nightmares.

Sitting up in the still dark room, hand already around the hilt of the blade he kept beneath his pillow, the Knight’s breath came in ragged pulls as he scoured the room to ensure the shadows were just shadows. He made himself count to ten.

Edwin’s sleep had been plagued by waves of his worst memories that dragged him to the depths of his psyche and held him there for years. The nightmares were made worse by how he’d become lucid in the middle of an episode; aware that the burning village was only a memory, but unable to escape the heat as it burned the woods around him.

By the time that the dream finally let go of its all-consuming hold, he’d awaken to the line between nightmare and waking blurred entirely. This morning, at least, the roar had been real. He hadn’t imagined it.

He was almost certain.

Connacht was the smallest of the five kingdoms, but it had always been the grandest in spirit. War, famine, and two regime changes had made its people harder and more tender in equal measure. The village nestled at the kingdom’s center was proof that survival had been made permanent. A tidy, breathing knot of shops and homes wedged between the forest and the cliffs, where anything one needed could be found within a short walk.

Edwin quietly greeted each vendor by name as he passed, but his focus quickly shifted to the grey skies above them. Searching for proof of the belief of what he’d heard. Each minute that passed without a sighting, the Knight questioned himself more. His pace sped up, growing increasingly desperate to reach his destination.

Slipping past the ramshackle gate of the Pharmacist’s hidden home, he ducked through the vegetation that had long since swallowed the property whole. The once-red cobblestones had turned a speckled emerald where the forest had crept over them. The walls of the house were nearly indistinguishable from the mountain face at its back. A place that had decided to disappear, and largely succeeded.

He knocked three times on the warped wooden door. He didn’t enter until he heard the old man shout an invitation from somewhere inside.

The Pharmacist had attended to Edwin since his birth. Before that, he’d attended to Edwin’s brother, his father, and his father before him — his own longevity the best possible endorsement of his craft. While the Pharmacist had technically retired, Edwin remained a welcome exception. “The only welcome disruption in an otherwise well-earned solitude,” the old man once said.

Which was why Edwin was surprised to hear the sound of conversation.

The Knight followed the damp, familiar smell of the cauldron down the hall, past the crackling fire that swallowed whatever words were being exchanged. He reached the workshop doorway and offered a purposeful cough. The Pharmacist’s face shot upward, as though he had entirely forgotten letting Edwin in mere seconds earlier. He fussed with his glasses, hobbling around the hooded figure he’d been in conversation with while simultaneously filling the air with a flurry of flustered greetings.

“I didn’t realize you were taking appointments,” Edwin stated simply. His eyes did not move from the figure standing behind his host.

“I try not to make a habit of it.” The Pharmacist’s laugh was soft and unconvincing. He rubbed his hands together and turned back to his shelves, clearly uninterested in elaborating. “I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”

The figure took their time drawing the dark cloak tighter around their face before turning. From within the midnight folds of the fabric, all Edwin could make out was the sharp, assessing gaze of a woman. She raised her chin toward them both in a single, crisp nod before gliding out of the room.

“I apologize,” Edwin said, and meant it. “I’m out of tonic earlier than expected.”

The old man’s body visibly unwound as if he were relieved by the request, despite it being the same one the Knight had made over and over for many years. He climbed the ladder with the careful deliberateness of a man who’d learned not to rush, retrieved a small dark-purple pot from the third shelf, and handed it down to the younger man. Edwin pocketed it and offered his arm for the descent.

“With water and—”

“A pinch of sugar,” Edwin finished, managing something close to a smile. The Pharmacist had insisted on this condition since the Knight was a boy and had not softened on the instruction with age. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” The Pharmacist reached up to pat Edwin’s shoulder as he walked him toward the door. “Can I ask you something?”

Edwin’s chest tightened. In thirty years, the Pharmacist had never once asked him for a favor. He had refused every offer of help the Knight had ever given. “Anything.”

“Please don’t tell your brother about today.”

The courtyard was already frantic when Edwin arrived at the castle. Cooks, stewards, and footmen already moving with precision and speed as they went about their duties. Lady, his young chestnut mare, followed after him with her ears pressed flat as they walked toward the barn, where most of the stalls were occupied. Strange horses shifted and stamped. Attendants moved between them with water and blankets. Lady regarded the intruders with open disdain. Edwin gave her extra sugar and promised to come back for her soon.

The Knight found Silas in the grand hall. The Guard had been the principal protector of these walls for Edwin’s entire life. He had been on duty the night Edwin was born and often told the story of how, unlike his older brother, Edwin had arrived so quietly that the physicians had worried something was wrong. In reality, Edwin had simply been deciding what was worth saying. A habit that had never changed.

Silas had taught him the most useful skills. How to move through a room without being noticed. How to read a man’s intentions from forty yards. How to take a punch and give a worse one back. Somewhere between his lessons with the Guard and the formal education his family had insisted on, Edwin had decided he preferred the former.

Catching Edwin’s eye, Silas excused himself from the sentry he’d been speaking with and led them to a quiet corner of the castle — a window overlooking the flat grey mirror of the sea below. He said nothing until he was certain they were alone.

“I think I can guess why you’re here early.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Edwin kept his voice even, his expression neutral. Not an accusation. A message.

Silas held his gaze. “What you heard this morning was real.”

A laugh of relief escaped the low breath Edwin let out. He hadn’t realized, until that moment, how tightly he’d been holding it. “I’d assumed it was all in my head.”

“Good news for you,” Silas chuckled, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Those were just fire-breathing creatures capable of eating a man whole flying overhead. Not a dream.”

“Thank the gods,” Edwin replied flatly, playing into the dry humor.

“Dragons haven’t left the southern coastline in sixty years,” Silas continued, the joke fading. “Not since your grandfather’s time.”

Edwin knew the history. Under his grandfather’s rule, dragons had been hunted nearly to extinction. First for necessity, then for sport. His father had ended the practice and outlawed it entirely. Edwin had always respected him for that, among many other things. “What’s brought them north?”

Silas shrugged, with the careful, deliberate ease of a man who didn’t want to give weight to the obvious answer. “Animals migrate all the time. I’m sure it’s just—”

He stopped. Straightened. Bowed.

Edwin turned and did the same, with less enthusiasm.

His older brother moved toward them with the same energy he’d had at twelve. The barely contained, teetering excitement of someone always on the proverbial edge. The crown on Rowan’s head still looked faintly theatrical to Edwin, even years into the reign. Silas excused himself with a nod and returned to his men.

“Back to bossing me around, I see,” Rowan jabbed, pulling Edwin into a hug that was half embrace, half punch.

“Back to tormenting the staff, I see,” Edwin replied.

His brother offered that particular laugh that sounded like pleasure, but lived right next to a storm. He plucked an apple from a bowl by the door and strolled into the courtyard, entirely oblivious to every person who stopped to bow as he passed.

“Our neighbors have joined us.” Rowan let the words roll off his tongue with a studied lightness that didn’t reach his eyes. The shadows there were harder to conceal. “They don’t seem happy.”

The great chamber fell quiet when the brothers entered.

The conversation that had been underway stopped between one breath and the next. Three elderly men in velvet robes and gold crowns sat hunched over the long table, gravity quietly winning its argument with their frames. They were the sort of men who posed threats at a distance, through intermediaries.

The woman seated directly across from where the brothers stood was another matter.

She was younger than Edwin had expected, with dark curls escaping the edges of a hood she had not bothered to fully raise. Her spine was straight, her hands entwined together on the table’s surface, and her expression was the particular stillness of someone who has already decided how the conversation is going to go.

Munster was the most reclusive of the five kingdoms, despite being the largest. While the other kingdoms maintained a steady rhythm of shared festivals and formal dinners, Munster’s relationship with Connacht had long been limited to trade routes and defense agreements. And even those had ended when its new ruler took power. Edwin, like everyone, knew about Princess Rosalie of Munster.

She was obviously the one in charge.

“While I’m thrilled to host you this morning,” Rowan acquiesced, his forced smile curdling as he settled into his chair, “I think we should start with why you’re here.”

“We followed the dragons.” The Princess’s voice was low and even, carrying without effort. Her gaze held Rowan’s without any sign of discomfort. “They were as eager to find who had scorched their home as we were.”

Edwin scanned the room to reach each face as if to track the small, silent tells. When his gaze reached the Princess, he found her already watching him. As though she had been waiting for him to look.

He had the distinct feeling that this was the second time she had looked at him that day.

“As I said before,” Rowan cautioned, sculpting each word with the slow deliberateness of a man crafting a weapon, “we can discuss whatever you please. But I won’t allow my guests to spit slander in my face while we do so.”

“No one is intending to slander anyone,” the eldest of the three men tread carefully, his eyes moving between the two younger royals like a man watching weather approach from two directions. “We simply want to understand why the dragons flew straight to this castle mere minutes after Munster went up in flames.”

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Rowan rebuttled. He crossed his arms. “We were woken up by the screaming, too.”

“They’re not beasts.” The Princess’s composure broke — not dramatically, just a single fracture to shift the mood of the room. Rosalie leaned forward, curls loosening from her hood, fingernails pressing into her skin. Her voice dropped a register. “And unlike us, you’ll have the comfort of sleeping in your own home tonight.”

“Other than following your strays,” Rowan started flippantly, “what makes you think we’d risk our alliances over this?”

A genuine flash of surprise rushed across Rosalie’s face, as though Rowan’s response had genuinely baffled her. “Because the fire broke out before the dishes from our shared dinner yesterday evening had even been washed.”

Everyone’s gazes shifted away from each other, but Edwin kept his eyes on his brother’s face. The Knight had grown up watching his brother lie to courtiers, to their father, to himself. He had always known the tells. The slight lift of the chin. The way the eyes settled, rather than moved.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rowan hissed.

Edwin’s stomach turned.

The Knight didn’t try to follow his brother when the meeting dissolved. After a blow to his pride, the King needed to throw a tantrum in private before he could be reasoned with. Instead, Edwin left crowded halls of the castle center to retreat to the library, trading his armor for a seat by the sea spray-stained windows overlooking the ocean fifty yards beneath, where he dove into the oldest, most worn text from the back shelves.

He read about dragons for two hours. Their migration habits, loyalty to their flights, and deeply personal connection to their land. They had stopped migrating six decades ago, when hunters had made the coastline dangerous. But before that, they’d moved freely between kingdoms, following ancient routes that had nothing to do with human borders. They hadn’t left the southern shore since. Until this morning.

Edwin closed the book as the sun had turned amber from where it had begun to dip into the ocean. He needed to get Lady home before dark.

Gathering his armor, Edwin tucked the book under his arm and stepped out of the library’s warmth into a seldom-used corridor. His mother had made this wing her own when she was alive. Like Edwin, she’d often seek solace in the library or any of the other quiet rooms full of art and history while being free of people.

“I don’t mean to frighten you.”

The Knight was tossed from his reverie. Rosalie was perched on the bench along the corridor windows, posture perfect even while at rest. Her black cloak fell open to reveal a merlot gown beneath, its square neckline a deep contrast against her skin. She was watching him with the particular expression of someone who has been waiting.

“I thought you’d see me,” Rosalie explained, standing up. “But you seemed deep in thought.”

He cleared his throat, realizing that starting a second battle on the same day may not benefit their movement. “Can I help you find something?”

“I just wanted to introduce myself.” The Princess seemed nervous. “I’m Rosalie.”

“Edwin.” The Knight offered a polite nod before moving to step around her. She shifted to block his path. He tried the other side. She was already there.

From a distance, it would have looked like they were dancing.

“I’ve come to ask you for a favor,” Rosalie breathed, her fingers beginning to twist at each other where they rested at her waist. The first genuinely unguarded gesture he had seen from her. “Please keep our earlier meeting a secret.”

The Knight’s breath caught, but he stood his ground despite the obvious tell. The second time he’d been asked that very request today. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He moved to step around her again.

“Does a talent — or lack thereof — for lying run in the family?” Rosalie stepped directly in front of Edwin, leaving almost no space between them. He stopped. She was close enough that he could see the small tension in her jaw, the slight worry at the inside of her lip. His eyes dropped briefly to the line of her throat, where her breath had quickened slightly. He told himself that was the only reason he looked.

“Neither of us is lying,” Edwin lied. His voice came out steadier than he felt.

“I’m only asking you to keep it between us.” The sharp edge of Rosalie’s voice dissolved into something quieter. A request, not a demand. The difference surprised him.

“Why would I do that?”

Her answer was interrupted by footsteps.

Silas rounded the corner, offering a single glance towards Edwin. One of a man who had been around long enough to recognize almost every kind of situation at a glance and had no interest in interrupting the one he’d tread upon. The Princess’s curls swept across Edwin’s chest as she turned toward the Guard. She began to offer an excuse for why she was on the side of the castle that didn’t typically welcome visitors. Edwin placed his hand gently against the small of her back.

Let me.

Silas looked at them both. His expression still that of a man who had no interest in making any of this his business, but was slightly more intrigued as to what the business was.

“Curfew in one hour,” the Guard offered. His gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary on the space between Edwin and Rosalie. “I’d hate to explain to tyour brother why you’ll be having breakfast from a cell.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Edwin chuckled. He’d seen the inside of those steel bars after Silas had caught him after a few too many drinks many moons ago. He’d insisted it was to keep him safe. And to give him a good story. Both of which he accomplished.

“I’ll see you first thing tomorrow,” Silas warned with a knowing tilt of his chin before continuing down the corridor. His footsteps faded around the corner.

Edwin’s hand remained at Rosalie’s back for a moment after they were gone. Against his every instinct, he let it fall away. A minute ago, he had been trying to end the conversation. Now he found himself watching Rosalie, hoping to understand.

“Where were we?” Curious, he asked the question again. “Right. You were telling me why I’d keep our run in a secret.”

“It’s only until the new moon,” Rosalie promised, placing hands on hips in a false facade of confidence. “You can tell your brother whatever you want then.”

Edwin studied the careful stillness of her face, and beneath that stillness, something urgent.

“Now, tell me, princess,” the Knight drawled his sentence out, “why would I do that?”

“Keep the secret,” Rosalie whispered, her voice teetering on the edge of begging, “and maybe I’ll tell you.”