Page 1 of Courting the Dragon King

Chapter

One

“For Draconia!”

The cheer echoed out across the blood-soaked battlefield, repeated over and over as more soldiers took up the victory cry.

“For Draconia!”

But Konrad did not shout and join in with his comrades.

Fellow dragons still circled above. They bellowed dragonfire, blazing their triumph in gold and orange across the cloudy grey sky. Meanwhile, Konrad, having already shifted back into his human form, stumbled through the broken and bloodied bodies.

The Draconian dead lay mixed with their enemies, the undead army on Necros, comprised of reanimated skeletons and corpses, who’d been controlled by necromancers. Konrad’s gaze flickered across the fallen Draconians.

Their freshly dead corpses lay on the ground with gaping wounds, missing limbs, and weapons jutting from their bodies.

But the necromancers’ army appeared anything but freshly dead. The corpses had started rotting long ago. The fetid stench of decay burned his throat. Bone peeked through half-decomposed flesh. And then there were the skeletons: their bones scattered and smashed everywhere he looked.

Konrad’s jaw clenched. It was Konrad’s first battle against the necromancers. He’d thought he was prepared for the reanimated skeletons and corpses.

But stories did not capture the genuine horror of facing an army of the undead. And he’d been airborne throughout the battle. He pitied his comrades who’d been down here on the ground during the actual fighting.

Konrad searched the bodies as the victory cheers continued. Flies circled in the putrid air.

We won. We fucking won. But Konrad could not celebrate.

When Konrad had been flying during the battle, he’d seen one of their infantry battalions overrun by the reanimated. He’d flown swiftly towards them to assist.

But it was too late.

The reanimated lacked any true fighting ability. Most were unarmed, with only some carrying rusty and broken weapons they used with no actual skill. But the undead could overwhelm. They’d tear at their enemies with teeth, fingers, and bone, ripping them apart, seeming not to feel the strikes and blows rained down upon them.

Now Konrad searched the dead, gaze flicking around as he stepped over the deceased.

He halted, fingers spasming.

Until that moment, Konrad had hoped Anton had somehow miraculously survived the swarm of undead Konrad had seen consume his battalion. But as Konrad stared at the familiar face of his childhood friend, he could no longer believe that to be true. A rusted sword lay buried in the middle of his chest. Anton’s pale-blue eyes stared, unseeing, at the sky.

With a broken cry, Konrad dropped to his knees in the mud by his friend’s side. “Anton.” The name fell like a prayer from his lips. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes stung.

How many times had they played together as boys with swords and shields, pretending they were grown up and old enough to fight? How many times had they visited the pub where Anton would shyly flirt with the bartender? How many nights had they sat talking by the fire, drinks in hand, whilst Anton talked of his dreams for after the war?

Anton’s dreams would come to nothing now.

Konrad reached out with a shaky hand and closed his friend’s eyes. He placed his fingers on top of Anton’s.

Konrad closed his own eyes. “Rest, my friend. You’ve served Draconia well.” His throat tightened. He could barely get the words out. “Thank you for your friendship. I will miss it.”

They’d burn the bodies with dragonfire. He would personally see to the burial of Anton’s bones. It was the least he could do for his friend now.

“I’ll write to your parents and your sister. I’ll let them know how you fought bravely for your kingdom.” He squeezed Anton’s icy hand.

Anton squeezed back.

Konrad’s eyes snapped open. Pale-blue eyes stared straight at him.

“Anton?” Konrad’s lips twitched into a smile. “You’re alive? I can’t believe you’re alive!” Then he frowned. Because it wasn’t possible. A sword jutted from his chest. “Anton?”