Page 5 of Courting the Dragon King

Konrad turned away. But that wasn’t true. Not even a little. The shadow prince looked nothing like a reanimated corpse. Konrad had first-hand experience with reanimated corpses, thanks to the necromancers.

Not a day had gone by that Anton being brought back didn’t haunt Konrad’s memories. Konrad’s nightmares were filled with him too. Anton had looked nothing like Shadow Prince Wraith that day. Not at all.

Konrad grimaced as he stared at his dead father. What did his betrothed see when he looked upon his father’s dead body? Did he see a dead man? Or a corpse to defile and reanimate?

Konrad balled his hands into fists. Why did he have to marry a fucking necromancer? He’d rather have married anyone but one of those monsters, no matter how fucking pretty they were.

Chapter

Three

Death had never affected Wraith as it had others. For many, death was the ending. A finality. A door closing, never to be opened again.

But Wraith knew the truth. A closed door could be opened.

Furthermore, behind that door lay another world, another life even. Someone going through the door was nothing to despair or feel sad about.

Wraith stared at his betrothed, Crown Prince— No. It was King Konrad now.

The dragon king’s head bowed, but his shoulders remained straight and his spine strong. The tall man wore a midnight-black coat and trousers. A crown sat at a slightly skewed angle on his dark brown hair. King Konrad stared at his father’s corpse.

For King Konrad, his father was gone. Dead. There would be no return. It was the end of him.

But King Alaric’s death did not feel final to Wraith. How could it when Wraith could see the dead king standing by his eldest son?

King Alaric Drachen—was he still a king? Or did he lose his title when he died? Wraith was not sure how titles worked regarding the dead. Perhaps he should ask one of the deceased. Although, he doubted they would know. And anyway, there was probably no official way titles worked beyond the grave.

The dead dragon king stared at King Konrad. His form was translucent, made up of grey, white, and black wisps, undulating and swirling constantly. Still, Wraith could clearly identify him.

In the days since his death, the dead king often appeared near his eldest son, like a ghostly shadow of the current living king of Draconia. It was common for spirits to follow those with whom they were closest in life, especially family members with whom they shared blood.

Today, the ghost’s form appeared the clearest Wraith had ever seen him. No doubt, being so close to his own corpse helped anchor him to this world. All the blood relatives gathered in one place would also have given him strength. Blood, bone, and flesh held so much power with the dead. Not to mention that there was power in royal blood specifically.

“But I thank you all for gathering here to pay your respects and bid farewell to King Alaric Drachen,” the grand monk said.

And as the grand monk officiated, King Alaric Drachen continued speaking to his son. Wraith stood too far away to hear, but it did not look like the dead king was bidding his son farewell.

His lips moved rapidly as he spoke. He gesticulated with jerky movements. He appeared less calm than he had in life.

King Konrad could not see nor hear his father. Nor, in fact, could the vast majority of necromancers. Many necromancers could feel or sense the dead. Some could call on and bind them to a body. But seeing them and hearing them as clearly as Wraith did was not the norm. It was a part of his specific skill set, which he’d been born with. It made him an exception. A rarity.

The dead had always writhed and whispered around Wraith. He had never experienced a world without the dead walking around him. It had been normal. As a child, he’d had trouble differentiating the living and the dead, which made life somewhat confusing.

As a toddler, the family nanny had died. His older brother, Harrow, had been bereft and wailed day and night. Wraith could not understand why. After all, her ghost still sat in the nursery, singing lullabies like always. Wraith would sit and fall asleep, listening to her sing, not realising that the nanny should pass through the Bone Door that had appeared near her.

“Now I turn to Princess Senta Drachen and Prince Gerard Drachen.” The grand monk bowed to the green dragons by the pyre. Then he and the monks stepped away.

A musician began to play the psaltery, a harp-like string instrument. A slow and sombre melody filled the air.

The two dragon siblings lumbered forward. They lowered their thick green necks. Jaws opened wide. Golden and red dragonfire spewed forth. Wood caught alight. Flames licked and flickered along the wood. Soon, the whole pyre burned, and the body of the dead king was consumed in flames. Grey plumes bellowed into the heavens as smoke filled the air.

Wraith glanced at King Konrad and his father. The ghost did not look at his burning corpse. But the dead often avoided attending to evidence of their demise. Instead, the spirit kept talking to his unhearing son.

The funeral pyre burned. Even from the distance, Wraith could feel the heat. Fire consumed clothes, skin, muscles, and fat. The dragons lifted their head and roared. The air vibrated.

Everyone watched as the flames raged. The music continued. It mingled with the crackling fire. The pyre collapsed. But no one spoke until the fire had died down.

The grand monk stepped forward and stood once more in front of the pyre. He bowed low. The chains around his neck, which marked his rank and vows to the monastic order, swung.