Chapter 20 - Midnight Nocturne

In a word, Midnight hated the grand dining room. It sucked. Far too big for all the wrong reasons. It wasn't really meant for dining or enjoying a meal. It was meant for showing off. It was a show of power. Unlike every other evening where her family would simply fend for themselves directly out of the kitchen where they could all talk, this grand dining hall was designed to give weight to grand proclamations. It was all so gaudy and fake, like the performance her mother currently presented to the dozens of guests seated around the long dark cedar table.

"Welcome, Dracon of the four worlds!" The Queen Mother bombed and issued a regal gesture to those seated around the long table, "We of House Fyrebrand desire you a comfortable and profitable evening as we discuss the dawn of a new era."

Midnight impatiently tapped her foot on the stone floor. She couldn't even sit close to her mother: it wasn't the right seat. She wasn't the right rank. Not yet. Patience. The young Dracon was ready to bloody explode. Of course, that wouldn't be the proper response for a young lady of her station.

Screw it.

Screw property, civility, and this big ass puffy dress that made her look like a princess.

There were four extra plates, three different types of glasses, and way too many forks on this place setting. Midnight had had enough of this lavish farce and was about a half second away from vomiting all over this stupid room. She wanted to scream! But, it wasn't like her mother would even listen to her over the chatter of the other Four Families, royal guards, and staff.

Interrupting Midnight's inner rage, one of the Ambassadors from Manaan stood up from their seat and raised a glass chalice aloft; "We, Dracon of the Manaan Ascendance, thank our hoists; Lords and Lady Kellgannon of House Fyrebrand. We look forward to the opportunities to explore and discover new worlds as the time of the Iris approaches." With a subtle bow, the man in his forties swept his blue formal cape aside and sat back down.

From the Nuada House section of the long table, a Dracon Woman in a white and gold suit with long jet black hair stood and also raised a glass; "Sharing our brother's and sister's spirit of adventure, we the Dracon of the Nu Republic look forward to this exciting challenge ahead."

More polite applause and nods around the table directed at the houses of wind and water. Midnight's mother was certainly pleased. Everyone in fact appeared to be in good spirits with the exception of Midnight herself, and the traditionalists. Those poor Dracons from the Earthen Realm seemed only to enjoy themselves when there was no joy to be had by anyone.

An older dracon noble dane stood from her end of the table. The rich, oak like horns upon her head were immaculately manicured. No doubt those horns were maintained specifically to a laundry list of code, law, and guidelines about how earthers were to groom themselves. Her hunter green and black robes were pristine. In a begrudging voice, the dane spoke her mind; "While the delegation of the Dana Empire appreciates House Fyrebrand's hospitality, we must air our grievances against this foolhardy endeavor."

There was a collective groan erupted from the entire table. Naturally, the Wind Drakon's were the first to offer an enthusiastic rebuttal; "Dame Peters, surely the fair people of Dana wish not only to preserve their own land, but see the benefit of exploring, cultivating new land as well?"

A less than tactful retort was given from the Manaan House representative; "Alas, the true difference between true Dracons, and the Dana Empire; one searches above the earth for something new, while the other dives below to hide from what is new."

Laughter was muffled behind napkins and fits of fake coughing while Dame Peters lobed some unsavory curses and insulting gestures across the table. It wasn't until the Queen Mother of House Fyrebrand unfurled her wings and struck her glass chalice with her silver spoon that the table was instantly silenced.

With that prim and proper voice that her daughter hated, Lady Kellgannon soothed the so-called adults; "Brothers and sisters, we are not here because of our differences. In this unprecedented time, we gather because of our combined strength to meet the challenge ahead of us. As the hour of the Iris draws near, Dracons from all four world's have a far better chance of survival as a united force. Should the opportunity present itself, the chance to explore and if need be, conquer what lies beyond the doorway in the sky should be an endeavor our whole race participates in."

Lady Kellganon gave each of the ambassadors a measured look, "Before we begin deliberations, our first course of the evening has arrived..."

All of this showmanship, formality, and stupid suffocating corset had eradicated Midnight's appetite. Loosing her appetite, especially for the high class meals, was a sin. She considered how much effort it would take to maintain interest in this hopeless quest for unity. An entire night of politics? By evening's end surely she'd be dead. Bored to death: that's what her epitaph would read. Even the handsome young Dracon from the Manaan Ascendancy wouldn't be a suitable distraction.

Then again, he was certainly cute. His eyes were slightly more narrow than Midnight's, like almonds. His hair was black as shale; dark, shining, and long tied up in the back into an intricate bun. But, that chiseled jaw, broad chest and shoulders? Those horns. She'd seen horns like those before. But, the way his particular ivory horns curled up like that of a rams' were particularly... Distracting.

No. Not even that boy with the perfect body and studly horns could hold Midnight's attention long enough to circumvent death via boredom. With a determined sigh, she rose from the table, avoided eye contact from everyone and bowed deep. "Excuse me," Lady Midnight said. She peeked up with one eye. Precisely no one noticed or cared that the first born of House Fyrebrand had said a word.

Fine by her.

Midnight walked swiftly from the grand dining hall to her favorite room in the manor. It was the most recent addition to their estate, but to have a private garage was a luxury not even the reluctant princess could argue against.

After an exhausting walk down the south hall, Midnight arrived at the entrance to the garage. She'd memorized the sequence of the protective rune stones that unlocked the door. Having turned the proper stones within the wall, the internal mechanical lock retracted, and the solid stone gave way to the large warehouse sized room.

Before Midnight entered, her ears perked up. Her nostrils flared. Some new scent caught in the back of her throat. It was foreign, but pleasant to the taste. Had someone followed her. A quick peek over her shoulder revealed nothing but an empty hallway. With a shrug, the princess entered without further consideration.

What held her consideration most was Midnight's favorite thing in all the four worlds. House Fyrebrand had constructed their own flagship Corvette-Class Celestial Craft. She could hardly believe the long ship could actually fly among the stars. Presumably, this particular aircraft would lead the other warships of Belenus and conquer whatever lay beyond The Iris. That was of little importance to Midnight. She only wished to put all those hours of flying lessons to use. When given the chance to pilot the mechanical beast that stood docked before her, it would all be worth it. As long as the craft could take her farther and faster than her own wings could--

"Beg your pardon," A timid voice spoke.

Midnight spun on her heels and extended her wings. She opened her mouth to scream, but swiftly retracted and wrapped her wings back around her body tightly. The boy with the ivory horns stood within the entryway of the garage. Her body shivered. Her lips trembled. Midnight's mind attempted to close herself off completely from saying something foolish. Her heart desperately tried to pry her mouth open to say something. Anything? Speak!

Mercifully interrupting her thoughts of opening her mouth and permanently fixating to his lips, neck, chest...

With a formal bow, the boy introduced himself; "Again, my apologies for startling you. I am Duke Cerwyn Angharad of Manaan. Who might you be, my lady?"

Midnight blushed. I am all yours. Take me now, she almost blurted out. She struggled to say something. Something snarky. Wity? No. She was next in line to the throne. Be regal. Mysterious.

"I'm mysterious," Midnight coughed out. She cleared her throat, and tried once more. She swallowed and forced her tongue to dance with a bit more eloquence; "I am mysterious." Her heart was also beating so hard she was certain the duke could hear it trying to burst free from her chest. "That is to say," Midnight desperately attempted to recover, "My name is a mystery, sir duke."

Cerwyn tilted his head and smiled. His smile; by the elder gods of Dracon was this boy handsome, Midnight thought struggling to suppress a smile.

The duke dared to take a step closer; "If you are such a mystery, how shall I then call upon you without a name, my lady?"

"And why wouldst thou need to call upon my name, Duke of Manaan?" Midnight shot back.

Cerwyn inclined his head toward Midnight, "As a boy on my world, I was told there was nothing more beautiful than the Great Sea. Now that I see the truth standing before me, I long to know what name beauty goes by whose radiance is far greater than any ocean."

Midnight's felt as though her knees nearly gave out underneath her. Why was everything shaking? How come the room temperature rose by a thousand degrees?

Oh. All of that must have been because of the explosion.

The castle violently shook as another powerful blast tore apart walls adjacent to the garage. Cerwyn immediately dove forward, draping his body protectively over the young dracon girl. The electric lighting went out above them. The Duke and Princess were momentarily trapped in darkness holding onto one another as glass and stone shattered all around them. Subsequent explosions continued to ignite and shake the manor, then, suddenly, silence.

The duke leapt to his feet and offered Midnight his hand; "My lady, are you injured?"

Before Midnight could respond, four castle templars rushed into the garage. Harron, the princess' personal escort, was the first to draw his helio sword. With a shout he declared, "There, the Duke Manaan is trying to kidnap the princess! Stop or--" Another explosion sent the soldiers sideways into the wall. Undeterred, Haron and the other three templars tried to climb to their feet. Not only on their feet, but shifting into their dragon forms.

Midnight was frozen in place as Harron stalked forward toward Cerwyn. The Duke stepped in front of the princess and instructed gently, "Get to safety Lady Kellganon. I shall have words with your guards." Throwing aside his navy blue cape, Cerwyn shifted into a white dragon with reflective sky blue scales that twisted into magnificently intricate patterns up and down his spine.

As beautiful as he was, there would be no other opportunity to escape. This was it. The politics, the posturing, the ever present prospect of war would always be on the horizon. Or, more accurately, war had been invited into their manor and begun. Midnight would have no more of it. Instead, she'd take after the innovators of the Nuada Tribe and build a new future. Perhaps her endless curiosity would have been a fair match for the Duke of Manaan? Would he allow her to forget her roots, buried deep in the heart of Belenus? Midnight knew, all of those questions would forever go unanswered.

As the shifted Dracons fought and wrought destruction over the garage, the princess ran to save herself. She boarded the celestial craft, dashed to the cockpit, and keyed in the ignition sequence.

Silent turbine blades lifted the celestial craft out from the massive ship sized hole in the garage ceiling. Rapidly climbing, fifty, a hundred, a thousand kilometers above their ruined castle, Midnight felt a single tear run down her cheek. She let one single tear go. One tear to mourn her family and childhood home as it grew ever smaller beneath the craft.

Then, desively, Midnight drew a clawed finger across her cheek, collected the tear and tossed it aside. She decisively gripped the control yolk and aimed for the tear that had appeared in her sky. The Iris. The doorway to another world, worlds, realms beyond her imagination. That last teardrop held hope that Midnight's mother had managed to devour whoever sabotaged her dinner party. It was the Dracon way to perpetually be at war with one another, but it was not Lady Midnight's way. One teardrop. That's all she had to spare for pretending to be someone she was not for so long.

Pushing up on the accelerator lever, the young dracon heir to a ruined kingdom made her exit from the only reality she'd ever known. Onward, to something beyond her imagination.