He scratches his head. “His father insisted he sleep somewhere you were not, to protect your honor, but I do not know where,” he explains, and stumbles into Golmarr’s room.
The low rumble of deep voices penetrates the quiet house. I press my hand to the wall and wander down the dark hall, toward the stairs and the voices. The stairwell flickers and glimmers with orange light.
At the bottom of the stairs is a big room with a giant hearth at one end, surrounded by three sofas, which make three sides of a square. A small fire is burning in the hearth, giving off just enough light to illuminate King Marrkul, Jessen, Ingvar, and a horse lord I do not know sitting on two of the sofas, their stocking feet propped up on a table, their backs to me.
“So you think we should wait and let them come to us, Olenn?” Marrkul asks, his voice so deep it almost sounds more like a growl.
“Yes,” his son—Olenn—replies. “Let them wear themselves out with travel before they fight us. It will give us the advantage. What do you think, Ingvar?”
Ingvar nods. “We can arm ourselves and wait just north of the city. Golmarr will lead the foot soldiers, and I will lead the mounted troops. They won’t know we’re there until our archers have taken down a third of their soldiers.” His strategy is sound, but…“And then we will pounce on them and give them the choice to continue the fight or turn back.” All four men nod and make deep grunts of approval. Olenn yawns and scratches the back of his head, his fingers tangling in his long black hair.
King Marrkul leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “All right. At first light, we will finalize the preparations to draw the mercenaries to us and end this battle before sundown.”
“No, you can’t,” I blurt. All four men whip around and look at me.
“Good evening, Princess Sorrowlynn.” King Marrkul stands and walks over to me. His shirt is wrinkled and untucked, his eyes weary. Smiling, he takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips. His bushy beard tickles my skin.
“Good evening, sir.” I dip a respectful curtsy even though I am wearing a nightgown.
“Don’t worry yourself over us, young lady. We are merely talking battle strategy,” Marrkul says. He studies me for a long moment, and I wish I had changed back into my skirt and tunic before coming downstairs. I firm my shoulders and lift my chin. “Do you want for anything, Princess? A glass of warm cinnamon milk, or some buttered bread?”
I take a deep breath and look up into his eyes. “I need nothing. I know that you are discussing battle plans, sir. You can’t fight here!” My voice rings with authority.
Golmarr’s brothers quietly chuckle. Marrkul schools his face to concerned sympathy. “And what would a young northern princess like yourself know about battles fought in Anthar, hey?”
The hundreds of battles flash before my eyes again. “More than you can imagine,” I whisper. “Your strategy is good—very good, if all you are going to be fighting tomorrow is men. But a dragon is coming.”
Marrkul frowns and looks at his sons. Looking back to me, he says, “But the fire dragon is dead.”
“Not him—not the fire dragon. The dragon of the Glass Forest is coming for me.”
“The glass dragon has never left the forest,” Ingvar says, glaring at me like I am an idiot.
For a heartbeat I see the grasslands covered with a thick layer of sheer ice. “Yes, she does, and she will freeze your city and your people if I am here, until she finds me.” I look out a window to the moonlit field behind the house, to the horses. They are the best horses in the world—the fastest, strongest. I could saddle Dewdrop this very moment and gallop away, and the glass dragon threat would be removed from the horse clan. “If I am gone…” The thought of leaving hurts so badly, it robs me of the ability to speak.
A warm hand closes over mine. “Jessen, wake Golmarr,” the king commands. He gently pulls me over to the empty sofa, and I sit. Lifting a wool blanket, he wraps it around me, tucking it behind my shoulders and beneath my bare feet. “Your hands are like ice, Princess.”
A moment later Golmarr, his hair mussed from sleep, wearing only a pair of wrinkled pants, strides into the room stretching his long arms over his head. He sees me sitting on the sofa and sits down beside me, lifting half of my blanket and covering himself so my arm is against his bare chest. Even through the fabric of my nightgown I can feel his warm skin, and I can’t help but wonder what his father thinks of his son walking around in front of me with no shirt. Golmarr fumbles under the blanket until he finds my hand and twines his fingers with mine and then he looks at me. “Jessen says you’re raving about dragons attacking us tomorrow and trying to tell them how to fight their battle?” he asks, a curious grin spreading over his sleepy face.
I nod. “The glass dragon is coming for me.” I feel Golmarr’s heart speed up beneath my shoulder, and his hand turns as cold as mine as the grin is replaced with a frown. “If I run tonight—”