The Chosen One

I often dreamed of transforming into a striking green dragon, flying high above New York City. The skyscrapers always faded to a mottling of greys and blue.

Now the power of shapeshifting into a dragon lay only within the royal bloodline.

I loosed a slow breath as I approached the royal villa magically hidden in between two townhouses in New York City, the ward causing magic to hum under my skin. Seconds later, I was through. Anyone without magic in their blood would be burned if they tried to set foot in. The Dracoir Villa was sprawling with faeries, seers, and Dracoirs. As expected. The Vampires had not been invited this year as well, I mused.

A figure swathed in blue steps out of the crowd. The rowdy Dracoir I had first met when I was six had grown handsome since last summer after losing the last of his chubbiness. I watched his baby blue eyes crinkling in the corners as he neared.

“Do you know who is going to die?” Alixr said by way of greeting, curiosity etched on his features.

I stilled. Someone royal. Maybe me. “No, I don’t.”

His eyes narrow. “But someone is going to die?”

I shrugged. “Possibly.” The movement caused the rune on my shoulders to catch the fading light. It had been acting up for two weeks now, with the degree of pain increasing slightly every day. “It wouldn’t be the first time a royal caught the short end of the stick.”

The masquerade was tomorrow and tension was running high. The dragon ball was always held the day someone royal was prophesized to die. No one but the seer and the royal family knew this fact.

“Alastair will be the one pulling the trigger if the rumor is true,” Alixr says quietly as we move through the throng of the crowd and toward the door leading into the ballroom.

“Alastair? The faerie prince?” This I didn’t expect. “Why would he kill off a royal Dracoir?”

“The ballot changes every year. Whoever draws the card is tasked with killing off a royal. It’s like the game wink murder except no one knows who the murderer is.”

“I do not think that is how it works.”

“Speak of the devil and the devil appears,” Alixr mutters under his breath as he stops to a standstill.

My stomach tightens as I see the princeling. Alastair Driscol. The fifth prince of the Winter Court. According to rumors, he has led more than one unsuspecting human into the court to be his plaything.

And as I watch his amber eyes lock on mine with an unreadable, calculating look from across the ballroom that somehow feels like I am the target for the ball tomorrow, I believe it all.

But, then again, it seems like every fae I passed today had a warrant with my name on it. I groan internally. How do you survive a war if you don’t know where the attack is coming from? Tomorrow would be a beast.

***

Alastair watched her. Watched as her eyes flitted nervously around. Vasilisi had been doing that all night. Her head bowed down, she only had attention to the food on her plate after Alixr left her to mingle with the other guests. He didn’t like that she hadn’t looked up once towards him after that initial awkward look where she seemed frozen in terror. But he felt pleased knowing she hadn’t given a second glance to Fernaro either, the Dracoir whose name he wished was on the envelope that was tucked neatly into his midnight blue coat. Ever since she had sat down at the table at the edge of the ballroom, she had barely looked up. The only time she had looked up was when Belize stopped by to say hi to her. Her blushing cheeks gave away her attachment to the royal.

His eyes narrowed as Fernaro gathered enough courage to catch her attention. Again. For the past half an hour, he had been oddly pressed to squeeze the weasel’s throat. He had spent all of his time coming up with different ways to hurt the bastard. So far he had come up with asphyxiation by drowning or strangulation. Either worked for him. Alcohol poisoning during beer flood, sticking whalebone down the throat, castration, bludgeoning with a wooden stick… He watched as Fernaro’s hands slipped downwards to slowly press upon her thigh. His hands tightened into fists. The bloody fool would be lucky if he got away with just alcohol poisoning. Two Dracoir may die by his hands tomorrow if Fernaro doesn’t behave. Consequences be damned.

Vasilisi looked up in annoyance. She spoke sharply, her eyes narrowed at the hand that was still resting on her thighs. Alastair strained his ear wishing he could hear her. With an embarrassed flush, Fernaro removed his hands guiltily.

With a satisfied smile, Alastair leaned back.

“Is he the chosen one?”

With a startled look, Alastair looked up to find his brother looking towards him strangely.

He shook his head no in displeasure.

“Little bitter about that, aren’t you?” Ronin laughs, his stormy grey eyes twinkling with mirth.

He grunted in agreement. Fate’s arrow chose both the “killer” and the “to be killed”. The hunt would officially be on tomorrow. He felt tempted to hold up his middle finger to the Gods in defiance but order demanded he follow the decree meted out by the Gods hundreds of years ago after the dragons were found guilty of killing off many supernatural creatures for fun.

The mass destruction affected the Vampires the most, whose lack of magic caused them to be the prime prey. In response, the Gods answered the Vampires’ prayer for vengeance, allowing them to choose the punishment to be handed to the dragons.

The curse turned every dragon into a Dracoir, able to control the magic of the elements but unable to turn into a dragon. All but the royal family. They still retain the ability to turn into a dragon.

The dragons had brought about a ruinous fate for themselves proving that some lines cannot be crossed. The bite of vengeance didn’t end there. In a twist of fate, the Vampires demanded a Dracoir be killed each year by other supernatural creatures until the number hit 500. The hunter and the hunted would be chosen by the Gods. Failure to comply would start the number from zero again and the hunter would be stripped of powers.

Ronin chews the end of a pen, considering him. “Alastair?”

Alastair rested the tip of the wine glass against his lips, wondering if she knew who would die tomorrow. “Yes?”

“Only the royals have died at the dragon ball right?”

He took a sip before turning toward his brother, an eyebrow raised in warning. “You know I can’t say, right?” He leveled one last look at his oldest brother before heading toward the amber-haired lady who had somehow gotten under his skin.

***

I swear I can feel Alastair drilling holes into me as I try not to glance at the far side of the room. Maybe avoiding his gaze means avoiding death.

“Back the hell up, Driscol.”

My heart thuds in my ears as I slowly turn around to find myself facing Alixr facing off Alastair in a threatening manner.

Something unreadable passes along Alastair’s face as he scrutinizes me. “I have been watching you.” He grunts toward me fully ignoring Alixr.

I stare, shocked at his bluntness. Was he measuring my weakness, wondering how best he could kill me?

“Rest easy, princess.” He winks. “It’s not your turn yet.” With that, he turns but not before slowly appraising Belize.

My heart thuds in my ears. Belize, the only Dracoir who could call up all the elements with ease. The one with a sweetheart smile that made her heart squeeze with happiness and cheeks heat with shyness.

I flinch.

It’s him.

It’s him.

It’s him. Belize. Belize was going to die tomorrow. Shit.