Prologue

2025

The place was dark; the disorienting type of darkness where you can feel neither the breadth nor depth of the space you're in. The torches had long gone out and only spicy breath of smoke, the human scent of sex and sound of her breath and his.

"You don't have to do this." She whispered, her lips fluttering against his hairless cheek.

His eyes stared at the vaulted ceiling, giving no indication that he was listening, or that he cared.

"It doesn't have to be this way." She sat up wrapping her slender pale arms around her own nude body as if she could offer herself some small measure of comfort in these comfortless times.

He moved suddenly, fabric rippling around him and his cool hand spanned across her ripening belly. "It will be for the sake of this child that I do this." He said.

Her hand slid over his and gently she moved him away unable to bear his touch, unable to bear the thought of their child born into the cruelty of these times. Would her daughter, for surely it was a girl, ever know the joy of life, and love and freedom? She knew though, with absolute certainty that she would do anything for her child. Anything.

Her eyes flicked to his face, and she wondered at the thoughts that slid behind the darkness of his gaze. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her eyes the shade of crushed violets gleamed eerily in the dark. "I want you to promise me something."

His smile was cold and brief. "What, beloved?"

"Whatever may happen don't hurt our baby." She whispered.

His lips parted and then closed and a breath hitched in her throat.

"I can't make that promise."

There was light in his eyes that was generated by no torch nor lamp in the room, it was an eldritch light that spoke of his otherness, it spoke of his power. The light cast shadows on her face, the subtle lines of age at her eyes, the corners of her lips but despite this she was still beautiful.

"I love you." She said her voice breaking on her tears.

He stood beside her. "Of course you do." He whispered and ran his fingers through her white blond hair and smiled whilst she wept.

Captive in the dank, dark cellar, the King of the First House of the Shapeshifters had his wrists shackled to a wall. "It won't be long now, your grace." The king lifted his head at the sound of that voice, that taunting, terrible voice was all that rose out of the dark. "His hunger grows with the falling of the sun."

"It doesn't have to be this way. You could let us all go." The king said, his voice barely above a whisper as if the waiting had robbed him of some strength.

"To what end, your grace?" Laughter rose and fell. "He is the High King of this world: there would be nowhere to escape that he couldn't find you."

"There are people that will stop him."

"And who could stand against a god?"

"He's not a god." Galen mumbled.

"I have seen no creature able to withstand him, not even those who call themselves kings or Maegesters or-"

"Gundermann." The Dragon's voice was unmistakable as it echoed large in the darkness, the sound sliced through the man's voice like a sharp blade. Torches burst to life around the prison throwing harsh light upon the king's face and he had to squint to adjust to the new light and the sight of The Dragon.

He appeared a young man, angelic, innocuous almost but there was strength in his young body, he bore an otherworldly grace and beauty from his ivory skin to the ebony darkness of his hair and such eyes that held the look a predator who was about to feast on his prey. You would not know you were in danger until the last moment.

Gundermann was a large, awkward porcine man, compared to his master his large round features were flushed red and the king had a moment to see his small eyes open to reveal white around the iris before he dropped to his knee in deference at The Dragon's appearance.

The Dragon's glittering gaze fell upon the king and the king remained defiant, his lips pressed together, his gaze intent on that young face refusing to betray the weakness in his body.

The Dragon cocked his head, hair drifted into his eyes, the flame casting blood red highlights in his dark hair. He looked so very young. "There is a remedy for those that will not kneel."

He motioned for the large man to come forward, Gundermann materialised a Japanese Katana in one hand, the hilt looked as if it were carved of bone and polished to shine, the blade caught the light and for a moment it looked as if the steel were aflame. There was only a moment for the king to comprehend The Dragon's unspoken command before Gundermann brought the blade down in a graceful arc, he sliced through the meat, muscle and bone, removing the king's entire right leg.

Shock disguised the immediate pain but the king's lips parted to scream, but any sound died quickly as he lurched forward to vomit bile.

The Dragon smiled, delighting in the king's pain, he held up a hand before Gundermann could remove the other leg. "Even I can be merciful, if you would but bow to me, King of Shapeshifters."

"Someone will stop you." The king hissed before he choked on his pain.

The Dragon made a motion with his hand and Gundermann wielded his sword to slice off the left leg as well.

The king didn't have breath to scream at the second wave of pain, two grave wounds one after the other and he was soon falling in and out of consciousness. Time might have passed and he would not have known. The pain had stolen his sense of time and space and he was a throbbing mass of exquisite agony. He could hear his heart beat thunder and ebb, a river returning to the ocean.

The Dragon leant down to lay his mouth atop the king's. "I accept your fealty, King Galen." He spoke against the other's lips and it was like the fluttering of a moth's wing, blood painted The Dragon's mouth from where it leaked between Galen's lips.

Miss S