A/N – Hello again. I just wanted to disclaim that the names and characters that will appear in this story and that are also found in Vivian Vande Velde's 'Dragon's Bait' are hers, not mine.

*I would also like to disclaim that if you are familiar with my previous stories in this fandom that this fiction is set in a completely different reality from what I had created there—so please go into this story with a clear mind beginning from the actual end of Velde's book. I promise it will be epic ;)

Sometimes, on warm spring nights young Jaythen would sneak out of his bedroom, and climb the tall, old oak tree at the top of the hill to sit there and watch the stars. If it was a clear night, they shone brilliantly. He enjoyed the twinkling celestial elements but the real reason he looked to the night sky was to find a falling star. He had seen one when he was even younger and the way it sped across the heavens remained in his memory years long after the occurrence. It was before he knew they were for wishing on, however and he never stopped kicking himself for simply wasting such a good star that he could have wished upon.

Silly girls from court suggested that fallen eyelashes, gold coin tossed into water, catching loose dandelion tufts, and blowing out flames of one's birthday cake also had the same effect but Jaythen never revived that feeling of when he saw the falling star. There seemed to be something so powerful—some magic of great impact just waiting to be released into granting a wish.

Jaythen searched and searched the sky with eyes of placid blue, watching and waiting for his chance to make a wish—as the wish he wanted had been in his mind as soon as his mother told him about falling stars and their powers. Finally, one spring evening, when he was thirteen years old he saw a falling star. It seemed to glide through the dark, illuminating his eyes for only a moment before fading.

I wish that I could be someone else.

***

Five years afterward, Jaythen was still himself—the eighteen-year-old, sole heir and son of the Count, and never satisfied with his life. He had since renounced to himself the belief that falling stars held any magic whatsoever. He had grown into a young man of stature, who had, what girls—noble and peasant alike—liked to call an 'earnest face' and a 'quizzical brow' with 'the most breathtakingly blue eyes ever seen on a boy'.

Jaythen rode atop his horse, avoiding the stares of the people who passed. He concentrated on the reins in his gloved hands. It was early spring, and the snow had just recently melted off the ground in Wendbury, leaving damp ground and mud. He jerked his gaze upon the towers of the Castle Wendbury, his home that he was returning to after spending a year in the Imperial City—to undergo preparation for when he was to take his father's title—which could take years to inherit. If that wasn't the most boorish and insufferable activity he had ever experienced, there was also a deep dread in the pit of his stomach of his father's words before he had departed.

"Jaythen, when you return you shall take a bride."

There was no one female he could fathom spending the rest of his life with. The ones he knew were quite beautiful but horribly annoying or naïve, gossipy, vain—there were none that remotely suited his tastes or caught his attentions for very long—and he had searched. Every young woman he had passed in the while in the Imperial City, he looked for something in their face—a subtle intrigue or brightness but they all seemed so dull. The girls of Wendbury were out of the question—and that's why he dreaded having to see his father again.

Two knights rode before him to escort him to the castle, once in the main terrace he handed his horse to an attendant and took his gloves off looking around at familiar sights. His eyes landed on the oak tree at the top of the hill and wanted to do nothing but climb it, just to revive pleasant memories.

"Jaythen! Jaythen, my darling son I've missed you so!" his mother was one of the first to greet him. The Countess of Wendbury was a woman of class and loved a dramatic entrance. Jaythen often wondered how in the world she tolerated his father. The Count of Wendbury was stern and ambitious, willing to manipulate everything to gain his way.

"Sweet greetings to you madam," he said as she embraced him.

"How was your time in the King's court? I did receive your letters but in my opinion they held far too little detail of how things were for you. Now I may ask you in person and have a fuller explanation."

Jaythen grimaced. He did have a fondness for his mother but would have rather not recounted the details of the last year. He knew better though—she was prying to see if he had found a maiden that suited him in the capital—probably on behalf of his father. He felt his brow furrow. My own father is too busy to ask me his questions.

They entered the great hall escorted by more of their knights—but once safe inside they dispersed to attend to other duties. The hall was dim compared to the light of outdoors. His mother had looped her arm in his and was striding forward with a definite purpose. He couldn't help but to drag his feet. She noticed his behavior and pressed her lips together with disapproval—after all he had been sent away to return as a man who conveyed every aspect of a gentleman; gallant, strong, diplomatic, polite, and above overall, charming. His boot hit a protruding stone in the floor and he tripped into his mother but caught himself.

"Jaythen!" she scolded.

"I apologize mother, but where are we headed? I just only have arrived and I am quite exhausted…"

"We're going to have a little sit-down my son, there are important matters to discuss," she said but ever so quietly and continued to lead him through the castle. The dread in his stomach only increased at her tone.

He passed an unfamiliar servant lass carrying a pile of laundry through the corridor and couldn't help but to look at her out of habit—then he was sadly reminded that girls of lower social order were also out of the question on his bride-hunt. He had to mentally gag at his own term bride hunt. It sounded ungallant—what ever happened to the natural way? Boy meets girl, they fall in love and are together forever? That was at least what he thought from all the storybooks read to him by his nursemaid as a child—at least before he went to the Imperial City. He was by no means a prince but that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to rescue a maiden and fall in love with her. He looked at his mother and reconsidered the part about love—because it was apparent his parents did not love each other—respected, tolerated—yes. Love—no.

The Countess Wendbury finally halted in the solar, a private sitting room for his family. They were the only two beings there. He had to wonder where his cousin was.

Halden was older than Jaythen by a year and a half—the son of his father's late sister. His Aunt Trefulla had passed away in his fourteenth year and her husband had long since been dead. His family took in her son, his cousin, Halden, for he was family and had no one else. He wondered if the matter at hand required his cousin's presence. His mother looked strained and desolate though, and Jaythen's concern of Halden's whereabouts was forgotten.

"What is the matter, mother?"

"Your father has fallen gravely ill, that is why he did not greet you when you arrived."

Jaythen focused on a painting that was hung behind his mother, to collect his thoughts. The painting was of the city from the front gate view. The Oakwood Inn was one of the first establishments one saw entering the city—it was a large, fine, inn meant for wealthier travelers. Jaythen felt his mother's grip on his arm and he coughed "How long has he been ill?"

"All this last month, we thought we had avoided the winter's coughing sickness but it struck him during its last run. He can barely breathe and has been bedridden nearly the entire time. The physicians can do no more. He will die, Jaythen. He will die very soon and you will have to take his place."

Jaythen's form went rigid—the realization of responsibility surprising but nonetheless unpleasant. His mother touched his arm again to encourage him to say something.

"Let me see him," he let out a breath, although he was never one to request to see his father. It always seemed the other way around. His mother lowered her head in acquiescence and motioned toward the adjoining room, which was the Lord's chamber. He took another deep breath when his hand landed on the bronze door handle, he needed courage to face his father even though the man was frail he would still be fierce.

He opened the door and saw his father bundled into the many blankets, propped up against the carved wooden headboard.

"Jaythen," the Count was barely audible. Jaythen bowed low in courtesy and then took a knee at the bed's edge.

"They tell me you are ill."

"As you can see, I am," even in near death his father had a bite to his tone.

"I am sorry for your discomfort," Jaythen said, really meaning it.

"Nonsense. You gain five bushels of grain upon my death, which is more than the average simpleton."

Jaythen's eyes were suddenly wide with shock, but only for a second because his father's stone face broke into a snarling laugh, which in turn became raspy coughing. "I jest boy. Of course you will inherit my title, land, and assets, as you've known since you were a child.

"Oh—," The younger man sighed—for in that second of jest he had wonderfully thought he was free of his responsibility, never mind the loss of wealth, he wouldn't have to be himself just like had wished five years ago. His father was still cruel, taunting the boy with his rare, unknowing humor.

"Have you found lass to share it all with yet?"

Jaythen was looking at the silken sheets hanging beneath the blankets but his gaze jerked to meet his father's. "No."

He was met with a glare, "You must find a bride! You must hurry. I want to see my son marry—to know our bloodline is secure—to see you happy." His father shouted at his full capacity, which left him breathing heavily.

"Happy?" Jaythen returned his father's glare almost perfectly. His dark brows knotted with scorn. "You and mother neither seem happy with your marriage—how will mine be any different?"

His father's scowl was fixed, but finally softened, "Son, I was in your exact position many years ago. The difference is though, that I refused to find a bride so I was assigned one. I'm letting you have your choice of lady and if you find her you will be happy. If you do not, then you will wed a girl you do not know, nor love. You will spite her because of being forced to be together. I'm asking you to find a bride, Jaythen, to benefit your happiness."

Jaythen didn't know what to say at his father's admission. His father did seem to care about him to be so adamant on him finding a girl. For the first time in his life he felt a softening toward his father, which was a shame since the man had little time to live.

He laid his hand over his fathers and managed to smile in reassurance that he would do his best to find such a girl.

"Now leave me," the order came in a horrid cough.

"As you wish, my Lord."

His mother was watching from the threshold with tears in her eyes. He suddenly felt bad for her—to hear that her husband did not love her and felt spite from their forced marriage.

He gave her a hug, "He didn't mean it."

She sniffed into the collar of his vest, while shaking her head—"He does mean so. We were never supposed to be to together."

He moved out of the threshold while still embracing his mother. She was shorter than him by a foot or two. He laid his chin on her head.

She pulled away and brushed her skirts, "I suppose the good of our union is you, my dearest son." She grabbed his chin and studied his face with a sweet smile. "Now, as for your search for a lady—I have taken the initiative and have invited a few of the noble girls of our city to your return celebration this night."

Before Jaythen could roll his eyes at the thought, his mother jerked his chin down so their gazes were level, "No complaints, you haven't seen them for a year and they could strike your fancy."

"Why don't you try finding Halden a wife?" He groaned.

His mother laughed heartily, "It's a challenge to keep him away from all the young ladies of our court." Then she became more serious, "Vitoria has been asking about you for months, and she has grown into such a pretty thing too! Please son, try to enjoy their company. You are young, be frivolous!"

With that statement, she let him go and strode off to oversee how preparations were developing for the food and music. e At least she can happy within this sour family.