The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

collarbone. Her nose wrinkled, not in disgust, but more in a gesture of curiosity. She sniffed daintily.
    “You smell of magic, Prince Darville. Are you a sorcerer like King Simeon of SeLenicca?”

Chapter 7
     
    D arville paced the circumference of the Council Chamber, knotting and unclenching his fists in time with his anxious thoughts. His mid-region demanded food, then twisted in rejection of the idea. This had been a most distressing day.
    The retreating sun set ablaze the colored glass in the western windows. He stared at the light, absorbing the fiery greens and bay-blues. Starbursts of those colors blinded him to all else.
    Only then did the vision of Princess Rossemikka leave him. He’d been so happy, so prepared to love her, once he’d realized she was the woman of his dragon-dream. Only to have her throw the entire Council into turmoil with those few words.
    Asking Darville if he were a sorcerer, indeed. How did she know that was the one sentence that would undermine the fragile relationship between himself and the Council of Provinces? The chit couldn’t have said anything worse if she’d been coached by Lord Krej himself!
    He’d never marry her now. How could he trust her? The much needed troops from Rossemeyer were gone forever.
    His relationship with the Council was in shambles.
    Enough. Darville was Crown Prince, rightfully king. The time had come to steer the course of his own future before Krej and his puppets had a chance to take advantage of Princess Rossemikka’s near fatal words.
    “My lords.” Darville nodded curtly to each of the lords as they entered the chamber. Behind each lord, strode a cocky magician.
    “Where is Senior Magician Baamin?” the prince demanded. He clenched his teeth against the cramp in his gut. What was he doing standing here, talking, preparing to “discuss” the kingdom’s problems. He needed to be out, urging his steed to a frantic pace, or running, or swimming. Anything physical, rather than this polite talk.
    “Your Grace, must we remind you that we have forbidden contact between yourself and the University?” Lord Jonnias puffed up his chest and squawked his oft repeated arguments. “If a foreign princess can smell the magic on you when you’ve had no contact with magicians for over a week, when you insulted all of these worthy gentlemen by forcing them out of Council with witchbane, then the spells are in danger of overtaking you again.”
    “What the princess smelled was the Tambootie that haunts my cousin. He was directly behind me at the time.” Enough politeness. Darville whirled to face his rival, an accusing finger pointed at Krej’s handsome face.
    “I am under the influence of witchbane. Even if I were a magician, what use could I make of Tambootie?” Krej protested. His eyes were open wide with a look of incredulity. Who would guess at the evil the man had plotted last year?
    “Then I overrule the Council. Each of you, mere governors of the provinces, has a magician adviser. I am your king, therefore, I demand the same right. I have chosen Lord Baamin as my adviser.”
    “You are not king!” Krej growled. He was hovering behind the dragon throne as if he intended to sit there himself. Still wearing his formal tunic, Krej looked as if he belonged in that chair of chairs. All he lacked was the glass dragon Coraurlia perched atop his red hair.
    Red hair. The inherited evidence of magic talent. Brevelan had Krej’s bright red locks. Jaylor’s hair and beard were dark auburn, lightening with red highlights when he was exposed to the sun. Baamin’s now white head had once been blond with red lights. There was no trace of red in Rossemikka’s hair—only that odd white streak across her temple.
    Darville sniffed. There was so much Tambootie essence in the chamber from the presence of the magicians, he couldn’t tell if any still clung to his cousin or not.
    He longed for the time when the addictive herbage was banned throughout the kingdom. Only dragons should be able to feed on that tree.
    “Sir Holmes, escort Senior Magician Baamin to the Council Chamber immediately.” Darville shouted his order out the door as he strode to the other side of the throne.
    “Your Grace!” the Council gasped as one.
    “Since the Princess Rossemikka holds me in so little regard as to belittle me in public at our first meeting, I declare her an unfit candidate to be my queen. The treaty is null and void.”
    “You can’t do that! We, the