In the Dragonfly World, the sky was never truly empty.
It was a living tapestry, a constant, shimmering dance of scales and wings. From the frost-capped peaks of the Spine Mountains to the misty shores of the Sapphire Coast, the air was the domain of the dragons. Swarms of Jewel-Wings, no bigger than a man's hand, flitted about like hummingbirds, their scales catching the sun like a thousand shattered rainbows. Higher up, the great Sky-Galleons drifted with majestic indifference, their massive bodies the size of ships, their leathery wings beating in a slow, hypnotic rhythm that was the world's heartbeat.
They were as common as birds. Farmers looked up to see the shadow of a Forest Drake passing over their fields, a sign of good luck. Merchants guided their caravans by the glow of Lantern-Drakes who nested along the mountain passes. To the people of this world, the sky without a dragon was a sky without a soul.
At the heart of the human realm, nestled in a valley carved by an ancient river, lay the Kingdom of Aethelgard. Its white-stone castle was a marvel of engineering and magic, its spires piercing the clouds not as a challenge, but as a greeting. Balconies and terraces jutted from its sides, serving as perches and landing pads for the royal family's own esteemed dragons. From a distance, the castle looked less like a fortress and more like a beautiful, intricate hive, buzzing with life both human and reptilian. It was a picture of perfect harmony, a land where fantasy was simply reality.
But inside the grand throne room, harmony was in short supply.
The air, thick with the scent of polished marble and expensive perfume, was heavy with unspoken tension. On the gilded thrones sat King Darius Dravenheart, his face a mask of forced patience, and beside him, Queen Isolde, whose smile was so tight it looked painful. They were playing host to the royal family of the Sunstone Duchy, here with their only daughter, Princess Elara.
Princess Elara was the very picture of nobility. Her gown was woven with threads of real gold, her hair was styled into an elaborate cascade of curls, and her voice, when she spoke, was as soft and sweet as honey.
"And so," she concluded her perfectly rehearsed speech, her eyes fixed on the prince standing before her, "it is with the greatest hope that I, Princess Elara of the Sunstone Duchy, offer my hand in union, to strengthen our kingdoms and bring about an era of unparalleled peace."
Prince Aiden Dravenheart hadn't heard a word. He'd been watching a tiny Jewel-Wing dragon outside the grand window, far more interested in its chaotic flight path. He let the silence hang in the air for a moment, just long enough for the hopeful smiles of the Princess's family to begin to waver.
Then, he looked directly at the Princess, his expression utterly bored.
"I refuse."
The two words were quiet, but they struck the room like a lightning bolt.
"WHAT!!!!"
The shriek came from the Princess's mother, the Duchess of Sunstone. Her husband, the Duke, looked as if he'd just swallowed a lemon. Princess Elara herself stood frozen, her face pale, her perfect composure shattered.
The Duke found his voice, his face turning a mottled red. "Can you explain this, King and Queen? Is this how Aethelgard treats its most loyal allies? With public humiliation?"
King Darius and Queen Isolde didn't even look at the Duke. They just closed their eyes and slowly, wearily, shook their heads.
This was the 50th time.
For the 50th time, their son had just rejected a perfectly suitable, politically advantageous, and undeniably beautiful bride. And for the 50th time, they were left to clean up the mess.
King Darius rose slowly, his joints aching with a familiarity that had nothing to do with age. He held up a placating hand, his voice a weary monotone. "Your Grace, please. My son is… eccentric. He is a thinker, a poet. He does not see the world as we do. This is not a reflection on your daughter's beauty or worth, but merely on my son's… unique perspective."
It was the same speech he had given 49 times before. The words were as hollow as his hope.
"Unique perspective?" the Duke of Sunstone spat, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. He pointed a trembling finger at Aiden, who hadn't moved a muscle. "You stupid prince, you don't know how beautiful our daughter is! You are an insult to the crown!"
Without another word, the Duke grabbed his stunned daughter's arm. "Come, Elara. We are leaving this den of fools. The Sunstone Duchy will find a more appreciative ally!"
The Duchess shot the King and Queen a look of pure venom before gathering her skirts and following her husband out of the throne room. The heavy oak doors slammed shut, the sound echoing like a cannon shot in the suffocating silence.
But they weren't finished. From the grand balcony overlooking the valley, the royal family watched the furious scene unfold. The Duke led his family to a private landing pad where a magnificent Sunstone Dragon, its scales the color of a blazing sunset, was tethered. The creature snorted a plume of smoke, sensing its master's rage.
With a rough shove, the Duke helped his wife and tearful daughter onto the dragon's broad back. He swung himself into the saddle, and with a vicious yank on the reins, he kicked the dragon's flanks.
The beast let out a roar that shook the castle walls. It beat its massive wings once, twice, sending a gust of wind through the balcony, and then launched itself into the air. It climbed higher and higher, a fiery speck of anger soaring into the endless, dragon-filled sky, until it was just another shadow disappearing over the Spine Mountains.
A long, heavy silence fell over the balcony.
Finally, Queen Isolde turned to her son, her elegant composure finally cracking. Her voice was a low, dangerous tremor.
"Aiden, I've told you, you must get married soon because we want grandchildren."
Aiden let out a long, slow breath, the sound barely audible over the wind whistling around the balcony spires. He didn't look at his mother, but instead turned his gaze back to the sky, to the place where the Sunstone Dragon had vanished.
"Mother," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "You speak of grandchildren as if they are a resource to be mined, like gold or dragonstone. Something to be acquired for the good of the kingdom."
He finally turned to face her, his eyes holding a weary intelligence that was far older than his twenty-one years. "Have you ever considered why I refuse? Every single one of those fifty women… they are already queens in their own right. They live in palaces, wear gowns woven with sunlight, and have never known a moment of hardship. They don't need a husband. They certainly don't need me. I am just another jewel in their already overflowing crown."
A bitter smile touched his lips. "You want me to find a reason to live for myself, yet you offer me a life that is already pre-written. I will not be a political transaction. I will not be a stepping stone for a dynasty."
He glanced at his father, who was rubbing his temples as if a headache was brewing. Then his gaze settled back on his mother.
"And as for your 'grandchildren prophecy'… perhaps the prophecy isn't about me producing an heir. Perhaps it's a warning that if you keep forcing these parades of 'perfect' women on me, your line will end with a childless, grumpy prince."
Without waiting for a reply, Aiden turned and walked back toward the grand doors of the castle, leaving his parents standing in the wind, the weight of his fifty refusals settling heavily upon them once more.
Thought Process
King Darius and Queen Isolde stood in stunned silence on the balcony, the wind whipping at the Queen's royal robes. The Prince's words echoed in the sudden emptiness, a harsh critique of the very foundation of their lives. For a moment, the only sound was the distant cry of a wild dragon circling the mountains.
The King finally let out a heavy sigh, slumping against the stone balustrade. "A dynasty… ending with a grumpy prince," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "He's not wrong, Isolde. The boy has a point."
"Do not start defending him, Darius!" the Queen snapped, though her heart wasn't in it. Her anger was already being replaced by a familiar, cold dread.
Just then, the soft shuffling of feet and the quiet scrape of worn shoes on stone came from behind them. They turned to see their most senior servants gathered at the entrance to the balcony. Leading them was Jeeves, the head butler, a man who had served the Dravenheart family for sixty years. His back was stooped, and his hands, once steady enough to polish a crystal goblet until it shone like a star, now trembled slightly.
Jeeves bowed, a slow, pained movement. "Your Majesties," he began, his voice raspy with age. "Forgive the intrusion. We… we have come with a heavy heart to deliver some news."
King Darius straightened up, a new frown creasing his brow. "Jeeves? What is it?"
The old butler took a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Your Majesties… we are old. Our bones ache from the cold castle stone, and our hands are not as steady as they once were. The senior staff and I… we have served the Dravenheart family with pride for decades, but… our time is over."
He looked up, his gaze filled with a profound weariness. "We have come to announce our retirement. We are no longer strong enough to be your servants."
The King's face, already flushed with frustration, turned pale. He stared at the line of loyal, aged faces before him—his nursemaid, his valet, the castle's head cook. They were the pillars of his home, the keepers of his family's history.
"You… too?" he whispered, the word barely audible.
Queen Isolde gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. It felt like the floor was dropping out from under her. First, her son refused to secure the future of the bloodline. Now, the very people who represented the past and stability of her kingdom were leaving.
It was an omen. The end of an era.
But then, as the two greatest problems of her reign collided in her mind, something strange happened. The despair in her eyes hardened into a new, determined light. A strange, almost manic glint appeared. She looked from the tired, retiring servants to the empty space where her son had just stood.
And in the wreckage of her plans, she saw a beautifully, dangerously absurd solution.