Apprentices for Dragon Maid Corps training were only accepted once a year at the legendary dragon fort of Endestern on the eastern peninsula, so by the grace of circumstance Agadart was allowed three months before she had to leave her father’s house. She welcomed the reprieve, trying to hoard as many memories of her home as she could before her exile.

But leave she would, or face further, harsher punishment, and once she started the journey it would be ten years before she could return to Miesesenwold Manor. Ten years before she would be allowed see her father again. He was prohibited from even visiting her from wherever she ended up being stationed after training.

Her villainous husband had robbed her of so much, and it felt unfair that even after her husband’s execution he would rob her of even more.

She had missed her mother’s funeral years before. She lived in fear of her father dying while she was gone.

“You still have your life, and that is a gift provided to us in return for my prayers. I will wait for you to come home, My Little Hopper.” He held her close, arms wrapped around her, holding her up as she tried not to cry on his shoulder like a child. He was right in that the sentence she had been given was the best they could have hoped for, far and above her original fear of being executed with her husband despite having actively worked against him for several years. Mandatory conscription as a dragon maid for a decade was by far a vast improvement over that fate, but still it was not something to take lightly, especially at the ripe “old” age of twenty-seven. It was not a death sentence, but it was not going to be a pleasant life either.

She would be alone.

To his credit, her father did not try to pretend that it would be easy for her. Uncharacteristically, he sat in her bedroom as she packed the meager belongings she would be allowed to take with her and gave her random advice about campaigning. While his own service years were long over, they had consisted mostly of vicious battles against fearsome encroachers from the Westlands, so Agadart paid attention. Oddly, he spent a considerable amount of time on how to keep clean while campaigning. Agadart figured out quickly that what he was really telling her was that taking a bath was a rare feature of military life.

He promised to send her care packages containing her favorite milled soaps.

Her father then personally saw her off when she boarded the train for Endestern. A few of the locals were there as well, people she had grown up around and who still cared for her as if she was a child, despite the scandal, despite her fall from grace. The house cook gave her a corsage sachet of grayknife flower buds and cried uncontrollably to the point that Agadart’s father pulled the woman away and into the arms of their long-suffering butler.

Agadart herself did not cry until the train was in motion. The private cabin was not a luxury but a precaution, to separate her from other passengers. She was given the decency of not traveling under armed guard, mostly due to her station as the sole heir of her father’s estate, but the expectation was that she would act in accordance with her banishment from polite society. Agadart assumed that there were spies around to report her movements back to the king and queen.

Still, it was a small private cabin, and her tears flowed freely in solitude.

Once that was over, she opened the blinds and watched the scenery passing by. Not having traveled much, other than between estates and the capital, she was entranced with the changing landscape.

After two days the view had become routine, though. By the fourth day it was monotonous, and by the time the train pulled into the station at the small city at the foot of the mountain, Ransewellen, on the seventh day, she was about ready to climb the walls. The cold, rocky landscape of the peninsula had appeared outside of her window the night before, and she stared at the gray, green, and brown mountains as they pushed in around her. Fort Endestern was the farthest point out, on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea, and she had been told by everyone that it was a harsh land to live in. Ransewellen was the end of the line, as well; the train would simply loop around to face the other way to return to civilization. It would go back without her.

Once disembarked, Agadart grabbed her small bag and stood on the platform, clutching her coat closed. It was a bitterly chilled wind that snapped around her, threatening to take her hat with it and sending her skirts billowing. There were more people waiting to leave than were getting off, and since Agadart did not know where to go she stopped to watch the others, hoping for a clue as to what she should do. Her Orders to Report had said that she would be met at the station, but not by who nor exactly where. On the platform? In the station building? On the side facing the street?

There was a bustle of activity behind her from a private car. She had traveled by private car exclusively when she was a baroness, and she recognized the stir it caused. Bystanders stayed close to gawk, and the train crew was hustling to get everything sorted correctly for the passengers before they disembarked.

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Agadart stepped closer to a respectable elderly couple who were waiting to board the train. “Do we know who of stature is arriving?” she asked the lady politely. The woman gave her a kind smile.

“It is Duke Raudolf, Rodgardae Leonteinparre, and his guardian Mani Roki.”

Agadart sucked in a breath. She had never personally met the man she knew by his Kaaltendt title, Duke Raudolf, despite his status as the fourth prince of Watt and an admiral in the Kaaltendt Dragon Corps. He had a reputation for remaining on the fringes of the queen’s court, often staying out at his remote estate just outside the capital. No one questioned it, as he was both a foreigner and a dragon, and most of polite society felt safer the further away dragons were, no matter how highborn. In addition, his taking a male companion was fairly irregular in Kaaltendt. Dragons were exempt from most social rules, but it was unusual enough to incite scurrilous gossip. The fact that said companion was a guardian sent from Akanata just added spice to the story for most people.

“He is posted here, then? Do you know?”

The woman glanced at her again, her expression serious as she studied Agadart’s clothes and bearing, which clashed with her small bag and her lack of chaperone. “Surely you aren’t here as a dragon maid?” she exclaimed.

“Yes ma’am.”

The woman shook her head but did not ask why, since it was certain no highborn woman would voluntarily become a dragon maid. She probably assumed Agadart was escaping a small family scandal, and she did not disabuse her of the notion. It was not far from the truth, aside from all the politics.

It was the man who answered. “The Emperor of Iskaryyva is spoiling for the Isle of Watt, again. War is on the horizon, and with Duke Raudolf being an admiral in the Wattish military, Queen Theaedra has given him a commission in ours.” The man looked a little sour about it, but kept his tongue.

“Oh. Thank you. I have not been reading the news of late.” She had, in fact, been avoiding all mention of politics entirely.

The woman clucked sympathetically, probably imagining all sorts of horrors in Agadart’s life.

The man wrapped his arm around his wife. “It won’t be easy this time around. The emperor has had years to set up for this.” He looked at Agadart with pity. “Bad time for a well-bred woman to march into the corps.”

Agadart nodded. “Often we have little choice in the paths we must take.”

“Ah, there he is! Such a fine nobleman, for a dragon.” The woman rose up on her tiptoes, as curious as any citizen to get a glance at nobility.

Agadart looked up the platform and was struck dumb by beauty. She had seen many gorgeous people in her time at court, of course, but there was something to him that was akin to a shimmer of gold. The duke was tall and lithe, wearing his Dragon Corps uniform and sparkling in the meager sunlight from the reflection of the uniform’s many medals and golden shoulder guards. His sword swung easily at his side, and he moved with the grace of a dancer…or a fighter. Agadart had seen enough exhibition sword duels to know the look of a man who was profoundly aware of his power. His movements were economical but smooth as he shook hands with the train master, who bowed awkwardly with a broad grin on his face. The duke was clearly one of the set of nobility who aimed to charm rather than intimidate, and Agadart liked him immediately.

His companion stood by silently, his smile genuine but subdued. He was no less beautiful, but in a different style, with his darker complexion and riot of curls. He was a little shorter than the duke but powerfully built, wide where the prince was tall, and wearing a dark, simple suit with dark red satin trim and no other decorations. Together they were a study in opposites, and Agadart envied the artist who ever got the chance to paint them together.

Agadart ignored the chattering couple as they moved to board the train, too busy staring at the men down the platform.

The duke sensed her gaze and looked at her, his hazel eyes bright with amusement. He touched his hand to his cap, nodding at her politely, before returning his focus to the people waiting on him. Agadart blushed, feeling silly for such a childish reaction — she was no girl, and neither a virgin (as unpleasant as her ex-husband’s fumblings had been, he had done the deed) but the duke was certainly man enough to spark any warm-blooded woman’s interest. She glanced back again, this time to catch the companion looking at her with an expression of interest, keen and curious. He looked away first, but not before Agadart got a full dose of his dark, intense eyes and handsome features.

Agadart took a deep breath. She would likely be serving in the duke’s command, and it would do no good for her to wander around like a lovestruck girl during her training. Purposely turning away from the attractive couple, she looked around and finally saw someone wearing Dragon Maid Corps colors: a bored looking, stocky woman in the knee-length gray and purple tunic that marked her service. There were two other civilians with her, nervous looking young women clutching their satchels, so Agadart headed for the group. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach. She was firmly at the point of no return.

“Hello? I’m here for Dragon Maid Corps training?”

“Aye. What is your name?”

Agadart tried not to flinch. “Agadart ver Kleelan.”

The girls ignored her, clearly not recognizing her by her maiden name. It was a small blessing that she hoped would hold until she was bestowed with her new name as a dragon maid.

The older woman seemed not to care either, simply nodded briskly at her and the girls. “I’m Maid Pyrite. Get your things, yeah? You’re all that’s left to show up, the others arrived earlier this week. So let’s go, wagon’s waiting.” She turned and walked off, the heavy wool of her trousers rustling as she walked.

Agadart gave the other two a broad, forced smile that they nervously returned and turned to follow their guide. She managed to keep from craning her neck to catch another glimpse of the duke and his consort guardian, but it was a near thing.