Lord Bemmar rakes his fingers through his beard, nostrils flaring. “The kingdom will revolt when word spreads. How am I supposed to justify this to our people?”
“It’s not technically a crime,” Dayn counters.
“It’s irreversible, Daynthazar,” Anees growls. “You’ve bound yourself to a darkblood for life. To a Salem, of all darkbloods. There is no greater insult to our House than?—”
My fingers curl into fists beneath the table. “You know what? I've sat here while you've dragged the Salem name through dragon shit for twenty minutes.” The temperature in the room increases by ten degrees. “I haven't even reached for the knife by my plate, which shows remarkable restraint, so you might as well—” The word “irreversible” finally registers, and my tongue freezes mid-sentence. My head snaps toward Dayn.
His golden eyes meet mine, pupils contracting to slits.
“Irreversible?” The word barely escapes my lips. My heartbeat hammers in my ears, drowning out the sudden silence around the table. I search Dayn's face, waiting for him to laugh, to tell me they're all just messing with the darkblood. Instead, his jaw tightens,and something flickers behind his eyes—a shadow passing over sunlight. He gives a single, slow nod.
“You heard,” he mutters, his voice low.
“This is exactly the last thing we need, especially with everything happening in Draethys,” Anees says, his brow drawn in genuine worry. He meets my gaze, and I swear I catch a flicker of pity there. “Salem or not, you don’t deserve this.”
“What does this mean for me?” I ask, my heart pounding with too many questions to voice.
“What matters is you’re safe here, so long as you stay by my side,” Dayn growls, his hold on my hand easing. “I’ll explain later, but what I told you then still stands. I had no choice. We had no choice. It had to be done.”
Silence falls heavy around us. My anger and confusion simmers, but I have to clamp down on it—too many eyes, too many enemies.
“You really picked an odd moment to return, brother,” Byzu says, nodding at Dayn. “Still, I’ll admit, we needed you here.”
Anees inclines his head. “I didn’t mind filling your seat on the council. Now that you’re back, I’ll gladly step down.”
Dayn glances at his brothers, careful in his words with me present. “So we’re facing a resurgence of old thinking?” he asks. “That’s what I sensed walking Draethys’s streets last night.”
“An uprising may be imminent unless we put it down,” Bemmar says gruffly.
“An uprising of dragons?” I blurt.
The king’s glare turns frosty. “The affairs of this kingdom do not concern you, darkblood. Do well to remember that.”
“Father, she joined us for breakfast,” Dayn replies. “You’re the ones navigating the topic in her presence.”
“I’ve lost my appetite anyway,” I mutter.
“Then you’re excused,” Bemmar retorts, giving his son a warning nod. “Keep your pet on a leash tonight during the feast in your honor. And don’t let anyone come too close. They’ll sense your bond, and I am nowhere near ready to explain your madness to our people.”
Dayn’s jaw tightens, a muscle twitching furiously beneath.There’s a lot he’d like to say to his father, that much is obvious, but the king’s statute forbids it. Back in Heathborne, Dayn was held back by ancient magic. Down here, he’s being held back by royal etiquette. I wonder if Dayn ever had a taste of real freedom at any point in his life.
“And just because you’re irreversibly tied to my son doesn’t mean I won’t find a way to sever you from his life if you so much as misstep in my palace,” Bemmar warns me.
“That’s my cue to leave,” I say smoothly, rising before another word from my mouth sends me straight to the execution chamber.
I’m not fond of my captor’s father. In fact, killing him in his sleep is at the top of my list. I just bounced his firstborn son to the second slot on that same list. Except I will figure out a way to kill Dayn slowly for dragging me into this sizzling hot mess.
Breathe, Esme. Don’t lose your composure. Not here, not now.
4
ESME
The Draxion men are keeping secrets. That much is obvious from the gaps in what they've revealed about Draethys—its politics, its social hierarchy, the tensions beneath the surface. My coven training whispers in my ear: observe everything, memorize details, collect every scrap of intelligence. I owe it to my people to understand this dragon kingdom completely.
“I heard there’s the possibility of an uprising in Draethys,” I tell Nyssa while she makes the final adjustments to my evening gown.
The mirror reflects us both, bathed in amber light that catches every shimmer of my black and gold dress. Layers of gossamer organza cascade from a bejeweled belt that cinches my waist, the bodice cut in a plunging V that leaves my collarbones bare. It’s a new dress, but I’ve added my own styling to this too.
