Byzu’s arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard frame as the drums quicken their beat. The crowd parts for us, a sea of silks and jewels receding to create an expectant circle, giving us a stage I never asked for. Byzu moves with an unnerving, predatory grace, his hips rolling with the rhythm, that smirk of his downright devilish.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” I hiss, my cheeks blazing with a heat that has nothing to do with the room’s temperature. My eyes dart to the edge of the floor, finding Dayn instantly. He watches us, his posture rigid, his expression cold and unreadable.
“I’m doing exactly as I please,” Byzu replies, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “Perks of being a Draxion prince. And you, Esme Salem, are a formidable woman.” His lips hover closer, his breath warm on my skin. “I have a thing for those.”
I want to shove him off, to end this spectacle and vanish back into the shadows where I belong. Instead, the room spins with me at its center—my dress flaring in a swirl of black and gold, too manypairs of golden eyes fixed on my every step, my every breath. He leads, and I’m forced to follow, my body moving out of instinct rather than skill.
His hands slide lower, his fingers digging into the curve of my hips with possessive familiarity.
“I swear, if you don’t move those hands back where they belong, I’ll break every finger on them,” I growl, my fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he whirls us in a dizzying turn.
His laugh is a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through his chest into mine. “Careful, little shadow,” he murmurs, his grip tightening instead of loosening. “Talk like that makes my blood run hot.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, then travel slowly back up to meet my gaze. “You have no idea how long we’ve waited for something interesting to happen in this gilded cage. And then my brother, the prodigal son, returns with a Salem witch who tastes of his power. You’re the most exciting thing to happen to Draethys in decades.”
His words are a calculated barb, meant to remind me of my bond with Dayn, of my status as a foreign object in their world. I try to pull back, to put some distance between us, but he’s like a wall of muscle and leather. His body moves against mine with a dancer’s grace and a warrior’s purpose. Every step is a claim, every touch a challenge directed squarely at his brother.
The drums reach a frantic crescendo and Byzu dips me low, his face hovering inches from mine, his scent—ozone and scorched metal, somewhat different from Dayn’s—filling my senses. “A word of advice,” he whispers, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “Daynthazar hoards what is his. But in Draethys, even the greatest treasures can be… claimed by another. Remember that.”
Before I can process the insinuation, Dayn is suddenly there. Silent, swift, slipping between us before I can blink. His hand closes on my waist, his touch a brand of heat that sears through the fine fabric of my gown. The contrast between the brothers is stark; where Byzu was more playful provocation, Dayn is unyielding force, a promise of violence held in check by the thinnest thread of civility.
“He’s finished,” Dayn announces, voice low and precise,extracting me firmly from Byzu’s hold. His thumb brushes over the bare skin of my back, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
A bell tolls through the hall, deep and resonant.
Dayn straightens, amber eyes catching the light—dark rims glowing with molten fire as his gaze flicks from me to his brother. “Come. The feast begins.”
5
DAYN
Mornings in Draethys carry their own strange rhythm. The dawn casts no warmth across my skin as I navigate the underground pathways with Anees at my side. My brother walks closer than necessary, his eyes finding mine every few steps with poorly concealed wonder, as though confirming I'm not some apparition that might dissolve into the shadows between one heartbeat and the next.
“A lot has changed since you left,” he says.
Before us, one of the main streets stretches out, its cobbled pavement lined with obsidian statues of our beloved ancestors. Above, the domed ceiling glows orange in the light of countless torches, warding off the surrounding darkness.
“That much I could see for myself,” I reply dryly.
“All recent dragons that were born down here… they’re different.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How?”
“Not drastically, but enough to notice. We simply don’t have the space, brother,” Anees explains. “Even those of us who remember the surface feel the effects of this underground life. In dragon form, we’re excellent at short bursts and weaving through tight tunnels,but our muscles have atrophied. Without proper conditioning, long flights are out of the question.”
“It makes sense.”
“Which is exactly why many resist the growing talk of returning above,” he continues. “How can we hope to conquer the land if we can’t survey it from on high without nearly fainting? How can we intimidate the magicals, clearbloods, and darkbloods if every long flight leaves us gasping?”
I whip my head around so fast my neck cracks. “Do any believe we’d stand a chance?”
“Mostly among the elders and some younger dragons. But dissenting voices grow daily. Draethys is bursting at the seams, and the surface lies in ruins. They say there’s no better time for dragons to reclaim it.”
“Have I not made clear what’s waiting up there?” I mutter.
I should have known reason wouldn’t sway these hardened minds. When I left, they vowed to spend eternity below. Time has passed, the inevitable stirs—and they still lack any nuance.
“You have,” Anees admits. “But they don’t care. Our numbers have swelled, and the clearbloods and darkbloods are at war. They think now is the perfect moment to strike.” He exhales a heavy sigh. “Brother, I’ve been their voice of peace. Holding your council seat gave me authority, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved you’re back.”
