“If we have gods, they are the ones we listen to,” I replied, stepping toward the wall to inspect a painting of a woman embracing a child in a sunlit field.
“Yes, listen to them,” she giggled, her tone light, “or get eaten.”
I chuckled, trailing my finger along a vibrant leaf, green streaked with pink, the blotches like splatters of paint. “True.”
“They say you were raised in the Nest, among their own babies.”
“I was,” I said with a quiet shrug. “Though it’s not nearly as exciting as it’s made out to be.”
I followed the vine’s winding path, my fingers brushing the textured painting on the wall—a seed and a child, one tethered to the earth by roots, the other connected to its mother through the cord of life.
“It must have been dangerous.”
I nodded, more to myself than to her. “The dragon queen—she rules the Nest—allowed my mother to birth me there. Other females lay only with her permission. She oversees all broods—like an aunt or grandmother. She took me under her wing, refusing to let me leave for my first year of life.”
“Isn’t it in a high tower? I’ve seen the paintings!” Fyrn shivered, and I chuckled at her discomfort.
“It’s quite exposed to the elements, yes. But there was no safer place for me than tucked against her side.”
“Your mother’s?”
“The dragon’s.”
Her face twisted with shock and horror. I laughed, throwing my head back. She didn’t even try to hide it.
Blinking, she snapped her mouth shut, offering me a tight smile. “And your title as the Dragon’s Heart?”
“A title only. The queen welcomed me, and my father rides Argos—the largest male in Draconia. Because of that, I was accepted by all dragons. They tolerated far more than they should have when I was younger.” I sighed, glancing back at the guards in their gleaming armor. My smile wavered. “One day, I’ll tell you how I chased a full-grown Argos out of the Nest.”
She shuddered, but stepped forward, guiding me outside. Tallon might be a fool, but Fyrn? She was proving to be a worthy companion. With her and Kallias, who’d saved me from near-death, life in Radaan might be bearable.
Radaan’s court would be the end of me.
The mirrored chandeliers above burned with harsh light, sending sharp glints across the red carpet. The white dance floor shimmered, and the gold pillars, wrapped in twisting vines, did little to soften the harsh glow. Beauty surrounded me, but for all its elegance, it was a desolate place. Empty—like a gilded cage.
I escaped Claydon’sol once again—and the praises he sang about a new cord woven of goat’s hair fibers—and found myself cornered by a lesser noble. He prattled on about barley prices, a subject I knew nothing of, while I forced a smile and endured his complaints. All the while, Tallon drifted through the crowd with ease—too absorbed to acknowledge my presence.
Once, his eyes met mine—an open, mocking grin flashed on his lips—before he turned and disappeared into the sea of faces.
A princess, yes. But I was still a woman. And right now, I could hardly breathe.
I needed air. Or I might scream.
Someday, I would walk through Radaan’s court with confidence. I’d be the one others sought out, who knew how to navigate the awkward silences and strained smiles. I had imagined my betrothed would be there to guide me, his steady presence at my side. Instead, Tallon abandoned me at every turn, mocking my every attempt.
Rage soured the wine in my stomach. I was no footstool to be placed under his feet.
Proper. Cordial. Polite. All the perfect traits my mother drilled into me. I had been raised for this. That truth echoed in my mind, each repetition driving the point home.
“I shall pass your concerns to Prince Tallon, who I’m sure will be most eager to hear them.” Hardly. The man cared for nothing beyond petty games. “However, I must excuse myself, as I am needed elsewhere.”
The noble—what was his name? Raymond? Rayneer?—smiled with unearned gratitude. Curse it all. I listened to him drone on for who knows how long, and I couldn’t remember his name?
He dropped into a bow, and I walked away, forcing my steps into a slow and steady pace though every muscle screamed to flee the suffocating room. I lifted my chin, scanning the crowd. My gaze landed on Tallon—there he was, tucked in a corner with a group of young nobles. Their brows furrowed, their faces serious for once. Frowns all around.
His friends were more important than his future wife. The thought burned as I reined in my fury, smothering the sharp sting of betrayal. Striding with purpose, I crossed the ballroom, refusing to allow another nobleman to approach me with empty pleasantries. The heavy air seemed to press in as I reached the doorway and stepped into the cooler hall.
A grimace twisted my lips as two guards fell in behind me, their footsteps matching mine in mechanical rhythm. I fought the urge to lift my dress and flee—away from the incessant chatter, the hollow masks, the endless parade of smiles that held no warmth. When I rounded a corner, my frustration swelled, threatening to crash over me.
