“No.” I dismissed Edith with a wave, stepping further inside, my gaze fixed on the golden light. A window, unclouded by imperfection, faced the setting sun. Its radiance was fierce and powerful, yet held a strange comfort.
Like my dragons.
“Is there anything you need, Your Highness?” Fyrn’sol’s voice reached me from a distance, as though she were far off, a dragon’s flight away.
“No, that will be all. Thank you.” I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the sun’s rays wash over me.
“I’ll fetch you for the evening meal, sister,” Ronan called from the doorway, then the latch clicked shut.
“‘Tis a blinding light, Your Highness.” Edith’s tone, though firm, held a hint of complaint—the closest she’d come to one.
“Yes, but it is beautiful.” I sighed, opening my eyes against the onslaught. “Are there shades to dull it?”
Scythe pulled a thin fabric across the window’s length. It softened the light, turning it from blinding to welcoming.
These rich accommodations were a temporary place during my engagement to the prince. Once the ceremony was over, we would share a wing together.
A union I already botched.
I forced the memory of kissing King Kallias from my mind. My hands twitched, recalling the roughness of his stubble beneath my palms, the warmth of his skin against my lips. The fire’s heat pressing in on us, the scent of warm spices lingering in his hair.
He was the father of my betrothed.
And I kissed him.
The tips of my ears burned. I would not–
“A bath is ready for you, Your Highness.”
I could always rely on Edith to pull me from my daydreams.
Heavy blue fabric brushed against my ankles as I made my way to the dining hall. I fought the urge to fidget, my hands betraying my unease. Guards flanked me, trailing behind Ronan as he navigated the corridors ahead.
These endless halls would take time to master. The Spire in Draconia, with its towering height, had been my childhood playground. I climbed its vertical expanse when I wasn’t in the Nest. Radaan’s palace, by contrast, sprawled outward in winding corridors, each branching in different directions, unlike the steep, unyielding stairwells of home.
“They told me Kallias sent a captain after him,” Ronan said.
“How can he loathe me without even meeting me?” I muttered, the words slipping past my lips before I could stop them. The realization that my betrothed fled the palace at the news of my arrival was a cruel blow, enough to shatter some confidence.
“Tallon doesn’t like the high court.”
“Iamthe high court, Ronan.” I spoke through clenched teeth, forcing a smile as we passed a nobleman who bowed in respect, his gaze flicking to mine with a touch of unease.
“Aye, but he hasn’t met you yet.”
I shot him a glare, annoyed by his use of the common tongue. Mother would’ve slapped him for that ‘aye.’
He chuckled, knowing full well what caused my ire. “You’ll change his mind, I’d wager.”
I only hoped so.
To have a betrothed who ran from me, as if I were some kind of monster…
“Chin up.” My brother’s tone softened, kindness beneath his jest.
I drew in a deep breath, straightening my back as though I could shake off the weight of my frustration. My shoulders were tight, and the impulse to snap at him nearly overwhelmed me, but I held it in check, lifting my chin instead.
Ronan’s laughter bubbled up again, the sound light but somehow knowing. He flashed a grin at me with a mischievous wink.
