“I don’t threaten. I act.”
Gods, this man. Every word is ominous, every look a challenge. I knew his reputation—passionate, rigid, quick to wrath, but fair. I’d heard it all when I agreed to align Radaan with Draconia.
Meeting him? Different story.
That was my fault, though.
Perhaps he would have been more receptive if I’d started off with honesty—not letting his daughter be dragged back home in tatters.
“He will go alone.”
Nereus’ focus never left me, but he directed the words at Greaves. My guard paused with his sheath halfway to his belt. His eyes cut to mine.
“Another trial?” I asked, sliding a dark green vest over my tunic.
“Perhaps.”
Gods, the withering man made riddles sound like death sentences, scorched and vague. My gaze flicked to my mantle as I passed it, heart clenching. This wasn’t about me as a ruler, but as a man. If my life were truly in danger, he would’ve struck already. And he hadn’t.
That he restrained himself even after seeing Nienna’s marks on my body assured me he wouldn’t call for my head.
At least not tonight.
Nereus waited by the doors, and after I shoved my boots on, he left without another word. Greaves stayed behind, and as I followed the king into the quiet halls, Ronan slid into position, falling into step at our backs.
I kept pace with Nienna’s father, side by side as we ascended the spiraling path around the Cireendium. Light flickered in its sconces, so dim it cast more shadow than flame. Moonlight did more.
Our footsteps whispered through the silence. No voices. No other sound.
We passed corridor after corridor—throne room, the landing, the heart of the palace. Each one we left behind wound the tension tighter. My bones grew heavy with it.
The path ended in a dead hush. One door stood ahead.
Just as Nereus opened it, Ronan snapped his fingers. A ball of flame zipped past, illuminating a sharp incline.
My jaw locked as my teeth ground together. Worry skated across my nerves. I hated being kept in the dark, unprepared.
The creak of their leather joined our footsteps. No one spoke. The stairs wound forever, and at the top, the space narrowed to a cramped landing with a single door. From the low snarl just on the other side, I knew.
The Nest.
“I don’t do this for you,” Nereus said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Frustration carved lines deep into his face. “But for her.”
“We won’t mourn your loss,” Ronan quipped.
His father shot him a glare, then opened the door.
Wind slammed into me. A furious roar followed, rattling in my chest. Bones littered the moonlit stone, fragments of shell scattered like shattered armor. Piles of debris filled the space—chewed, broken, old.
A predator’s den.
Nereus clapped a hand to my shoulder as I crossed the threshold, then shut the door behind me, sealing me in.
Pale light danced across golden horns as the beast lifted her head, showing her fangs. She sat just a stone’s throw away, but I knew her. I recognized the violet scales and the fury in her eyes. The same dragon who’d tried to char me during the trial.
She remembered. And something told me she regretted not devouring me then.
Argos loomed at the edge of the Nest, a mountain of black shadow. His claws sank into the stone. He didn’t move. Didn’t growl. Just watched, pupils narrowed.
