“So you retaliated.”
“With a might bit more fervor, Your Majesty.”
“And the others? I can assume the men you fought were just innocent bystanders?”
“Little lady was hidin’ behind me, my king.” He looked up, earnest. “What’s a man to do when a woman wants his protection?”
Now I saw it. In his mind, he hadn’t started a fight. He’d answered a call. I couldn’t fault him for his actions. But this wasn’t about morality—it was about diplomacy. This strained relations between Draconia and Radaan. We needed our people to get along, and tavern brawls were hardly the solution.
I exhaled, pressing my hands to my thighs. “May Elohios bless your honesty, but you’re indebted. You may have acted with honor, but your timingwas poor. We’re guests here. You can’t strike a Draconis again. Not for any reason. Understand?”
His chest deflated, gaze dropping like a scolded child’s. “Aye, Your Majesty.”
“You’ll be released,” I said, “and escorted to a Draconis vessel. We sail for the Wild Shores at first light.”
His face drained of color.
“You are to work the island with Jensen’s crew—earn your keep. And your pay will be docked to compensate for the damages.”
“I’ve heard stories ‘bout them shores… You’re leavin’ us there?” he whispered.
“After I walk it with you.” I met his stare without flinching. “If islanders can swing an ax, so can a plainsman.”
“They say dragons won’t even land there…” His words trailed off, the tremble of fear unmistakable.
Sailors were notoriously superstitious—rumors clung to them like barnacles to a hull. But I expected better from my men.
“Where I go, you go,” I said, the weight in my voice leaving no space for dissent. My bond with Elohios might feel frayed this far from Radaan, strained as though stretched too tight across the sea, but faith wasn’t rooted in proximity. He would protect us. The Draconis had worked those shores for years. If they managed to survive, I had no doubt my men would walk away unscathed.
I rose, turned, and left the room without a backward glance.
At the desk sat an older rider—Haldor, the same one who’d restrained Ludwig. Thick arms crossed over his chest. Behind him, another Draconis lingered, posture stiff with quiet disdain.
“Release him to Captain Jensen. Escort him to Wylyn’s ship,” I ordered. “He’s confined to the deck until the vessel departs.”
Haldor’s eyes narrowed, slow and deliberate, as if weighing whether he needed to obey a foreign king. I didn’t wait to see his choice. With his silence in my wake, I moved through the tight, sunless corridor, then out into the open air.
I’d never get used to how narrow these streets were, or how tightly the buildings hugged one another like huddled sheep before a storm. The island felt overcrowded, breathless—a place wrapped in endless ocean, yet starved for space. A single outbreak away from being wiped out by a plague.
Greaves followed without a word as we wove through the stone alleys, unhindered by guards. The lack of their presence felt oddly freeing, like walking Reem’s streets in childhood—before the mantle, before its weight. Here, the threat of blades in the dark didn’t linger. The greatest predators flew above, scaled and clawed, and yet they doubled as protectors.
Tsunami soared overhead with a curious chirp. Her tail undulated behind her like a streamer caught in wind. I watched her vanish between rooftops, unsettled by her capricious nature. She lacked the discipline of a trained mount. She needed a rider.
Then again, who was I to guess at Draconis’ affairs?
At the Spire, the evening passed in ease.
At dinner, I found myself watching Nienna more than I listened to the chatter. She moved with fluid grace between nobles, her voice a steady current in ever-changing waters. One moment she spoke of pearls with the Kulletti; the next, she detailed a coconut blight with the Ivetti. She smiled through a striped bass debate with a local mayor as if it were nothing more than idle sport.
At her age, I had fumbled through court like a colt on ice. It had taken me years to command a room the way she did now, with softness instead of sharpness. Where I once barked to be heard, she whispered—and the whole table leaned in to listen.
Perhaps it was the dragons. To be raised in the Nest would forge anyone in fire.
Later, we joined her parents in their private dining chamber. Nereus passed me a goblet of spiced mead, the closest Draconia came to cider. I took a long sip. It filled my chest with warmth, the heat spreading to my skin in a slow, pleasant hum.
Talk of the upcoming journey continued. Nienna chattered about the ocean lights, her voice full of breathless wonder. Nereus looked on with that peculiar mix of pride and longing only fathers carried.
Guilt nipped at my resolve. These were her final weeks here. Final nights in the only home she’d ever known. I was stealing her from them—taking her away from everything familiar.
