We said nothing. Moved only as much as necessary. Our vessel slipped into place beside Galdoni’s warship—a monster of a thing, its hull slashed with crimson warpaint like it had gored a whale or two and kept the stains as a show of dominance.
A carved merman sneered from the ship’s bow, trident pointed toward the distant Spire.
Ropes flew, and lines were fastened. Innaki stared down at us—dark hair, sun-browned faces, blow darts leveled in grim silence. When the boarding plank slammed into place, Mother held firm.
We ascended.
King Galdoni had always repulsed me. Something about him strained every ounce of my patience and self-control. Once, I pitied Adoni for the pressure his father put on him. Now, I recognized it for what it was—poison passed down like inheritance.
The man stood tall with black hair slicked back from a proud brow. He wore his people’s traditional skirts. Gold chains danced against his thighs, ending at his knees, while red pearls and jewels wound through his belt. A stark white sash hung across his bare chest.
Muscles rippled under his tawny skin, and a sick smile stretched his lips as his gaze skipped over Mother and Ronan before locking on my mantle. Then they found Kallias.
“Ah, truly you waste no time, Kallias Sunspear,” he drawled, voice slick as rancid oil. He turned his disdain on Mother, feigning a sorrowful shake of his head, as if he somehow blamed her for my marriage. “Queen Nyxaria, I fear you’ve lost your most useful bargaining chip.”
Fire nipped at my bones as my spine stiffened, but I forced my jaw to stay loose. Let him think I simmered. He’d never see how much I hated him.
“King Galdoni, we’ve come to seek peace.” Mother’s voice was silk over steel, smooth but unmoved. “Between our nations.”
“It might’ve been better sought before your daughter murdered my son.” His words oozed pity. A performance. Prudish, as if he were speaking to a child. “Yet here we are. Someone had to challenge the myth of Draconia’s greatness. You’ve outgrown your little patch of sand.”
My fingers twitched, desperate to curl into fists at my sides. Hedaredinsult her—us—on our waters.
He waved a hand. “Alas, I welcome you to my table.”
A line of Innaki warriors stepped forward with guarded, severe expressions. Crimson-painted skin, dart tubes strapped to their sides. They brought a table from behind the king’s quarters, setting it in the center with unspoken precision.
“However, the King of Radaan is not welcome.”
Kallias didn’t blink. He met the island king’s gaze without flinching, though his stare promised retribution. With the barest nod—controlled, sharp—he dipped into the smallest of bows. “I’ve claimed the Dragon’s Heart as my own,” he said. “You summoned her, and by extension, you’ve summoned me.”
Galdoni’s brows twitched at the reference to my title. The only thing he or his son ever cared about.
“He sits, or we leave.” Mother smoothed the folds of her gown with regal disinterest. “And before you answer, ask yourself—can you account for all of our dragons?”
His gaze slid to the mist-choked Spire.
“Is that a threat?” he asked, head tilting, curiosity slithering into his tone.
“Draconis do not threaten,” she replied, taking her seat. “We act.”
Ronan and I took seats on either side of her. Kallias settled beside me. With hands clasped on the table, Mother waited.
Galdoni let loose a booming laugh and dragged a chair out before dropping into it. “You’ve always amused me, Nyxaria. But tell me—did your husband fall in the storm? We saw his dragon in pieces on the beach.”
“Perhaps I’ll answer,” she said, tone light as idle weather talk, “once you count your dead from the two raiders we destroyed.”
A flicker of shadow passed over his face, and his snide grin wavered. “Forty-eight. And two of your own. Truly, you should be more careful.”
Ronan’s fingers twitched. The wooden surface beneath his palms darkened with the flameless heat radiating from his skin. He sacrificed two of our own to ensure my passage through enemy ranks. That guilt clawed at him, fed his rage.
“Galdoni,” Mother said, her tone steady, “our nations have known peace since their founding. Youandyour son knew the risk of coming to our isle. Yet, you sent him anyway. And you know Tsunami has no rider. While we regret Prince Adoni’s death, you are just as responsible.”
He leaned back, his smile slipping like a mask gone slack. “You’ve unsettled my kingdom. Destroyed our trust. And now you dare place the blame for my son’s death on me?”
His eyes landed on me. I held his gaze, spine rigid, ready to fight.
“He came forher.” He sneered. “I told him she wasn’t worth it—a sullied princess, discarded like–”
