Nienna passed our floor, her steps leading upward through the winding Cireendium. “I want to see my father,” she murmured.
I caught the note of weariness in her tone, the quiet fray at the edge of her resolve. She leaned into my arm, fingers curling against my elbow for support. She was exhausted, drained by the demand the last few days had put on her.
“He never should’ve risked the storm.” A heart-heavy sigh chased her words. “What good did it do?”
“I can’t imagine he would have listened to anyone but Nyxaria,” I said, rounding a corner into a bright corridor.
“Don’t sound so smug.”
A chuckle slipped out. “I would’ve done the same. Charged through wind and sea to reach you? I wouldn’t hesitate.” If the Velli laid a hand on Nienna, I’d make the last war seem merciful, child’s play compared to the havoc I would wreak among them.
“If I ask you to stop,” a hint of desperation lingered in her tone, “juststopandlisten.”
The way her father dismissed her warning and flew off without a backward glance bothered her. She wasn’t only clever—she was intuitive. Sharp. To ignore that was to discard a blade mid-battle. I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I’d be a fool to toss her opinions aside.
Outside the door, I framed her face with my hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You are the other half of my soul. To disregard you would be to rip out my heart.”
A soft breath escaped her lips. She kissed me once, quick and chaste, before stepping inside.
The hairs on the nape of my neck bristled. I wasn’t supposed to be here. This was Nereus’ domain. His air. His walls—but I remained at Nienna’s side.
The space pulsed in deep blue. Couches dusted in navy velvet circled the spacious receiving room, cushions plush and welcoming. We passed through two quiet chambers and into the bedchamber.
There, the king lay still beneath a canopy. Gauzy curtains swayed in the breeze, hazy gray daylight bleeding through the open window.
He didn’t look broken—only asleep. His face full, skin warm. Beard trimmed. Hands resting together over his chest. His silver signet ring caught the light, a flicker of authority untouched.
“He looks like he’s sleeping,” Nienna whispered. She eased down beside him and brushed his hand. A twitch answered her touch, but his eyes stayed shut.
“It wasn’t magic that drained him?” I asked.
“He didn’t use any,” Ronan answered, appearing in the doorway.
Sun above, I couldn’t imagine the children just walking in unannounced when their father was well.
“He hit his head,” the prince continued. He tossed me a frown before moving to sit near Nienna. “We think it happened when Argos hit the sea. He didn’t even send a flare. We heard the dragon’s scream and sent Artorious and Naksula to pull him out, while I carried Father back.”
Nienna shook her head. “I told him not to go.”
“When have we ever listened to women?” Ronan smirked.
“A wise man listens to anyone with a knowledgeable word,” I said.
“Father would’ve listened to Mother,” she muttered with a sniff. “Argos never should’ve flown to the Wild Shores—let alone made the return without rest. What is it with you men and your black dragons?”
“We protect what’s ours.” Ronan raised his brows at me like I was meant to back him up. “He’ll wake in a few days.”
“And Argos?” Nienna’s voice dipped low.
Her brother paused. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Might take longer.”
She read his face, as if searching for answers. “Will he fly again?”
“You couldn’t stop him from trying.” He shrugged. “But I doubt he’ll sire another clutch.”
“What happens to the hatchlings?” I asked.
She stroked her father’s hand once more, then stood. “They’ll find riders—or fly south.”
