The binding sagged again, yielding to the same page; it read:
Queen Violet’s obsession with dragons is chronicled in the Book of Queens, a tale of its own. When she became with child—her only—the obsession reached a pinnacle. She demanded access to the Nest, where the beasts had driven out mankind. Every request was denied, resulting in the tragic deaths of three maidservants.
In the throes of childbirth, she defied her husband, King Beorn, and ascended the Spire. Riders Silva and Quinn lost their lives upon entering, attempting to clear a path for their queen.
With a trail of blood in her wake, Violet forced her way inside. Dragon Queen Yuleni, enraged by the scent of flesh drawing other beasts to her Nest, fought off thebulls in an attempt to defend her clutch. Violet crawled toward the eggs, and there, amid the unborn hatchlings, she gave birth.
When bloodlust dissipated, Yuleni moved to strike the queen—but hesitated at the sound of a newborn’s wail. Whether from curiosity or pity, she spared the child.
Little Nienna survived—but became bound to the Nest.
When the new mother attempted to bring the young one back to the Cireendium, Yuleni blocked her path. Violet then placed the babe in a bed of bone and shell, then entered the Spire, leaving Nienna to the dragons.
The Wild Princess, more dragon than human—this is her tale. The story of the Dragon’s Heart.
I spent the rest of the day reading about Nienna, eating only when Freya brought me a small tray of pickled herring and dried grapes.
She was the first ever given to their kind. So soon after the Calamity, little was known about the bond between dragon and rider. They’d abandoned the babe to chilled winds. Her only warmth was the sweep of scaled bodies and her mother’s breast, offered when she deigned to nurse her.
At two, Yuleni allowed her into the Spire. The child cried, restless, never calm until she returned to the creatures that had claimed her. Even then, she displayed the ability to hold and use magic as any Vessel, but with the exception that all dragons heeded her—not only the bonded ones.
That struck me. Was every Dragon’s Heart different? Or was I simply obscure?
My mother loved me, stayed by my side. But I was an empty Vessel. Dragons only treated me the way they did because of Argos; the black bull would rip apart any beast before he’d let them hurt me.
Night fell. I carried the book to bed, declining dinner in the great hall.
The first Nienna used magic freely, tied to no single dragon—gifted, they said, by her link to Yuleni. Another skill I lacked. The words depicted her as wild, unpredictable, touched by madness like her mother.
At fifteen, she vanished into a whirlstorm on the back of a young dragon. Never returned.
I closed the book gently. Freya had dozed off on the chaise, a thick tome titledActs of the Kings of Draconiaslipping from her chest.
Why would Mother give me this? Did she want me to fly off into a storm? Was this a lesson in lineage? A warning of madness in my blood?
I groaned and collapsed into bed, blowing out the candle. Let her speak in cryptic riddles. Tomorrow, I’d demand clarity.
I set the book between our plates, raising a brow at Mother. “You named me after the first Dragon’s Heart?”
She looked up from her meal, sunlight pouring through the windows behind her, turning her pale hair to spun gold. I joined her in the private dining hall, noting the empty seats where Father and Ronan should’ve been.
“It seemed fitting,” she said, dipping a thin slice of bread into thick broth.
I folded my skirts and sank into the chair beside her with a quiet huff. “You didn’t know I would survive.”
“Dear child,” she laughed, “from the moment I conceived you, you were a stubborn, determined thing. I told your father I would risk the bloodlust of dragons if it meant giving you the best life possible. If you’d died, Kalepsi would’ve turned on me next. Naming you wouldn’t have mattered.”
The best life? They had no way of knowing it would be the only title I’d ever claim.
“Why leave it?”
She paused, chewing a dainty bite, eyes drifting toward the far wall where family portraits hung. One depicted the day Gyrak claimed Ronan. Mother and Father sat upon their thrones while I stood on the landing, arms flung wide like wings.
“You’re searching to break the blood oath.”
Not a question. Not a challenge. A truth. Her certainty made me scan the room for eavesdroppers, but we were alone.
“Do you know a way?” My voice dropped low, hushed, ashamed to even ask.
