“I didn’t come here to argue over my safety. I came to talk about kites. If you have thoughts on the subject, stay. If not…”
Mikal lifted his brows, hands raised in surrender. “No harm meant, Princess. I’ll see myself out.” He slipped through the door without another word.
When it shut, my shoulders sank. The weight of masking, of posturing, pressed in on me. I was still a princess. But pretending I was the same girl who left Draconia felt harder than climbing the Nest’s stairs.
“Come here, child.” Williard patted the bench beside him.
I crossed the room and flopped down.
“Don’t let it eat at you,” he said. “It will pass.”
“The emotions may fade, but they’ll never forget.”
He reached out, patted my hand. A rare display of affection.
“I promised them everything.” No tears came. I felt hollow. Empty. My attention drifted to Freya as she settled across from us. “A better life. A future. I returned with nothing.”
“It’s not your fault, dear.”
My eyes flew to Freya’s. Her gaze warned me to stay quiet. Radaan needed to carry the blame. No one knew the extent of my treachery.
The old man went on. “Everyone knows King Kallias attacked you.”
I stiffened. Pulled away.
He had been my mentor. My friend. A guide through my youth. I couldn’t let him assume the worst of Kallias.
Everyone pointed fingers—at him or me.
If I wanted acceptance, I had to allow Kallias to take the fall. The truth would turn them against me. They’d choose Kai’s hatred over understanding.
Flying into a storm like the first Dragon’s Heart seemed more appealing by the day.
But I couldn’t let Williard believe a lie.
“He didn’t attack me,” I whispered.
Freya’s eyes squeezed shut. Her grimace said enough.
Williard sat silent for a moment, then shifted. “Of course, dear,” he murmured.
He didn’t believe me. If I told the truth—that Kallias and I loved each other—they’d laugh. Call him a monster. Easier to cling to the story they preferred than accept what didn’t fit.
Guilt carved into my chest like a dragon’s claw.
Either way, I lost. Stay silent and let them believe a falsehood, or speak and be scorned all the same.
I was living a lie.
Chapter Seven
Small bones bit into my palm as I steadied the child’s hand beneath the bowl. His white teeth flashed in his tanned face as he grinned up at me, the burden of his hunger pressing heavy on my heart.
It was agonizing not to slip him an extra slice of bread, but grain rations left no room for mercy. I smiled anyway and scooped an extra heaping of fish.
“Hurry, eat it while it’s hot,” I said, shooing him off. He gave a sloppy bow and skipped away, broth splashing onto the sand.
“Wasteful,” Freya muttered, shaking her head.
