It had only been a few days since I last spoke with Williard. He’d nudged me toward the soup kitchens, told me to find my footing in a place I could help and be among the people.
I resisted the urge to swipe my sleeve across my face, then forced a smile as I studied the line. Dozens waited—mostly women and children, a few elders, a scattering of maimed men.
The soup pot had dwindled. Miral, who ran this kitchen, was slicing the last loaf of bread so thin the crust curled.
Too many mouths. Too little to fill them.
Guilt coiled through what was left of my heart, constricting around it like a serpent. The Tithe neared—our weekly offering when the boats went out at first light, all their catch given to the dragons.
It was tradition. Necessary. But we were never this unprepared. If the kitchens ran dry now, they wouldn’t reopen when people needed them most.
“A princess. Serving soup?” A young man strode toward the counter, cutting the line.
The crowd parted with shallow bows. His smirk found me. A silver-leaf crown caught the sun in his shoulder-length blond hair—worn like a weapon, demanding their respect.
“Adoni,” I said, sealing my thoughts behind training. Calm. Distant. Measured. “I didn’t know the Innaki had arrived.”
“Hit the shore and practically ran straight to you, my princess.” He grinned, sliding in front of a mother cradling a child.
“I can’t imagine you running anywhere.” I gave a polite laugh, though I wanted to shove him back and return to work. The Innaku ships had been expected this week, but I should have heard the dragons herald their arrival.
“True. A prince does not run.” He tilted his head, a lock of hair spilling across sun-kissed skin. “Hence why I saidpractically.You Draconis are so literal—oaths and all.”
My stomach tightened. A quiet insult, dressed in charm. I pressed my lips into a tight smile and glanced at the crying child behind him.
“You might’ve been better welcomed at the Spire.” I offered the suggestion like a gift.
“So you’ve stepped down from greeting dignitaries? Has your father disowned you?”
No. Adoni would never take a hint.
“It seems I’m needed elsewhere.” I turned to Miral and wiped my hands clean on a cloth. I had to tour a man-child around the island.
“Will you be needing me, Your Highness?” Freya asked, eyeing him like he smelled of rot.
“No. Stay and help.”
“I’ll see you at dinner.” She gave Adoni a side eye.
I hurried out the back of the kitchen, tugging at my hair and smoothing my dress. A smear of soup stained the hem—something he’d notice and mention. I didn’t care what he thought; only how I appeared. Beauty had become armor. It masked the bruised pieces inside, a flimsy shield against my people’s disapproval.
Adoni stood exactly where I left him, forcing my people to step around him for food. My blood boiled. He blocked the path on purpose—a show of power. But they were commoners. He had nothing to prove.
“This way, my prince,” I called, gesturing toward the beach. He moved slow, stretching his long frame, adjusting the white linen draped over his chest.
It was impossible not to compare him to Kallias. Adoni knew he was handsome. Perhaps he was—but beside the King of Radaan, he seemed unfinished. His skin peeked through the folds of his toga, muscle carved from youth, not effort. He hadn’t grown into a man.
A dazzling grin lit his face as he approached, toga pristine, sun glaring off the fabric like polished bone.
I didn’t know why it irritated me.
“Immaculate manners, as always. I thought Radaan might have changed you.” He laughed, falling into step as I led him toward the sea.
My jaw tightened. No reaction. I’d known Adoni since birth—four years older and enamored withhisDragon’s Heart. It used to be cute. Now it grated. He was harmless, but smothering.
“How were your travels?” I asked, watching the waves crash against the shore. Two dragons soared above, shadows etched across the sky.
“Smooth. Though Father wouldn’t stop droning about marriage.”
