I did that. I humiliated her, and now her father answered in kind.
A hand pressed between my shoulder blades, steering me toward the pale sand. The silence was unbearable. A gull’s cry rang from above. Waves battered the shore. Every face fixed on us—children peeking out from behind robes, women with sharp eyes and squared shoulders, men instinctively moving to shield their families.
Wood gave way to soft sand as the dock ended, and the crowd swallowed us. No words. No murmurs. Just tension thick enough to choke on.
We moved toward a narrow break between red brick buildings. They stretched skyward, as if they’d run out of land and grown desperate to escape the earth. Their shadows fell over me like a cage. Was this how Nienna felt under the mountain? Trapped. Compressed. As if the city itself pressed in, intent on crushing me.
The alley narrowed until only the rider and I could walk abreast. Doors creaked open. Faces appeared, vanished. Shock and fury etched every expression.
It was a public shaming. The King of Radaan, shackled. Paraded about like a criminal.
To them, I was worse. I had tarnished their princess, shattered a sacred oath, abandoned a people who needed food and supplies.
In their eyes, I was the enemy.
Breaking the treaty had been an act of war. Yet I hadn’t left it there—I sailed straight for their shores. A smaller vessel meant fewer supplies, but more speed. Less of a threat. Better odds of arriving without being turned to ash.
Even now, I couldn’t make sense of it. Fifteen dragons on the island and none intercepted me. The alarm sounded only when I neared the harbor. Was that Nereus’ idea of mercy?
I sent him a dove days ago. His answer came on bloodstained cloth. A warning. Come, and die. But he hadn’t killed me at the docks. Did Nienna stay his hand—or was he playing at diplomacy?
The rider yanked my elbow, jerking me around a corner. My boot caught a step. I stumbled, lips curling into a snarl.
Behind me, the scrape of motion—Greaves was ready to fight the city itself for my sake, or die trying.
“Move!”
The command struck like a whip. I was shoved toward a mass of civilians. They cried out, scrambling away, vanishing into shops or homes. Were these homes? Storefronts? I hated how little I knew. I had never stepped foot on Draconis soil. Now every crack in that ignorance cut me.
I assumed we headed toward the Spire—my trial waiting. But what would that consist of? King Nereus as judge and jury, or a full council? I hated not knowing.
If Nienna stood at my side, she’d know how to navigate this, but she was with her mother.
But I was the Gods’ Chosen. Golden Warrior of Elohios. I survived nearly two decades on the war front. I would endure this too.
My mantle chafed at my neck, dislodged from my hands being pinned behind me. Each step dragged metal against raw skin. I had refused to approach Nereus without it. And I wouldn’t remove it. Not yet. It reminded them who I was. Remindedme.
The space between structures trapped heat. No breeze cut through. Though shaded, the alley sweltered, and sweat beaded on my brow.
After an eternity, we burst into a clearing boxed in by red-clay brick buildings. They walled off a grassy plain—where a jade and gold dragon waited. It crouched low, tail lashing like an angry cat, its head tilted at us in quiet appraisal.
The rider behind me gave a grunt of disapproval. Overhead, a crimson beast plunged from the clouds, ivory claws outstretched. The green one snapped its gaze skyward and loosed a roar that rattled the mantle across my shoulders.
The red beast veered off, circling above the clearing. I barely had time to wonder who it belonged to—clearly not bonded with the riders escorting us—before I was yanked along the edge of the plain, steered wide of the sweeping tail. Eyes the color of sunbursts tracked me, predatory and unblinking, like a giant feline stalking its prey.
Its gaze unsettled me. Tension coiled in the air, thick as smoke. It wasn’t only the crowd pouring in from the narrow paths between the buildings—it was the beast itself. Untamed. Feral. Not bound to any man.
The Spire loomed overhead, a towering omen, a herald of death. A black seam split the open sky, but I didn’t dare lift my head to follow its peak—my mantle had already slipped too far.
A rough hold dragged me up the steps. I stumbled, caught myself. I refused to fall. Not here. Not now. I wouldn’t humiliate myself further.
Massive doors, carved with ancient sigils, gaped open. Inside, a crowd pressed in around the entrance. Awe and dread pooled in my chest as we stepped within.
The center was hollow—a cylindrical core bored through the stone. A ramp spiraled along the edges, not unlike the tunnel leading to Clay’s manor. Balconies jutted out above me, where faces leaned over the railing. Murmurs and gasps slid down the walls, coiling around me like a constricting serpent. They pulled me forward, beginning the long ascent.
I lifted my chin, fixing my eyes on the path ahead. I didn’t need to provoke or threaten these people. Nereus wanted them to see a prisoner. But I was Radaan’s king, and I’d walk with dignity. I would not slump like some whipped dog.
The ramp wound upward, endless. My thighs screamed with the effort. Sweat beaded along my brow, and I cursed the droplet tracing my temple. I didn’t want to look defeated—but this was all part of Nereus’ plan, and resistance meant nothing now.
