“And have you sent a man-only crew?”
Her brows crept up to her hairline. “You suggest sending men to sleep on a shore thatdragonsavoid?”
I snorted, tilting my head in agreement. “Fair point, but it seems odd.”
She leaned forward, dusk spilling across the horizon. “Bonded or not, we are theirs. Just as you trust your gods—we trust the beasts.”
Draconia and Radaan—different as stars and soil. But our beliefs were mirrored.
I shifted the topic back to the upcoming celebrations. “And the dragonlings hatch in a few days?”
She nodded. “The Awakening starts before the hatching, then ends with their first feeding.”
“I’m eager to see a Draconis festival.”
Her eyes glittered, and she ducked her head. Something like nerves stirred in my gut. What was she planning? I’d have to ask Fallione for more details to better prepare myself for whatever unfolds.
“Would you care to join me tomorrow? To see a master kite maker? It’s for the celebration.”
“Nienna, if you asked me to follow you to a speck of sand, I would.”
I was ruined. Her light laughter lifted and vanished on the breeze. Chill kissed her cheeks, painting them a soft red. Eyes the color of the deepest sea sparkled with mischief. At that moment, Radaan and all its troubles seemed so far away.
The carriage—half the size of those in Reem—was made with Draconia’s tight streets in mind. As Nienna descended the stairs beside me, I wondered how far this kite maker might be.
Greaves shadowed my steps, blades strapped to his body. Nienna’s handmaid, Freya—introduced to me that morning—trailed behind, casting curious glances my way that I pretended not to notice.
I opted not to wear my sword. In Radaan I bore it proudly—a reminder that I was the warrior king Elohios chose. But here—these people needed an assurance of peace.
Two white horses stood at the carriage’s head, placid and steady. Their quiet presence brought to mind Nienna’s wild ride through Reem. Here, in the city, there was no room for them to panic and bolt. Maybe at the beach, but not in these cramped streets.
All eyes followed us down the stone stairs. Nienna wore violet—the color of wildflowers—with pearls along her high collar, drawing my gaze to her slender neck. The dress bore the typical Draconis split, black trousers tucked into dark leather boots. Her hair, pulled into intricate braids, cascaded like a waterfall to the small of her back.
A servant adorned in blue and silver opened the carriage door and lowered the steps. I offered my hand, and Nienna’s delicate fingers slipped into mine, squeezing as she climbed inside. Freya followed, cheeks flushed as she accepted my aid.
Before I entered, I caught Greaves frowning at the skyline. With only a moment’s hesitation, I took the spot next to Nienna. When my friend got in, he surveyed the seating with a furrowed brow.
“The greatest risk comes from above.” Freya patted the velvet seat beside her. “You have the best vantage point here.”
Nienna pressed her lips together, smothering her grin—some shared secret between them.
I adjusted for comfort, and my thigh brushed against hers. The small bench left no room to avoid contact.
When Greaves settled into his place, he angled himself away from Freya. The motion was subtle—but, by Elohios, the woman scooted a fraction closer.
His glare warned me I’d pay for this later.
The heat burning through my trousers was enough to distract me from his quiet fury.
We rolled through K’bar, a southern craft city. Draconia split into four districts, each with purpose. I had walked K’lan—the harbor and trade hub.
Even the city’s sounds differed from Radaan’s. Here, voices crowded, pressing into ears and mind, and all stacked on top of each other, demanding attention. Dragon roars and chirps echoed in the distance, overlapping the incessant cries of gulls.
Reddish-brown buildings towered overhead, squeezing roads into a tangled web. It would be a terrible place for battle.
Soon, the carriage halted. The door swung open and Greaves was first out—not duty, but by choice. He might give me grief for sitting too close to Nienna in public, but I wouldn’t let him forget how he leapt out as if the maid were a flame waiting to consume him.
Greaves disliked attention. Quiet and watchful, he preferred observing to being observed.
