“It must burn.”
Greaves lingered, eyes steady, letting the weight of my words settle. He knew my reasoning was as much heart as strategy. And that was dangerous.
“Then so be it.” He fell a step behind as I turned the corner.
Alma guarded a door, seated in a chair with her legs crossed. One foot bounced in the air as she flipped through papers on the small board she carried. She glanced up, pushed her glasses higher on her nose, and squinted at my distant figure before springing to her feet.
“My king!” She dipped into a curtsy.
“I was told the queen was with you.” My gaze fixed on the empty hall beyond.
“Correct, she was.” She scrunched her face, frustration flickering. “Then she asked to be taken to the gardens and left alone.”
“Alone?” I repeated.
“She refused her guards.”
I could almost hear Greaves’ strangled irritation.
“And Lynx? He was assigned to her today.”
If she was going to serve as the queen’s advisor, she needed to be what Greaves and Fallione were to me: a voice of reason when I had none. Fallione, after all, was the one who stopped me from throwing Tallon in the dungeon when he sent Ronan and Nienna flying back to Draconia.
“She has a dragon.”
Of course.
I exhaled, fingers brushing the door. “Next time, the Thresher stays by her side, and you leave the guards here. If she returned to the palace, she’d have no one protecting her while she waited. I trust you remember there are still Velli in Radaan?”
“Oh, yes, Your Majesty. I’m well aware.” She dipped low. “It will not happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
A breeze of fresh air greeted me as my boot landed on broken cobblestones. The queen’s garden rested in the shade of the palace; the balcony rooftop we so often met on loomed above. My mother had been the last to tend it.
Rows of plants lined the shade of the tall sandstone walls, and when I was young, I found cool respite among the flowers. Mother would bring me here to read or to scold me in private.
A smirk tugged at my mouth, recalling the time I challenged another boy to a duel—the prince of a western nomadic tribe, who had dared call one of our maids a soft cow. Back then, I hadn’t thought a cow offensive—they were useful, valuable—but the tone carried malice. Even at so young an age, I knew his words were meant to wound.
I did what any honorable knight in storybooks would do: I challenged him to a duel at daybreak.
That day, Mother taught me that some things are better left ignored. Insults might not harm the maid, but my reaction could have sparked a war. We were both forced to apologize and rescind the challenge. They never visited again.
One day, I would invite them back—letting my child have the chance to learn from other nations.
“I’m supposed to know what to do!” Nienna’s voice floated on the wind.
I ducked beneath overgrown arches, following the sound.
“Why can’t you just eat him like Adoni?”
I came to a halt as I rounded a bed choked with shrubs spilling into the path.
A low growl vibrated through the air. I frowned. Who did she want eaten, and why? And wasn’t it Tsunami who ate the Innaku prince?
My boot slid back on the stone, hesitation tugging at me. Did I really desire to confront a dragon today?
A trill of recognition answered, rough inhalations resounding through the garden. She had scented me. I sighed, stepping forward onto the path to reveal myself.
