“Who goes there! Name yer king in the next breath, or I’ll have yer head!”
“I am Prince Ronan Draconis, Second Rider of Draconia. I serve Queen Nienna of Radaan!”
“The Prince of Draconia?” The man’s sword lowered a fraction. His chin dipped, squinting as if trying to see us more clearly. “We were told he was with the queen.”
“He is.” I stepped free of my brother, moving toward the wall of flame. The blue light caught my golden mantle, shifting its color to an eerie green.
The man was immense, forcing me to crane my head back to meet his gaze. Balding at the crown, dark hair fell over his ears like a heavy wreath. A thick woven vest hung over his tunic, tied with a rough rope. No armor, no heraldry—just the dress of a miner or herder, a commoner.
His eyes widened at the sight of my mantle. In the next breath, he dropped to his knees, sword clanging against stone. “My queen!”
“Queen?”
“She’s here?”
“In the mountain?”
“She would never.”
I smothered a smile, hearing the murmured words from the room beyond. “I’ve come to visit my people. Might you know where to find them?”
“She’s coming!”
“Oh, sit up straight!”
“Grab Oreo!”
The man rested a hand on his knee. “I beg yer pardon, Yer Majesty. We didn’t expect ye to walk the streets so soon.” When he straightened, he gestured through the doorway. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Ronan made a strangled noise behind me as I rounded the corner.
I expected a family huddled in fear. Instead, I found an array of war-shocked faces and a home battered but smiling, a fragile resilience mirrored in every gesture. And a black-and-white goat launched off a table, hooves thrashing through the air, galloping straight toward me.
“No, Oreo! Ye can’t eat the queen’s dress.”
The big man scooped the creature under its belly despite its bleats of protest, setting it next to a small child. They all stood near a mattress perched on a stone shelf. The boy offered a quick bow, dark hair falling into his eyes, before securing the goat’s collar.
The room had no windows, only lanternlight, yet mirrors scattered along the walls caught the glow, throwing fractured reflections across the space. It was large, spacious, a hall with multiple doorways hinting at rooms beyond. A table dominated the center, surrounded by chairs and stone benches, as if this were a receiving room in a homely palace of sorts.
A petite woman with graying hair jabbed an elbow into the man’s stomach. He grunted, frowning down at her.
With a sigh, she offered a curtsy. “Your Majesty, I am Fiona, wife to Hur,” she said, sending her husband a quick glare. “And Mother to Quill and Skye.” She motioned to the boy and a thin girl at her side. “That is Oreo, our Kuh’lir. Orphaned at the beginning of the siege, he has proven quite the guard dog.”
“You brought him into your home,” I murmured, a teasing curve to my lips.
“Oh, when we saw good King Kallias marching, those able brought their Kuh’lir in. The pastures are empty because most are safe inside,” Hur explained.
“Making a mess,” Fiona muttered.
Quill shot his mother a glance. “I told you that shirt had a hole anyway!”
“A hole I can mend!” she exclaimed. “What I cannot mend is a tunic half-digested in a goat’s belly!”
The black-and-white creature, small but nearly reaching my knee, bleated and tugged at Quill’s hold, ears pricked toward me, horizontal pupils trained on me.
“Is he one Claydon’sol was breeding to ride?” I asked, stepping closer, palm extended. Oreo sniffed before grabbing a finger, suckling at it.
“That’s not a teat!” Quill shouted, tugging back.
