Shame coiled low in my stomach. The wrappings at my throat marked my suffering, my weakness. Proof that I hadn’t been strong enough. He was right. My legs still trembled after crossing a room.
“You can make it to the gates.” Understanding softened his tone, warmth weaving through it. He knew the shape of my innermost thoughts without hearing them. “She will be brought to the manor gates. You may pass sentence there.”
Relief flickered, thin but steady. A compromise. Not dismissal. Not confinement.
A weak smile tugged at my mouth. “Thank you.” My gaze fell to my hands, tracing the faint tremor still living in them.
For a moment he remained where he was, watching me as if committing something to memory. Then he stood and crossed the room. His lips brushed my forehead in a chaste kiss, restrained and reverent.
Without another word, he left.
My hand trembled, fingers tightening around Kallias’ arm. He held me steady, solid beneath my shaking, ready to lift me into his arms if the moment demanded it—if the crowd, if Fyrn, tested me too far.
She looked wretched. Blonde hair, matted and knotted, streaks of dirt and blood tangled in its length. Her dress hung in tatters, clinging to her thin frame and smeared with grime. Pale skin, so sharp against my own bruised and battered body, made her seem almost fragile—though she was no child. A prisoner, yes, but at the hands of a king, not a monster.
No. She had invited that vile beast to her bed once. That choice defined her still.
“Fyrn, daughter of Claydon and Gayle’sol, you are here at the behest of the King and Queen of Radaan for your crimes against our kingdom.” Kallias’ voice thundered, carrying over the whipping wind, sweeping through banners snapping along the mountainside. The sound tumbled down the crags, spilling into the city below.
Her blue eyes flicked to mine. She didn’t plead. Instead, there was an ember of rebellion in her stare, defiance and resignation. Kneeling there in ragged silk, she barely resembled the friend I once knew, the girl who laughed with me in the gardens.
“Your sentence lies with your queen. Plead your fate.” Kallias offered her the slimmest mercy, a last thread of dignity.
She met my gaze, lips pressed tight. No words would come, no apology, no attempt at charm. She knew.
I let silence stretch, a brief tether between her and me, before speaking. “Fyrn, you are removed from Sol, from the line of your ancestors.” Each word required effort, a pressure bindingmy lungs as I pushed them into the wind. The soldiers listened without strain; the words carried my authority. She needed to see me strong—the queen she would never become. “You are banished from Radaan, cursed to live in the kingdom you chose to ally yourself with.”
Surprise flared in her eyes. Still, she said nothing.
“Vellos is burning. Dragonfire has devoured its bones, scorched the nation to rubble. You shall be escorted over the mountains, left to the ruins of your choosing. Should you dare set foot on the Craggs, no quarter will be given.”
I held her gaze, letting my fury curl like flames through my veins, tasting the desire to strike her down.
But I didn’t. She would witness what my dragons had wrought, to feel it in every ruined street and toppled wall. A survivor cast into the ruins, prey for any lingering Velli.
Perhaps she would learn the terror I endured.
“Do not return.”
Moonlight poured through the bubbled panes, silver light pooling along the garden stones and turning the pond to glass. Cool air carried the scent of damp earth and crushed mint. My fingers trailed through the water, sending quiet ripples across the surface, fracturing my reflection into shards.
Footsteps sounded from the path behind me. Steady. Measured. He never hurried. Metal links of his mantle whispered against one another, a familiar rhythm that settled beneath my ribs.
His reflection joined mine. The ripples stilled as my hand went quiet. He watched me, face composed, something guardedbehind his eyes. I wondered what task he’d just overseen, what hard decision he made alone.
He crouched beside me. His knees cracked, a low grunt escaping before he lowered himself fully. Long legs stretched out across the stone. From his palm, he offered a small blue flower. Four petals, dark as storm clouds, nearly black at the center.
A soft hum left me as I accepted it, the fragile stem broken and bent.
“It matches your eyes,” he said, voice low and even. “I found it wedged in a cleft of rock on the path from Sol.”
I turned the blossom between my fingers, brushing a thumb over its velvet surface. “You went to Sol tonight?”
“I was needed.”
“For what?”
His hand shifted against the stone. A dark stain marked his sleeve, nearly swallowed by the night.
