The Ichors weren’t my main concern. Their gifts used another’s blood to bolster their own strength and speed. But the Cruors—those who seized complete control of one’s body…
Those monsters were far more rare, but dangerous. Knowing the bastard prince, he would’ve secured as many as possible.
Tallon. He was an Ichor.
There was relief in that knowledge. It proved he wasn’t mine. Vellos poisoned his blood, and his mother corrupted his mind. There was never any hope for him.
Fresh anger surged once more. I stormed down the hall, wishing we’d stumble on another, just to watch the light drain from their eyes.
Who was his father? What Velli dared crawl into the queen’s bed while I was away?
My stomach soured, and bile burned the back of my throat. Had she welcomed them while she turned me down? Had she shamed them the way she’d shamed me? Did she take pleasure in their advances?
“Kal.”
Revulsion swept through me. They were the enemy, and she bedded them. Their seed took with her. Not mine. No—I couldn’t sire a child. What crime had earned this punishment from the gods? An infertile king.
“Kal!” Greaves stepped into my path, forcing me to stop.
“What?” The word snapped free, hunger for violence still clawing at me.
“Listen.”
I stilled. The roar of blood in my ears faded. Sound crept in.
Laughter echoed from the courtyard, followed by a dragon’s chuff. Children shrieked, voices tumbling over one another in wild delight.
Greaves’ brow eased, then he nodded toward the suite on our right.
I opened the door and crossed to the window that overlooked the courtyard. Dust coated the curtains, cascading down as I tore them aside.
Gyrak stood with legs splayed wide, head bowed, peering beneath his belly. One wing hovered in uncertainty. Across from him sat a gold dragon, smaller than the great black, tail wrapped neatly around its feet. Sunlight caught along its scales, setting them aflame. It pressed itself low in the cramped space, yet its neck stretched forward, scenting three young girls who edged closer.
Ronan and another rider spoke with Nienna while the children tore across the cobbles to scramble over the black dragon’s claws.
She brought the heirs to see her dragons.
I braced my hand against the windowsill and watched.
Two small boys chased each other in dizzy loops, one ducking behind her skirts before sprinting past again. She gathered the fabric closer, shielding them from the sweeping folds and their own reckless feet.
When Gyrak opened his jaws and released a sharp click, every child froze.
“It’s fine!” Nienna called, her voice dulled by the glass. “He’s playing!”
The spell broke at once. Small bodies swarmed the massive dragon, hands clutching scales as they tried to climb his leg toward the saddle. A taller girl studied his tail, then charged. She caught the spikes and hauled herself a few feet off the ground before Gyrak shifted, easing her back down with a patient roll of muscle.
Ronan shook his head, speaking to his sister.
She smiled.
Not the measured curve she wore at court. This was wide and unguarded, delight spilling free. She had her dragons. And children.
Something I could never give her.
What unfolded below should have steadied me. Nienna was shaping the next generation, teaching them there was nothing to fear from her beasts. Instead, the ache in my chest widened, raw and gaping.
“She does well with them,” Greaves said, a quiet note of amusement in his voice.
