“And you?”
“I think it’s worth a try.”
“And yet you blushed at goats mating.”
He frowned before a scoff broke free. “You were too interested in it, and I was interested in you.”
“And afterward? What then?”
“I hunt Tallon.”
“Then I agree. On one condition—”
His brow jumped as he tilted his head, tongue sweeping his lip.
“—Ronan is banned from the sky that day.”
Laughter burst from him, the sound rolling through his chest. I joined in, helpless against it. The pure, unrestrained humor felt rare and unexpected.
I’d never heard him laugh like that.
When his gaze returned to me, a broad smile split his face. “On our wedding day,” he said, “I thinkallriders will stay grounded.”
The following afternoon, I summoned the noblewomen to join me in painting my dragons. My request carried the veiled weight of command; no one dared refuse.
A rainbow of gowns fanned the field, and I lingered for a moment, noting the slimmer sleeves—gone were the absurdly poofy fashions of old. Their dresses shimmered and sparkled, while the servants trailed behind in muted colors, carrying easels, paints, and palettes.
Dyre’s sapphire scales caught the sun, neck arched as though aware of the attention. His silver eyes flared with pride, and a gust of warm breath escaped in a soft snort.
A noblewoman—dark hair streaked with gray—clamped a palm to her chest with a gasp. She stumbled back, colliding with a younger woman, who glared, wrinkling her nose with disgust, then lifted her skirts high above her dainty shoes to step aside.
“Thank you for coming, ladies,” I greeted, hand resting on Dyre’s warm scales.
A low purr rumbled from him, approval vibrating under my palm. The women gathered at his side, keeping a careful distance from his teeth.
“I thought perhaps we would take this opportunity to capture the magnificence of the dragons before they leave for the Craggs,” I continued.
Across the field, I caught Sean speaking with Ronan as soldiers guided nervous horses in circles around Gyrak.
“When will they be leaving, Your Majesty?” a voice called, a hint of eagerness in its tone.
“Oh, not for a while yet.” I turned on them with a bright smile. “You’ll have plenty of time to perfect your technique.”
I would use this moment to assert my presence—remind them why I was here. My dragons would either inspire awe or instill caution, but either way, I would earn their respect.
The younger noblewoman from before tried to hide a smug smirk aimed at the older, scandalized lady as she arranged her easel and prepped her paints.
“Do we have artistic liberty, Your Majesty?” Her red hair was pinned into a tight bun, lending her an air of efficiency and purpose.
“You may paint as you wish,” I said. “I am only offering the opportunity.”
Alina of Glon, I recalled her name. She took command of her easel, adjusting its height, sorting brushes, and checking jars of paint while her maid slipped away. Independent, methodical, confident—Glon needed women like her, skilled and self-reliant at the southernmost tip of the Craggs.
“Tell me, Alina,” I said as I settled my own canvas, then lifted a brush, already tracing the vision in my mind. “Where is your estate? Can you see the ocean from there?”
She unscrewed a jar, squinting at its contents before recapping it and reaching for another. “Alas, I cannot. Though I’ve visited the shore many times. The Glon Estate is tucked in the mountains, facing Reem—as it should be.”
Home. Their house did not face the vast, rolling sea but leaned into the homeland, toward king and country.
