The women chattered, soft voices carrying across the field. Dyre moved with care, aware of their nervous energy. He stretched, blinking lazily, membranes sliding over brilliant silver irises.
My brush slid against the canvas, the first streaks of color breaking the pristine white.
“You are not the heir of Glon?” I asked, weighing my words. Would honesty endear me, or betray my ignorance of courtly hierarchies? There were too many nobles, and I’d been back only a day. Yet Alina seemed open, approachable.
“Thankfully not.” She barked a breathless laugh. “I came with my second cousin, Celena’glon. She’s the only heir at present.”
“Celena has the most gorgeous hair,” I said, noting Alina’s vivid red locks. “Does it run in your family?”
“We tease her,” she grinned, “that Elohios lingered too long on her before Veridis could chase him away. There’s too much blonde, giving her that pink hue. It’s a dominant trait in our line, but it may break with her.”
She picked a wide brush and swept it along her canvas, bold strokes of color painting Dyre’s scales in impressionistic bursts.
The beast shifted forward, stretching his long neck in a slow, groaning yawn. Ivory teeth flashed, eliciting horrified gasps from the women. Black claws sank into the dirt as he shook his head, then settled back on his haunches with a low rumble.
The older ladies flushed, pale under the midday sun, clutching their maids in terror. Though not Alina. Her crooked mouth betrayed her mirth, clearly amused by the dragon.
But it was the woman behind her who drew my focus.
Tall and lean, her golden hair fell straight in a polished waterfall over her shoulders. Dark eyes locked on me, expression devoid of all emotion.
Penelope, perhaps—Verad’s promised. Diverting her attention, her hand moved across the canvas, brushtip flicking in measured strokes. Her maid remained behind her, rigid and solemn, shrinking as if trying to vanish entirely.
With lips pursed, I returned to my own painting.
This excursion served many purposes: to affirm my right as their queen, to showcase the might of my dragons, and to provide canvases to fill the gaping voids in the halls.
That morning I’d combed through the archival collection, hoping to salvage works fit for display. The empty spaces were as damning as bloodstained walls—a reminder that we were not at peace. My efforts were painstaking; the archival rooms held centuries of history, but much of Eldeiade’s work had to be sifted through before I found anything suitable.
Kallias had allowed her free rein in her chambers, a small refuge even in her malice, but across the rest of the palace, her presence had been systematically erased, picture by picture.
To furnish the corridors, I needed to dig past the last generation. Her commissions were too dark, saturated with haunting reds and eerie themes. There was nothing inherently wrong with art reflecting death or meditating on life—but her fascination had an unsettling edge. The farther back I went, the lighter the pieces became, offering glimpses of Kallias’ struggle: the woman he married appearing pleasant at first, only for her venom to emerge gradually, like rot spreading through fruit.
“Incoming!” Sean’s cry broke my reverie.
Paintbrush in hand, I shaded my eyes as Tsunami landed, jolting the easel.
The noblewomen cried out as she prowled closer, pupils wide with curiosity. Dyre hissed, lowering his head to herd her away, but she ignored him, fixated on the rainbow of colors sprawled before her.
Paintbrushes clattered, canvases abandoned, as she stepped into Dyre’s space. Embers flew from his snout to her shoulder, and she growled, snapping her jaws inches from his face.
“Enough!” I called, flinching at the frightened whimpers behind me. Sea beneath, I didn’t want them terrorized by my dragons.
Tsunami clamped her jaws, tilting her head to study me with a single, intense eye. Dyre’s tail lashed, low hisses vibrating from his throat.
“If you want to be painted, you will lie down and be still.” I jabbed a brush at her for emphasis.
Gyrak was already moving, the field cramped with three massive beasts.
She leaned closer, towering over me, then sucked in a long breath. After a moment, she pressed her warm, soft nose to my chest and sniffed, as if searching for something.
I pushed her back, smudging a streak of green paint across her scales. “Go now. Give us space to work!”
She retreated, and Sean stepped beside me, eyeing her with distrust. “Shall we chase her skyward?”
“No. She’d only cause more chaos.” I waved him off. “And I fear the noblewomen might faint at the sight of dragon blood.”
He glanced back with a low chuckle. “They act as if they’ll be eaten, no matter our assurances.”
