Anya stirred at the words, reacting to the queen’s callous disrespect.
Years of practice had made control easier, but there was a time when distinguishing between my and Anya’s emotions had been nearly impossible.
Dragon feelings were fierce, overwhelming every sense until they became inseparable, united in a way people like the queen could never understand.
My bonded roared in my mind, demanding that I speak up and remind her that dragons meant no harm to civilians. They only responded to provocation and never wished to be dragged into wars. But I knew my words would fall on deaf ears. Only my sisters’ voices carried any weight.
Tired from a long day of forced interactions, I grew irritable. How many more times did I have to repeat myself? ‘Like I said before, conjuring dragons is complex. He might never be able to.’
‘Make it your mission that he does not, Avari. I’m telling you, girl, I’ve pardoned plenty of your transgressions; do not dare fail me in this.’ The queen jabbed a finger at me threateningly.
Lowering my head, I averted my gaze. ‘And what if the Elder Committee find out?’
‘Since when are you allowed to question me?’ She hissed before returning to her handwritten letter, dismissing me with an arrogant wave of her hand.
A soft breeze rushed through the corridors as I slowly made my way back to my wing. The sea looked restless,waves crashing against the walls as if they longed to reach the water-wielders residing inside. Even as someone without such powers, the sight was mesmerising enough to distract me from the indoctrination session I’d just endured.
Did I trust the King of Fogoya? No.
Did I think he intended to use dragons to build an army and conquer Ortensia? Also no.
The man seemed so disgusted by our kind that I doubted he wanted anything to do with us. Sure, the centuries-long war suggested otherwise, but it had gone on so long that neither kingdom could definitively claim the field of gemstones.
As far-fetched as it sounded, my mother’s logic dictated that once he learnt to conjure, he would train others, as if it were that easy. I wasn’t sure anyone could learn to conjure anymore. I had been on my deathbed when I bonded with my dragon, and that was the only reason it worked. It had been a desperate gamble for us both.
The treaty was forced on us by the Elders, meant to ease the bloodshed. Of course, my mother wanted me to defy it. News had only recently spread that one of her daughters had bonded with a dragon, and that was the spark behind her scheming.
Her refusal to uphold the treaty had left me sleepless for weeks. Despite growing up among schemers, I lacked the ruthlessness to carry out their plan. That was exactly what my mother's council wanted from me: to drag things out and play pretend. As though a century-old, shrewd fire-breather who had outmanoeuvred their schemes countless times would ever fall for the performance of a thirty-year-old half-breed.
The queen would have smote me if she’d known I used the term.
In her eyes, Ortensians were a new, improved breed, capable of more than ever before. Evolved, she claimed, beyond the need for trivial classifications. But I knew better. We were merely a crossbreed of green witches and fae, our lineagetracing back a millennium to the union of the green-witch Princess Eleanor and the water-fae King Theodore.
Ortensians loved to idealise that relationship and the race it created, forgetting that Eleanor had been kidnapped and forced to mate with the king after he claimed her. She had never reciprocated his feelings, dying a prisoner, just a shadow of the witch she had once been. As a fellow prisoner, I related to her in many ways.
Lost in thought about my mother, my mind soon wandered to my oldest sister and heir to the Ortensian throne, Lilian, the strongest of our bloodline and the very image of our mother.
Lilian’s powers had emerged in early childhood, and the queen had beamed with pride as she controlled nature with the same ease she controlled water. When I discovered my fire powers, no one celebrated. It only deepened my isolation.
The eldest daughter delighted in the envy she provoked among her younger sisters and their people.
The moment I approached my bedroom door, I considered escaping. Someone was waiting for me inside, and there was a high chance it was one of my wicked sisters, whom I had no intention of seeing.
Having had a trying day, I wasn’t willing to risk an unpleasant encounter and started to retreat quietly.
‘Well, don’t let me sit in here all by myself,’ came the high-pitched squeal of the queen’s middle daughter from the inside. With it, my plans for a peaceful evening went up in flames.
‘What makes you think you can just barge in here, Willow?!’ My shout made the doors judder in their frame.
The wench herself sat in the ornate lounge chair, getting a foot massage from a frightened teenage boy she had surely snatched from cleaning duty for her amusement.
He bowed as I gestured for him to leave. ‘You can go.’
‘You’re no fun, Ava; I should make you replace him now.’ Crossing her arms, Willow pouted for a second, then smirked. ‘But tell me, how did your little meeting with the handsome brute go?’
Of course, it was about King Dracon. Willow had a habit of treating powerful men as trophies, and they were drawn to her like flies to manure.
The thought of that she-devil seducing the king made my stomach churn. I tightened my grip on the flicker of fire within my chest. I didn’t even like the man, yet somehow I thought he could do better.
