The guilt twisted deeper.

  Above, I heard the rush of wings cutting through dawn air. Large, powerful, familiar. Kaelen descended in a controlled spiral, his emerald scales catching the first rays of sunlight as he landed with surprising delicacy for something his size.

  “There you are,” he said, his voice wrapping around me like a blanket. “Now. Tell me which disaster we’re dealing with first, the political one or the personal one?”

  32

  Iclimbed onto Kaelen’s back, my fingers finding the handles of the saddle. The moment I settled against his neck, he launched skyward, powerful wings beating against the dawn air with enough force to steal my breath.

  “Better?” His voice was dry warmth in my mind as we climbed higher, the castle shrinking below us.

  “Not even remotely.”

  “Mm. Thought so.” A pause, and I could feel his amusement rippling through the bond. “So. The High Lord.”

  I groaned, pressing my forehead against his scales. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That bad, then.”

  “Kaelen—”

  “I’m just saying.” His wings adjusted, catching a thermal that sent us spiralling higher into the lightening sky. “Last time we had this conversation, you wanted me to eat him. Should I still be planning that, or have we moved into more complicated territory?”

  Despite everything—despite the guilt and the panic and the complete disaster my life had become—a laugh punched out of me. Sharp and slightly deranged, but real.

  “I’ll let you know,” I muttered. “Might be easier than facing him again.”

  “I live to serve.” The smugness practically floated off Kaelen. “Though I have to say, ‘eat the man who had his hands all over you’ is a somewhat mixed message.”

  “You’re the worst.”

  “I’m your favourite and you know it.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  The wind tore at my hair as we flew, cold and harsh and exactly what I needed. Up here, there were no castle walls pressing in. No guilt carved into stone corridors. No silver-eyed High Lords who touched me like they were trying to memorise my shape.

  Just sky and dragon and the kind of freedom that tasted like⁠—

  Two massive shapes soared through the clouds beside us.

  My heart slammed into my throat, black fire already crawling up my arms before conscious thought caught up. Dragons. Two of them. Large and powerful and closing in fast, and gods, we were about to be attacked, we were about to⁠—

  “Relax.” Kaelen’s tone was amused, not concerned. “Actually look at them, wildfire.”

  I did.

  And nearly fell off his back.

  Because those weren’t enemy dragons bearing down on us with hostile intent. Those were Shaelith and Brynelle, their riders silhouetted against the dawn sky, and they were grinning at me like this was the best surprise they’d managed all week.

  “What—” I started, but the words died as they pulled alongside us, their dragons matching Kaelen’s pace.

  “Morning!” Brynelle called over the wind, her hair whipping around her face. “Fancy meeting you up here!”

  Shaelith’s smile was slightly more reserved, but no less genuine. “We thought you might like some company.”

  My brain was still trying to catch up. “How did you even—how did you find me?”

  “Well.” Brynelle’s grin turned wicked. “Kaelen mentioned to our dragons that you could use some friendly faces this morning.”

  I looked down at the scales beneath my hands, narrowing my eyes at the dragon currently radiating entirely too much satisfaction. “You called them?”

  “I simply suggested to their bondmates that you were in need of companionship,” Kaelen said, absolutely dripping with false innocence. “What they chose to do with that information was entirely their decision.”

  “You’re meddling.”

  “I’m helping. There’s a difference.”

  “There really isn’t.”

  “Agree to disagree.”

  Shaelith brought her dragon closer, near enough that I could see the concern behind her smile. “Are you alright? Apparently Kaelen made it sound somewhat urgent.”

  Was I alright?

  I’d spent the night in Varyth’s bed. Again. Had his hands on my skin, his mouth on my throat, his voice rough in my ear saying things that made my entire world tilt sideways. Then I’d volunteered myself for a political meeting that could get me killed, discovered that Cindrissian and Fenric were brothers, and fled Varyth’s chambers before I could do something catastrophically stupid.

  Like kiss him.

  Or ask him to finish what he’d started before Darian and Fenric had interrupted with their terrible fucking timing. And now I was spiralling through pre-dawn sky trying to outrun guilt that tasted like betrayal and want that felt like drowning.

  “I’m fine,” I said, which was maybe the biggest lie I’d told all morning.

  Brynelle snorted. “Right. And I’m the Queen of Summer. Try again.”

  I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again and found I had absolutely no idea what to say that wouldn’t sound completely unhinged.

  “It’s complicated,” I finally managed.

  “Complicated like ‘I need to murder someone’ complicated?” Brynelle asked. “Or complicated like ‘I need to talk before I explode’ complicated?”

  “Yes.”

  Shaelith laughed. “Why don’t we find somewhere to land? Talking while flying is somewhat limiting.”

  “There’s a clearing about two miles northwest,” Kaelen supplied. “Private. Good sightlines. Perfect for emotionally unstable conversations.”

  “You’re not helping.”

  “I’m always helping. You’re just not appreciating my methods.”

  But he adjusted course anyway, banking left with the other two dragons following, and maybe—maybe—having them here wasn’t the worst thing.

  We landed in a clearing bordered by ancient oaks, their leaves catching the first golden light of full dawn. The other two dragons settled with practiced grace while Kaelen touched down with just enough dramatic flair to make his point about being the superior flyer.

  I slid down from Kaelen’s back the moment we landed, my legs unsteady enough that I had to grab his side to keep from face-planting into the dew-soaked ground. The other dragons settled nearby—Brynelle’s a sleek silver that gleamed like polished metal, Shaelith’s a deep bronze that caught the light like burnished copper.

  “Alright.” Brynelle dropped from her dragon’s back with an easy grace I envied, landing in a crouch before straightening. “Out with it. What’s got you looking like you haven’t slept in a week?”

  I stared at her, trying to figure out how to explain that I’d somehow managed to catastrophically complicate every single aspect of my existence in the span of twelve hours.

  “I volunteered myself for a diplomatic meeting with the High Lord of Nyxaria,” I said finally, because that seemed like the least emotionally devastating place to start.

  Shaelith’s eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “You what?”

  “It gets worse.” I sank down onto a fallen log, my legs finally giving up the pretence of being steady. “Apparently I have some kind of gift that manifests under extreme stress, which Varyth has been managing by keeping me calm and contained like I’m a weapon he doesn’t know how to use.”

  Shaelith settled cross-legged on the grass with fluid grace, her violet eyes warm with understanding.

  Brynelle whistled low. “That is... significantly worse than I expected.” She dropped into Shaelith’s lap with a dramatic sigh.

  “And then there’s—” I cut myself off, because talking about what had happened in Varyth’s chambers was somehow infinitely more terrifying than either of those disasters.

  “And then there’s what?” Brynelle prompted, though the edge of teasing had faded.

  I buried my face in my hands. “I slept in his bed again. Varyth’s. And when I woke up—” The words stuck in my throat like broken glass. “Gods, when I woke up, his hands were⁠—”

  “On you,” Brynelle finished quietly.

  I nodded, not looking up. “And it felt right. Natural. Like I belonged there. Like I was supposed to wake up in his arms.” My voice cracked on the last word.

  “How long has it been?” Shaelith asked quietly. “Since Navaire died?”

  “Sixteen months.” The number fell from my lips like a stone. “Sixteen months, three weeks, and two days.”

  Brynelle made a soft sound. “That’s not very long.”

  “It’s long enough that I shouldn’t—” I pressed my hands harder against my face, trying to block out the memory of Varyth’s mouth against my throat. “I shouldn’t want someone else. I shouldn’t feel safe with someone else.”

  “Says who?”

  I lifted my head to find Brynelle staring at me with an intensity that made something shift in my chest.

  “Says who?” she repeated. “Who decided there’s a timeline for grief? A proper amount of time before you’re allowed to feel something for someone else?”

  I opened my mouth to argue, to say that it was obvious, that sixteen months wasn’t long enough, that I owed Navaire more than⁠—

  “A year before I met Shaelith,” Brynelle said quietly, her fingers finding Shaelith’s hand. “Someone I loved was killed.”

  I stared at Brynelle, processing her words.

  A ghost of old pain crossed her features. “Faliah.” She glanced at Shaelith, who squeezed her hand. “She was a healer. We had three centuries together before she was killed in a border skirmish.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly, meaning it.

  Brynelle’s smile was sad but genuine. “For months after I could barely breathe, let alone live.” Her gaze met mine, understanding shimmering in their depths. “And then I met Shaelith. The guilt nearly destroyed me. I felt like I was betraying her memory. Like I was erasing everything we’d built together by finding happiness again.”

  I saw the way Shaelith’s fingers tightened around Brynelle’s. The gentle reassurance in the touch. I chewed on my lip, trying to shove down the question that wanted to escape. But it was no good.

  “How did you…” The right words evaded me.

  “Move past it?” Brynelle sighed, rubbing her thumb across Shaelith’s knuckles. “I realised that loving again doesn’t diminish what came before. It honours it.”

  Her free hand found mine, gripping tight.

  “Your husband, Navaire, he loved you, yes?”

  I nodded, unable to speak around the knot in my throat.

  “Love isn’t finite,” Brynelle said. “Caring for Shaelith didn’t diminish what I had with Faliah. It doesn’t diminish what you had with Navaire. It honours their memory by showing that they taught us how to love, how to open our heart.”

  Her words washed over me in a gentle tide, soothing the jagged edges of my guilt. I closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath as I pictured Navaire’s face. His amber eyes, the curve of his smile, the way he’d always encouraged me to embrace life fully.

  Would he truly want me to deny myself happiness? To live in the shadow of what was, rather than reaching for what could be?

  After a moment, I let myself look at Brynelle again. “I… I know you’re right,” I said, no more than a whisper. “But knowing it and feeling it are two different things.”

  “It’s okay to take your time, Isara,” Brynelle said, her tone gentle. “No one’s rushing you. But don’t let fear hold you back.”

  Shaelith adjusted Brynelle’s position in her lap. “What does he make you feel?”

  I stared at the grass between my boots, trying to find words for something I’d been running from since the moment I’d met him.

  “Safe,” I whispered. “Which is ridiculous, because he’s dangerous. He’s a High Lord, he’s manipulative, he keeps secrets, and half the time I want to set him on fire just for existing. But when he—” I swallowed hard. “When he touches me, I feel safe. Like I can stop running for five minutes and just... breathe.” The words came out broken, fractured around the edges.

  “I’ve seen how he looks at you,” Shaelith added. “It’s not the way someone looks at a political asset or a weapon to be managed. He looks at you like you’re precious to him.”

  My chest tightened. “That’s just—he’s protective. It doesn’t mean⁠—”

  “Isara.” Shaelith’s voice was patient but firm. “I’ve known Varyth for centuries. I’ve seen him with allies, enemies, lovers. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

  The word ‘lovers’ sent an uncomfortable spike through my chest. Of course he’d had lovers. He was centuries old, powerful, beautiful in that sharp-edged way that probably had people throwing themselves at him regularly.

  I tried to keep my expression neutral. Failed spectacularly, if the way heat crawled up my neck was any indication.

  Because fine. Yes. The thought of Varyth’s hands on someone else. His mouth, his attention, that devastating focus he turned on me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, going to someone else?

  It made me want to set things on fire.

  Which was absolutely ridiculous. Absurd. Completely unhinged behaviour from someone who had zero claim on him and had spent the better part of our acquaintance oscillating between wanting to murder him and wanting to⁠—

  Nope. Not finishing that thought.

  “Oh my gods.” Brynelle’s face split into a grin so wide it should’ve been illegal. “You’re jealous.”

  “I am not.”

  “You are.” She sat up straighter in Shaelith’s lap, delighted. “You’re jealous of hypothetical past lovers you didn’t even know existed until thirty seconds ago.”

  “I’m not jealous,” I said, which would’ve been more convincing if my voice hadn’t gone up half an octave. “I’m just—it’s just⁠—”

  “Wildfire.” Kaelen’s voice was absolutely drenched in amusement. “You’re jealous.”

  “Oh, fuck off.”

  “I’m simply observing.” His satisfaction was palpable through the bond. “You spent months insisting you wanted nothing to do with him, and now your heart rate is doing something fascinating because other people may have touched him centuries before you existed.”

  “I hate all of you.”

  Shaelith’s lips twitched, fighting a smile. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think there’s been anyone in quite some time. Not since—” She paused, exchanging a glance with Brynelle. “Well. Not for a long while.”

  Which somehow made it worse. Made the jealousy twist deeper, because if there hadn’t been anyone, then what did that mean about the way he touched me? About waking up in his arms, about his hands mapping my body like he was trying to memorise every curve and hollow?

  I buried my face in my hands again. “I’m losing my mind.”

  “You’re falling for him,” Kaelen corrected, far too smug for my liking. “There’s a difference.”

  “I’m not—I can’t—” The words tangled in my throat. Because falling implied something gentle, something gradual. And there was nothing gentle about this. It felt like being dragged underwater, like drowning in waters I couldn’t name while simultaneously never wanting to surface.

  “It’s alright to want him, Isara.” Shaelith’s smile was soft. Understanding. “Even if it’s terrifying.”

  “Terrifying doesn’t even begin to cover it.” I dragged my hands down my face, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Can we please talk about anything else? Like the diplomatic nightmare I’ve volunteered myself for?”

  Brynelle’s grin turned knowing, but she let me have the redirect. “Right. The meeting with Nyxaria’s High Lord.” She leaned back against Shaelith, her expression sobering. “You said Varyth wants you there?”

  “Apparently.” I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. “He thinks my presence will throw them off. That they won’t be expecting it.”

  “He’s right.” Shaelith’s tone had gone thoughtful, strategic. “Ashterion will absolutely expect Varyth to hide you. To keep you locked away and protected like you’re something fragile that needs guarding.”

  “Showing up with you at his side, showing that you’re strong, that you’re part of his court—” Brynelle’s eyes gleamed with approval. “It’s a power move. It says we’re not afraid. It says you’re not a weakness to be exploited.”

  “Even though I kind of am?” The words came out more bitter than I’d intended. “I don’t know anything about court politics. I barely understand half of what’s happening. And apparently I have a gift that no one wants to talk about.”

  “Which makes you unpredictable,” Shaelith countered. “And unpredictability is its own kind of weapon. Ashterion thrives on control, on knowing exactly what cards everyone’s holding. You’re a variable he can’t account for.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “It is, actually.” Brynelle sat forward, her expression fierce. “Because it means he’ll be too busy trying to figure you out to focus entirely on whatever game he’s actually playing. You’re a distraction. A very effective one.”

  I thought about that. About walking into a room with a High Lord known for cruelty and darkness, about being used as a tactical piece in a game I didn’t fully understand.

  About Varyth saying I was clever. About Fenric agreeing to train me. About being part of something larger than my own survival for the first time since I’d stumbled into this realm covered in blood and ash.

  “I have no idea what I’m doing,” I admitted quietly.

  “None of us did, at first.” Shaelith’s smile was gentle. “But you’ll learn. And you’ll have help. Fenric’s training, Darian’s fashion tyranny, Cindrissian’s insights⁠—”

  “Who is apparently Fenric’s brother,” I interrupted. “Did everyone know that except me?”

  “I mean, yes?” Brynelle’s grin was apologetic. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

  “Cindrissian’s odd about sharing it though,” Shaelith added. “Perhaps because he got all the brooding and Fenric got all the charm.”