Chapter Seven
Small bones bit into my palm as I steadied the child’s hand beneath the bowl. His white teeth flashed in his tanned face as he grinned up at me, the burden of his hunger pressing heavy on my heart.
It was agonizing not to slip him an extra slice of bread, but grain rations left no room for mercy. I smiled anyway and scooped an extra heaping of fish.
“Hurry, eat it while it’s hot,” I said, shooing him off. He gave a sloppy bow and skipped away, broth splashing onto the sand.
“Wasteful,” Freya muttered, shaking her head.
It had only been a few days since I last spoke with Williard. He’d nudged me toward the soup kitchens, told me to find my footing in a place I could help and be among the people.
I resisted the urge to swipe my sleeve across my face, then forced a smile as I studied the line. Dozens waited—mostly women and children, a few elders, a scattering of maimed men.
The soup pot had dwindled. Miral, who ran this kitchen, was slicing the last loaf of bread so thin the crust curled.
Too many mouths. Too little to fill them.
Guilt coiled through what was left of my heart, constricting around it like a serpent. The Tithe neared—our weekly offering when the boats went out at first light, all their catch given to the dragons.
It was tradition. Necessary. But we were never this unprepared. If the kitchens ran dry now, they wouldn’t reopen when people needed them most.
“A princess. Serving soup?” A young man strode toward the counter, cutting the line.
The crowd parted with shallow bows. His smirk found me. A silver-leaf crown caught the sun in his shoulder-length blond hair—worn like a weapon, demanding their respect.
“Adoni,” I said, sealing my thoughts behind training. Calm. Distant. Measured. “I didn’t know the Innaki had arrived.”
“Hit the shore and practically ran straight to you, my princess.” He grinned, sliding in front of a mother cradling a child.
“I can’t imagine you running anywhere.” I gave a polite laugh, though I wanted to shove him back and return to work. The Innaku ships had been expected this week, but I should have heard the dragons herald their arrival.
“True. A prince does not run.” He tilted his head, a lock of hair spilling across sun-kissed skin. “Hence why I said practically. You Draconis are so literal—oaths and all.”
My stomach tightened. A quiet insult, dressed in charm. I pressed my lips into a tight smile and glanced at the crying child behind him.
“You might’ve been better welcomed at the Spire.” I offered the suggestion like a gift.
“So you’ve stepped down from greeting dignitaries? Has your father disowned you?”
No. Adoni would never take a hint.
“It seems I’m needed elsewhere.” I turned to Miral and wiped my hands clean on a cloth. I had to tour a man-child around the island.
“Will you be needing me, Your Highness?” Freya asked, eyeing him like he smelled of rot.
“No. Stay and help.”
“I’ll see you at dinner.” She gave Adoni a side eye.
I hurried out the back of the kitchen, tugging at my hair and smoothing my dress.
A smear of soup stained the hem—something he’d notice and mention.
I didn’t care what he thought; only how I appeared.
Beauty had become armor. It masked the bruised pieces inside, a flimsy shield against my people’s disapproval.
Adoni stood exactly where I left him, forcing my people to step around him for food. My blood boiled. He blocked the path on purpose—a show of power. But they were commoners. He had nothing to prove.
“This way, my prince,” I called, gesturing toward the beach. He moved slow, stretching his long frame, adjusting the white linen draped over his chest.
It was impossible not to compare him to Kallias. Adoni knew he was handsome. Perhaps he was—but beside the King of Radaan, he seemed unfinished. His skin peeked through the folds of his toga, muscle carved from youth, not effort. He hadn’t grown into a man.
A dazzling grin lit his face as he approached, toga pristine, sun glaring off the fabric like polished bone.
I didn’t know why it irritated me.
“Immaculate manners, as always. I thought Radaan might have changed you.” He laughed, falling into step as I led him toward the sea.
My jaw tightened. No reaction. I’d known Adoni since birth—four years older and enamored with his Dragon’s Heart. It used to be cute. Now it grated. He was harmless, but smothering.
“How were your travels?” I asked, watching the waves crash against the shore. Two dragons soared above, shadows etched across the sky.
“Smooth. Though Father wouldn’t stop droning about marriage.”
“Twenty-four and still without an heir,” I scolded. “Your father’s lineage is in peril.”
He laughed and held out his arm, guiding me toward a boulder. “If he looked hard enough, he’d find no shortage of his line.”
I gave him a glare. He only chuckled and dropped onto the stone beside me.
Birds shrieked overhead, circling for crumbs. My people lingered behind us, silent lines measuring our every move. To the left, a jagged outcrop marked the rock gulls’ nests. To the right, a distant dock shimmered in the heat.
“Tell me, are the rumors true?”
Wind whipped my hair across my face. I brushed it out of my eyes. “Which ones?”
“Fair point,” he teased. “You came back and lit gossip like dry tinder.”
“And here I thought your lands escaped our drama.”
“Hardly. We thrive on your antics.”
He meant they waited for cracks of weakness to exploit. Innaku played nice, but they were the sharpest teeth behind the smile. The largest island chain. Grew the most crops.
When I didn’t answer, he pried again. “Did the king attack you?”
I rolled my eyes. The question burned on every tongue.
“No? Doubted it, to be honest.” He propped his elbow on his knee. “If he had, your brother would’ve razed Radaan.”
Ronan certainly tried.
“You were caught with him, though?” he pressed.
I clenched my jaw, tipped my face to the sun, and closed my eyes.
“Father warned me about you,” he continued. “Said you’d been compromised.”
Same song from every noble and envoy. If the king didn’t hurt me, I must have begged for it. Must have laid back and spread my legs like a proper little whore.
I bit my cheek, trying to wrangle my rage as I planned my escape.
“Was he at least a good lay? He’s got to have, what? At least forty years of experience.”
“Adoni.” I snapped, turning on him. “Prince or not, you don’t speak of another king that way. When I decide you deserve an explanation, you’ll get one.”
He grinned, eyes wrinkling with delight. Bile rose in my throat.
“That good?”
Thank the gods I didn’t have magic. Or a dragon.
I’d have killed him.
A shadow swept over us, blanketing the beach. I looked up. Artorious flew low, wings stretched wide, scales gleaming like oil-slick armor. He circled once, a deep growl rolling from his chest. His gaze locked on Adoni.
I wasn’t the only one who disliked the prince.
No saddle marked his back. I wondered if his rider sent him to keep watch. Mikal had made a habit of tracking me. Another leash I didn’t need.
“You’re weary from your travels. Careless with your tongue.” My voice stayed low, even.
“Fine, fine.” He raised his hands. “I surrender. No more prying.”
Liar.
“How fare the crops?” I asked, trying to turn the subject.
“A whirlstorm clipped our eastern border. Flattened the outer villages.” He sighed. “But it broke over the bay and twisted north. Tianna’s breath saved us again.”
The Innaki goddess. Her southern winds pushed storms off their shores.
“The loss?”
“Measured. As always.” He turned to me with a crooked grin. “Draconia will eat.”
Disgust curled in my gut. I hated that we relied on Innaku for bread. Even long after Father’s death, Adoni would never let Ronan forget it.
And it was my fault.
I smiled despite the crack in my spirit. Everything reminded me of what I’d done.
Pain had become a part of me.
The island prince wanted to sit beside me in the dining hall, but Ronan called him away.
My brother never liked his fascination with me, though I no longer trusted his judgment—not after he gave his blessing to Tallon.
I’d known Adoni for years. Harmless, save for his sharp tongue.
But Tallon… I shivered. Malice burned in his eyes.
His words sliced deeper than steel. He thought drawing a blade would send me running.
I didn’t run—I was taken.
The library tempted me, but I’d scoured each shelf. Dug through every tome I could touch. Scribes were still chasing leads—any mention of oaths or the Dragon’s Heart.
None spoke of breaking a Draconis Blood Oath.
The last sliver of hope faded with the setting sun.
I sat on the beach as the waves danced and stars blinked to life overhead, hollow.
The fire had gone out. No spark. No drive.
I still wanted to help my people, to grow our borders, feed the starving—but even rising each morning felt like a mountain. A task. A punishment.
I was a princess. Dishonored, scorned, reputation in ruins—but dutiful. My mother never wavered. She worked tirelessly, always preparing for the Awakening. I wouldn’t quit. Not for pain. Not for shame.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
I spun around, kicking up sand, to see Adoni. He padded across the shore barefoot, moonlight tracing the lines of his tawny skin as he pushed his hair back from his face.
“I outgrew bedtimes years ago,” I said, my heart thudding. We were on the northernmost beach, as close to Radaan as I could reach. Stone outcroppings hemmed us in.
He dropped onto the sand beside me without invitation, his hip brushing my hand.
I recoiled, clasping my palms in my lap, gaping at him. “Do you make a habit of invading people’s sanctuaries?”
“You seemed lonely.”
“Your rooms face south.”
“Maybe I needed a night stroll too.”
I narrowed my eyes, letting him see my skepticism.