Chapter Eight
“She’s a riderless dragon—it’s a known risk when they come to our shores!”
“He was the crown prince of Innaku! Their ambassador! And we don’t have so much as a shoe latch to show for him!” Mother snapped at Ronan.
We sat cramped at the table in my parents’ chambers. Father’s glare pinned me with suffocating force. I couldn’t read him anymore. Did he blame me? Did he hate me even more?
I huddled beside Mother, a thin blanket over my shoulders. It did little to fight the slight chill in the salty air, but offered some defense against the tension curling through the room.
“Send Tsunami to their coast,” Ronan muttered, rocking his chair back on two legs. “Let them take it up with her.” Blood streaked his cheek. Sand clung to his tangled blond hair. His torn tunic hung crooked from the fight.
Mother pinched the bridge of her nose, as though the pressure could hold back her temper. “We cannot afford vengeance—we need their supplies!”
“Draconia flies for Innaku.” Father’s voice hit the table like a dropped blade. All eyes turned to him. His gaze never left me—as if I held the answer he wouldn’t say aloud.
“Fly?” Mother echoed. “Nereus, do not act in haste.”
She’d caught the word. He hadn’t said sail. Flying the dragons meant war.
“Their prince attacked my daughter,” he growled, teeth clenched. At last, his stare broke from mine and turned to her. “That was within their ability to control. Tsunami eating that flaming son of an eel was beyond our responsibility.”
“Gyrak was present. He could have prevented it.”
“Whose side are you on, Mother?” Ronan snarled. “Adoni would’ve raped Nienna if I hadn’t stepped in!”
He slammed his chair forward, all four legs thudding hard against the floor.
“Don’t you dare accuse me of betraying my daughter.” She spun on him, eyes sharp as sparks. She jabbed a thin finger toward his face. “Watch your temper—and your tongue. One day this burden may fall to you, and, dragons above, may you have a steady voice of reason at your side!”
“Voice of reason?” Father leaned forward. “Tell me, then. Why can’t I fly for Innaku?”
Mother straightened in her chair with a pointed look at Ronan. “Innaku is too large. You cannot hold it with dragonfire, not when we need it for its resources. You burn the fields and they’re worthless to us—and they won’t forget.”
She pressed on, tone flat. “We don’t have the manpower to colonize a land that size without leaving ourselves exposed.
And if you start a war among the isles, the Kulletti will strike before you can blink.
Dragons or not, their warships could reduce the Spire to rubble.
And the Ivetti? They’d be caught in the crossfire.
Resources are scarce as it is. Add a war and our people will suffer even more. ”
“She’s right.” My voice broke. I loathed how weak that made me feel.
Father’s stormy eyes traced back to me and I frowned, trying to weather his glare.
“Tsunami avenged my honor. As a dragon, Draconia is her haven. King Galdoni knew the risks when he sent his son. They’ve seen their bloodlust—how instinct takes over. If we strike Innaku now, we lose the potions keeping half our children alive.”
“Pah!” Ronan spat. “If I hadn’t seen the attack myself, your defense might convince me–”
Blue sparks burst across his mouth, silencing him. His chair scraped back as magic shoved it from the table.
“Another word, and you’re grounded a week.” Father’s voice cracked like thunder. He pointed, the dismissal plain.
Ronan threw up his hands, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
“He’ll be worse than you,” Mother muttered, face buried in her palms.
Father didn’t speak. His silence burned hotter than words. He stared at me still—white brows drawn in what I hoped was contemplation, not accusation.
“The Innaku wait for our response,” she continued, trying to draw his focus away.
He pushed to his feet, shaking his head. “Nienna, why is it always you?”
Shame sealed my throat. This wasn’t my fault. Not this time. The island prince saw weakness—thought I’d grovel for a crown without seeing that I already gave everything that mattered. My heart. My soul. Both belonged to someone else.
I would never marry. Never bear children.
Besides, after Radaan and now Adoni, men would keep their distance. I’d become a cautionary tale—untrustworthy, cursed, or worse, a death sentence wrapped in a pretty dress.
I couldn’t possibly sink any lower.
Sunset found me on the landing, legs dangling into the wind. The sky blazed—a riot of pinks, purples, and bruised blue streaks, screaming for attention. Dragons echoed its cry, their roars tearing through the painted heavens as they darted between clouds like living fire.
But my gaze stayed fixed on the endless northern sea. My mind clung to a continent hidden by distance, tethered by something I couldn’t name. An ache pulled in my chest—as if unseen fingers clawed outward, reaching for the missing half of my soul.
Kallias.
I could dance through courtly games, charm diplomats, and endure the whispers that skittered down the Spire’s halls. But the emptiness in my chest? It gnawed at me. Unraveled me with a silent, ceaseless hunger.
Every sun-thirsty plant straining toward a window. Every mention of trade routes or harvests. Even when someone so much as uttered the word goat, the void inside me tore wider.
How was he surviving? Did he feel this too? He had years on me. Did time dull the pain? Did duty weigh less on stronger shoulders?
A tear broke loose and traced a hot path down my cheek. I shut my eyes, throat clenching as I pictured his silhouette—broad, unyielding. No, it wouldn’t be easier for him. But he’d shoulder the burden, as always. He would never let Radaan down. Too loyal. Too strong.
He was probably arranging another marriage for his wretched son.
A sob clawed free as Tallon’s face collided with Fyrn’s in my mind. My fist cracked against the stone beneath me. The sea looked serene—mocking me with its calm.
My heart kicked against the injustice. Fyrn didn’t suit him. She had nothing to offer and knew it. How had I missed the way she looked at him? I assumed she tolerated him, grew up with him. I never guessed she wanted him.
She got her heart’s desire—regardless of the cost. But Kallias and I? We were cursed from the beginning.
It. Wasn’t. Fair.
I hugged myself. Wind curled around my dress, tugging it like a child seeking attention. Kallias would arch a brow if he saw me perched on the edge—just as he did in Phares.
Back then, he flinched when I leaned over balconies. He hated heights. Hid it well, but not from me. I remembered the strain in his jaw as we climbed Sol’s mountain path.
Footsteps scuffed behind me, and I straightened fast, wiping the wet from my cheeks. I met my father’s frown as he stared over Draconia. Wind toyed with his white hair, but didn’t ease the tension in his brow.
I sniffed, laced my hands in my lap, and blinked the rest of the tears away. I buried the broken part deep where he wouldn’t see.
With a sigh that carried too much weight, Father sank beside me. His boots dangled off the edge, silver buckles catching the sun’s last breath. He crossed his arms, leather creaking faintly with the motion.
Neither of us spoke as the light bled from the sky.
I had never felt so alone. A failure to my people. A shame to my parents. Too soft. Too easy to use. And the man I loved bore the blame for what I let happen.
“Your mother fears you hate me.” The words scraped out, as if he loathed having to say it.
I stole a glance. His beard twitched. He still wouldn’t look at me.
“I don’t,” I whispered, curling my arms around my knees.
“You don’t act the same.” His voice dropped. “You came back… different.”
“You haven’t treated me like your daughter since I arrived.” I pressed my face into my knees.
And I was different. I was cracked. Splintered down the center.
He inhaled, then tipped toward the sky as Argos soared overhead. “Do you remember when you were small and insisted on sleeping out here? You wanted to watch the sun sink into the world and rise again on the other side.”
“If I recall, you banned me from doing exactly that.”
I had been obsessed with the idea—catching the day as it emerged. I always fell asleep before it rose, only to wake with a dragon curled around me like a living shield.
He grunted. “Do you remember why?”
“Because I was a princess, and princesses don’t bed down beneath the stars.” I scoffed. “They sleep tucked in satin and feathers.”
He chuckled, head shaking. “As if.”
“You yelled at me,” I shot back. “Carried me inside like a sack of grain, tossed me in bed, and screamed that princesses belonged indoors.”
“I don’t scream,” he said, arching a brow. I narrowed my eyes in return. “What you forget is the tumble off the Spire.”
I frowned, trying to recall. The landing had always felt like home, as if I were tucked away in the skies. Surely, I would’ve remembered if I fell off the edge.
“You were fevered. Sick. I shouldn’t have let you sleep out here, but your mother insisted the air would help. I was working late when Argos roared through the bond—you were falling.”
Cold spread through my limbs.
“He caught you.” His jaw tightened. “But it reminded me—if you fell, no matter how fast I was, I couldn’t save you, couldn’t protect you. I had to rely on the dragons. Argos placed your small, fragile, wingless body in my arms and–” He stopped, breath sharp. “I nearly lost you.”
He dragged a hand over his face, fingers raking through his beard. “When I put you to bed, I wasn’t angry at you. I was furious with myself. I let you stay out there, knowing the risk. If anything had happened… I wouldn’t have forgiven myself.”
It all made sense now. His fury. Mother’s reassurances. As a girl, I forgot his sharpness quickly, slipping back into adoration—but I never slept on the landing again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“No Draconis should ever fear the sky.” His stare pierced through me.
Pride and worry tangled in his gaze. “Every time you venture here, Argos flies. Always ready. When you lean over the Nest, when your feet dangle off this cursed edge, his roar floods my mind. And I see it again—your fall—through his eyes.”
He released a long, slow breath. “No, Nienna. I was never angry with you.”
Not then. Not now. Tears welled, and I pressed my lips together, holding them at bay.
His gaze softened. A grimace tugged at his mouth as he caught the tear streaking down my cheek.
“Disappointed?” The word cracked in my throat.
My teeth clenched, bringing an ache to my jaw. I just wanted him back—my father, Dragon King of Draconia, fierce and overprotective, full of laughter and endless warnings. I needed his arms around me, to hear everything would be alright. That no matter what I’d done, he still loved me.
“We can’t change what happened or how it happened.” His voice dropped low. He brushed the tear away with a thumb rough from years of sword hilts and reigns. “But I will never forgive that man for how he broke you.”
“Father–”
“Don’t.” He tapped my lips with a finger, silencing the protest. “I still rage. My oath calls for vengeance.” His expression flared contempt. “But I will never stop loving you, Nienna. You are my daughter. My blood.”
I shut my eyes. My heart cleaved. He hated Kallias—but he was safely on the other side of the sea. Father had come to offer peace. A truce. He came to me to reconcile.
He was my father. My family. And I had walked in like a storm, torn open the court with truth and grief, thrown my word against my brother’s, confessed love for a man I should never have touched. I shattered a blood oath and expected him to welcome me with open arms.
Nothing about this was fair.
His strong arm wrapped around me, tugging me against his strength. A sob tore loose as I crumpled into him, resting my head on his shoulder.
Solid. Steady. Safe.
He was still my father—my home.