Chapter 4 Esme
ESME
The Draxion men are keeping secrets. That much is obvious from the gaps in what they've revealed about Draethys—its politics, its social hierarchy, the tensions beneath the surface.
My coven training whispers in my ear: observe everything, memorize details, collect every scrap of intelligence.
I owe it to my people to understand this dragon kingdom completely.
“I heard there’s the possibility of an uprising in Draethys,” I tell Nyssa while she makes the final adjustments to my evening gown.
The mirror reflects us both, bathed in amber light that catches every shimmer of my black and gold dress.
Layers of gossamer organza cascade from a bejeweled belt that cinches my waist, the bodice cut in a plunging V that leaves my collarbones bare.
It’s a new dress, but I’ve added my own styling to this too.
Nyssa's eyebrow arches delicately. “Uprising? Nothing so dramatic has reached my ears. Though whispers of discontent have always circulated through Draethys.”
“The palace keeps you uninformed?” I press.
“I’m but a servant in this palace and merely a Tier 4 apprentice at the Bellatorium,” Nyssa says.
“The what?”
“The Bellatorium. It’s where we train our military.” Her lips curve into the faintest smile at my expression.
My jaw practically drops. “You have a military academy in Draethys?”
“Of course. Given what our people have endured, simply uprooting and moving our entire civilization underground was not enough. A military is necessary.”
I take another five seconds to process that. “How many tiers are there?”
“Five. I’m in my second year and in no way privy to any matters of the state.”
“I see… You said there’s always been dissent in Draethys, though.”
She nods once, moving around me to make sure everything is perfect. I do appreciate her attention to detail, but I’m doubtful she could ever be of actual use to me in my own mission later down the line. She seems far too loyal to Draethys.
“Yes,” she replies. “The elders built Draethys as a temporary haven. They always planned to return to the surface, provided we survived our extinction. But as the years went by, as new dragons were born, as new towers were erected, as the city expanded… I suppose it became the stuff of folklore. No longer an intention.”
“Returning to the surface,” I clarify.
“We’re used to our lives here. There is peace. Our military is prepared for almost any potential invader, but we’ve kept a low profile for so long, I doubt there are any threats for us to worry about.”
“The world above has no idea that dragons still exist, for what it’s worth.”
I don’t bother to tell her that we’d probably devote all of our resources to keeping them buried underground once my people find out. No point losing potential support from Nyssa, no matter how unlikely, this early on.
“There’s always been an unspoken desire to return to the world above,” she admits with a furrowed brow.
“To have the skies to ourselves, to fly as far as the eyes can see. To not be restrained by the stone ceiling of our kingdom. Someday, we might do it. But the laws of Draethys are strict. The focus is on building our military, strengthening our people, preserving our species.”
“How many of you are here right now?”
“A couple hundred thousand,” she says.
A chill snakes down my spine. Dayn in his dragon form was enough to partially destroy Heathborne and render our coven’s spirit fleet inoperable.
I don’t want to think about what two hundred thousand angry dragons might accomplish.
Of course, he’d had my blood running through him, which seemed to somehow strengthen him… but still.
I can’t dig too much into the topic now. Not yet.
“Tell me more about your home,” I say to Nyssa, offering a smile for compliance. “I’ll be Dayn’s guest at this fancy feast of theirs. I might as well know more about the dragons and their laws.”
“I’m glad you ask!”
Of course she’s glad. I brace myself and listen to the many irrelevant bits and pieces that I’m supposed to remember by the time I reach the ballroom downstairs, while trying to parse any useful information.
Nyssa keeps most of it functional: curtsies, salutations, table etiquette, dancing steps—the basics to stop me from embarrassing myself or her precious future king of Draethys.
At one point Nyssa remarks, “Lord Daynthazar was extraordinarily popular among the dragon-ladies. Some still hope to win his hand. Lady Raelle of House Rogon among them. She certainly chased him. But Lord Daynthazar was always too fixated on returning aboveground to grant her deepest wish.”
“I see. Good for him, following his passion,” I mutter dryly.
“For what it’s worth, he means well.”
“Intentions don’t sweeten abduction.”
Nyssa takes a step back, hands on her hips as her lips curl into a sardonic smile. “You’ve got a quip for everything, haven’t you?”
“It’s my way of making new friends,” I reply darkly.
“Lord Daynthazar did warn me to be mindful of your sense of humor. I see why he thought we’d be a good fit together.” Nyssa sighs.
I frown. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re a lot like me. Do you know why a Tier 4 military apprentice is working as a servant in the royal palace?”
“I figured it was a coveted assignment.”
She scoffs. “Tending to the whims of royalty? Hardly. I belong at the dragon pit, sparring in combat drills. At least the plumbing and thermal baths keep me alive. Chamber pots would’ve killed me.”
“Nyssa, I am… impressed.” I can’t help but give a short laugh. “You don’t like serving the royal family of Draethys, then?”
She rolls her eyes. “I defied Colonel Rogon on a training mission, then talked back. Lord Anees decided six months of palace duty beats expulsion.”
“Lord Anees sounds fair, then…”
“He is. He also sees my military value.” Nyssa’s cheeks flush bronze. “I may be young, but I do have potential. He said so. Colonel Rogon had no choice but to agree.”
I glance at her silver hair. “Why’s your hair silver?”
Nyssa glances down at her feet. “A spell gone wrong. I had to learn some things the hard way, I suppose. I was only a child when it happened.”
“That’s what Dayn meant,” I mutter.
“I think Dayn only heard Anees’s version. He was away at the time.”
“A prisoner in Heathborne, I presume.”
She nods slowly. “Lord Anees served well in his stead.”
“And his other brothers?”
“To each his own. Lord Byzu excels in the military, but Lord Arrynth… he’s still young, moody, prefers feasts and leisure. Charming, though.”
The more she tells me, the more complex the picture of Draethys becomes and the better I understand its society.
The noble families rule this place. The others abide and serve.
But there’s a deep love for their species that rises above everything else.
A desire to roam free, to manifest their might of ancient times.
They’re all living in Draethys, but something tells me they wouldn’t hesitate to move topside if they had the chance.
So, the question remains the same.
What of the darkbloods and the clearbloods and all other creatures, if such an event came to pass?
A knock at the door makes us both turn. I finish brushing my hair until it falls down my back like black ink.
Dayn enters—and halts.
I stop breathing.
His tunic mirrors mine in design: black leather cinched by a jeweled belt of gold. His dark hair is slicked back, and a simple gold band crowns his head. Noble. Distinguished. And damn it, my heart skips a beat.
“You’re ready, then,” Dayn says.
“She is, my lord,” Nyssa replies. “Shall I continue serving tonight?”
“Not tonight,” Dayn replies. “Return to the pit, Nyssa. Practice your shifts. You’ve earned it.”
He nods; she curtsies and slips away, leaving me alone with the dragon whose blood runs in my veins, whose presence fills my every breath—whose heart I’d tear from his chest for all he’s done, and for whatever comes next.
Because, deep in my bones, I know our troubles are just beginning.
“Shall we go?” Dayn asks, his amber gaze drifting from my hair to my eyes, lingering on my lips before trailing downward.
Heat blooms across my skin. I long for my Darkbirch uniform—boots that could hide a blade, sleeves wide for my garrote—but it’s too late. Many dragon hours too late.
“I really hope those dragon drinks are good,” I murmur as he steps aside, letting me pass first.
Once we reach the lower floor, the air shifts. Denser, heavier, touched with the pulse of music and voices carrying from beyond the hall.
Dayn hooks my arm through his, and the nearness messes with my focus more than I’d ever admit.
His heat seeps through leather and cloth, steady and unyielding, while my own pulse hammers unevenly against his.
The Draxion lords’ words gnaw at me from earlier—two sworn enemies, stitched together by blood.
Blood that I still crave to taste again.
I tighten my jaw, forcing the thought down, even as a dangerous flicker of hope whispers that maybe—just maybe—Dayn knows some way to sever this bond.
“Whatever they ask,” he murmurs, his voice close enough to graze my ear as we approach the ballroom doors, “keep your answers brief.”
The doors open, and the noise hits like a wave.
Hundreds of voices ripple beneath the steady thrum of drums, played by dragon performers whose sweat gleams on bare, muscled chests.
Gold glitters on every wrist and throat, gowns spill across the floor, hair twisted into impossible shapes.
Drinks flow freely, and everywhere I look are polished smiles that don’t reach the eyes—eyes that shift quickly toward Dayn. Toward me.
“Something tells me they’re more interested in killing me than anything else,” I mutter, catching the first dagger-glares as we step toward the crush of bodies.
“Some of the elders think you might be… useful,” he replies.
I give him a sharp look. “Me? A filthy darkblood?”