CHAPTER TEN
Ronan
THE SEA SWALLOWED THE SUN AS RONAN WATCHED from the den’s windows.
Its reflection was drowned in grey waves, until the half-lit moon rose patient in its place.
His wings throbbed beneath his skin, bones yearning to break, to split.
To shift.
Two days in Ryuu and he hadn’t transformed, despite the unrelenting urge. It was torture, unnatural, to keep a dragon leashed at the altar of its flame.
He dug his fingers into his shoulder blades, kneading the place where scales should pierce through. Nails dragged down his arm, catching on the ink trailing down to his wrist, invisible shackles pulling tight, binding him to a crown he wasn’t sure he wanted.
Maybe if I hold out long enough, it will pass to Aero.
The thought came quickly and unbidden, that maybe the burden would resolve more easily on shoulders that never faltered.
Maybe Aero would finally accept what everyone already believed: that he was the more rightful ruler.
Ronan shook his head, before the thought could even settle. Aero would never take what wasn’t his. He was nothing like Obrann.
Which, somehow, only made the shame worse.
Waves battered the invisible shield, only a thin veil of glass protecting the sea from him as he stood unmoving before it.
Last night, that same sea had kept him hidden. And Aero had waited until the moon leaned low, kissing the water’s edge.
But Ronan never surfaced. He had swum until his lungs were seconds from bursting, until his dragon heart had threatened to rupture, and then he swam deeper, further.
The fireplace crackled behind him now, a low rumble as he turned, pacing the length of the black marble floor. He moved over plush carpets, through velvet shadows, until he reached the desk.
His father’s desk.
Flame-light spilled across its dark wood, shapes twitching over maps and unopened letters. He leaned close, eyes narrowing on one envelope set apart from the rest. Addressed to Aero.
Please inquire as soon as possible.
The parchment was smooth beneath his fingers, the royal seal of Luamis gleaming gold and untouched.
He was the prince. Rhydan’s only heir. He had every right to break it open. Even if the godsdamned letter bore Aero’s name instead of his.
His thumb hovered over the seal. A breath—
Then came a knock, rattling against the door.
He snapped the letter back into place, sliding it between the others just as the hinges creaked.
“Enter.”
Aero stepped through, eyes glancing to the desk before landing on him. The door shut with a quiet click. “You’re avoiding me.”
Ronan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he crossed the room, the fire licking across his bare spine.
“Not avoiding.” He sank against a chair, letting his body reside into it. “Just trying not to erupt in the infamy.”
Aero nodded once in understanding, moving to the chair opposite him. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” he said. “I just…” A breath left him, worn at the edges. “I see what you mean to this kingdom. Even if you don’t.”
Ronan’s eyes slid past him, past the veil, beyond the storm hovering dark over the sea. His eyes went from the green of its depths to lost, hopeless.
Aero clicked his tongue, abrupt, decisive, springing to his feet. “I know what will help.”
Glass clinked against glass as he returned with a bottle, pouring until the air burned with spice and fire.
Ronan downed his in one swallow, heat slicking down his throat, sparking in his chest. A fleeting peace.
Aero chuckled, raising his own. “I was going to say, let’s toast.” Ronan lifted his empty glass in unison. “To the sea.” Aero winked. “For keeping our secrets. And to the mountain, for keeping our throne.”
Ronan leaned forward, fingers curling tight around the crystal as his voice rasped low. “To the fire that scars us, and the smoke that hides it well.”
Their glasses met with a sharp ring.
Aero took a cautious sip, as if truth itself might be steeped in the liquor.
Ronan, already three glasses deep, downed another before it had even finished spilling into his cup.
“Perhaps,” Aero muttered, setting his down hard enough to rattle the table. “Tonight is not the best night for this.” He stood, wiping his palms against his thighs.
Ronan waved him off with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Sit.” Another swallow burned its way down as he moved toward the desk. “There is something I wanted to talk with you about.”
He set his glass atop the maps, the rim leaving a wet ring over forgotten borders. His hand hovered, then closed around the one thing he had no business touching.
The letter.
The envelope hit the table beside Aero with a slap.
He tilted in, squinting, then cursed softly at the golden emblem sealed into the flap. “The king of Luamis?” His head lifted to Ronan, who only nodded. “Why didn’t you open it?”
No suspicion in his tone, just the kind of sincerity Ronan hated most. “It’s not addressed to me.”
Aero scoffed, dragging in a breath. “Oh, please. As if that’s ever stopped you.” He held the letter out, extending it like an offering. His mouth curved, halfway between challenge and command. “Open it.”
Ronan didn’t hesitate. He tore the seal straight through the lion’s face, dragging the parchment free.
His eyes swept the lines, his jaw locking tighter with each word. “It’s a wedding invitation. For you and me to attend the royal ball and wedding ceremony of Prince Perseus and Princess Elvira.”
The letter slipped from his hand as he shoved it toward Aero without looking.
Aero read quickly, lips thinning. “The ball is to be held in only a few days’ time. I—”
“Oh, you’re going,” Ronan moved close enough to the fire so the flames could absolve any sins he had left. “Heir or not, you are the voice of Ryuu. Besides, it was addressed to you.” He tipped his glass, a smirk pulling his mouth. “Sorry if you wanted to bring a more charming plus-one.”
A wink. Then another swallow.
Aero blew out a long breath and moved, joining him by the banked flame.
Ronan could feel his eyes on him, the pull of a conversation he’d tried to drown in drink. The letter hadn’t been distraction enough. The vein at his temple flared, more than heat shimmering on his skin now. Flames hissed, spitting sparks where smoke clotted at his feet.
Not only smoke.
Without warning, invisible manacles snapped cold around his wrists, his throat, his wings. The firelight twisted, scorching the scales beneath his skin.
He could smell iron. Hear the crack of chains. The same chains that had bound him once before.
“Ronan.” Fear threaded Aero’s voice. “There isn’t much time—”
The dusk at Ronan’s feet spilled upward in tendrils, bleeding from his palms, his chest, his mouth. His eyes flared molten, the fire before them shuddering beneath his will.
“Ronan—” Aero flinched, arm raised. “What are you doing?”
Ronan didn’t hear him, didn’t flinch, but he burned.
Flames swelled, feeding off everything he poured into them. They thickened, warped, until silhouettes began to rise inside the blaze.
Visions and memories.
The battlefield unfolded in the fire’s place, ash turning to wings, haze to bodies writhing and falling. The air reeked of sweat and scorched flesh, iron searing the back of his tongue.
The room was gone. The palace was gone. There was only chaos.
Only death.
Embers stung his eyes as wings thundered overhead across a battlefield, the shriek of steel splitting bone. Through it all was a voice, familiar and urgent, calling his name.
Ronan.
Through the clash of metal. Through the dark churn of fire—
Ronan.
Louder. Fiercer. Until it was no longer a call, but a scream tearing through his skull—
RONAN.
Then it vanished. The voice, the battlefield. His body stood eerily still, but pain raced up his arm. He looked down, and choked, breath snagging in his chest.
Not a blade. Not burned skin. A dark mark winding from his fingers to his neck. A dragon, reborn from the smoke itself.
His eyes snapped black, wraith itself erupting from his spine, shattering the air behind him. That stain would only ever mean one thing, an inevitable, dangerous reality—
His father was dead. And Ronan had been marked.
Not heir, not king. Prisoner.
A voice grumbled his name again, this one real, securing him as he was yanked back. His eyes snapped open, the battlefield collapsing into the chasm where it belonged as flame rekindled instead.
His chest ached, lungs seizing as though he’d been holding his breath for hours. Heat burned raw behind his eyes, and he pressed his palm hard against his forehead, squeezing them shut in hopes of lessening the sting.
“Ronan—” Aero coughed, waving a hand before his face, dispersing the dust and fumes.
Ronan dragged his hands down, forcing his sight up, past the fire, to the books lining the walls. All was still. No scorch marks, no damage. Just dust.
He didn’t dare turn. Not yet. Not when the memory felt so close he could still taste it. Not when it had been years since he’d slipped that far, since his magic had become unhinged enough to let him.
Boots crunched over grit and glass as Aero edged closer. “You still haven’t fully transformed on Ryuu soil,” he voiced.
Ronan finally turned to face him, and winced. It wasn’t ruin, not truly. A few charred pages. Splinters of glass scattered across stone. The windows were intact, the sea roaring behind them. The portraits all hung straight, though some he swore were glaring at him from beyond death.
But the chair…
The chair was wreckage. Torn to its bones, blackened, and split where fire had eaten through the fabric.
He used to sleep there, safely, when he was small. Listening to the steady scratch of his father’s pen at this same desk. The fire’s crackle, the sea crashing below the cliffs. That sound had been his comfort once. His peace long, long ago.
Now it was nothing but another defiled memory.
“You know what it symbolizes,” Ronan reminded him.
He brushed a hand over what remained of the nostalgia. Ash clung to him, staining his skin, and stayed.