The pendant was warm against my skin.
I felt it rising. The heat, the pulse, the old fire curling through my chest like a hissed threat. I clenched my fists beneath the table. I didn't even realize I was baring my teeth.
Not pulsing. Not glowing. Just… steady. Like it knew I was about to do something stupid.
I shifted on the bench, robe pressing tight across my ribs, sleeves brushing against skin that still felt unfamiliar. Too soft. Too exposed. The knot at my waist sat too snug, like armor that didn't quite fit.
It wasn't the worst thing I'd worn.
But it felt worse.
My hands rested flat on my thighs. I kept them still. Nari hated fidgeting.
"You're early," she said beside me.
I didn't answer.
She let the silence sit before adding, "This luncheon is private. Only the heirs attend."
My fingers twitched once before I caught myself.
"And I'm here because...?"
"Because you are a heir of Sythriss," she said simply. "And you've been noticed."
I looked down.
"Great."
Nari didn't soften. She rarely did.
"You don't need to speak much," she said. "This is a chance to listen. Watch. Understand who they are—and what they want."
I glanced toward the tall double doors. Still closed.
"I'm not good at this."
"Then don't try to be," Nari replied. "Be quiet. Be respectful. And if you're clever, make a friend."
I exhaled through my nose.
She glanced at me sideways.
"You'll be fine."
I didn't feel very reassured.
I stood, the robe shifting awkwardly around my legs. The pendant settled back into place under the silk, a silent weight.
"Don't forget to smile," she added.
I gave her a flat look.
"Then don't," she said with a shrug.
I reached for the doors before I could think twice.
Just move. If I stop and think I won't do it.
And stepped inside.
Silence.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Four pairs of eyes turned to me.
I felt every step across that stone floor. The robe swished too loudly. The sandals clicked too cleanly. The pendant beneath the silk nestled underneath.
We got this.
I didn't slow down.
Kaelen sat to the left—rigid, composed. I remembered the way he'd studied me at the summit. I hadn't understood it then.
I've fought people like him before. Always hiding something, caution is the best approach.
Next to him, Teryn, already watching me with that unreadable half-smile. Warm on the surface. Cold underneath.
Him again...
And at the head of the table—Vaelith.
She didn't say anything. Just watched.
Not the kind of watching that judged what I was doing. The kind that tried to figure out what I could do.
She was the one who invited me here and wanted something. No question.
But underneath the calculation, behind the stare—I could feel it. That strange tension she always carried around me.
Hope, Hate. Or hunger. She didn't want me, not like this.
She wanted whatever version of me she thought still existed under the surface. Something dangerous, Something hungrier.
I didn't break eye contact. Just long enough to make it clear: I knew.
A part of me wants to challenge her and im not sure which side of me it is.
Then I turned to the final one.
She sat too comfortably. Balanced, poised. Like everything she did was second nature and perfectly placed.
I didn't recognize her.
But something about the way she looked at me—amused, unreadable—put me on edge.
That grin.
It took a second.
Then I heard the voice in my head, smooth and cutting. "Careful, Vaelith. People might start thinking you have a heart."
The party. She'd called my sister out, right in front of everyone. Smiling like it was a joke. Like she could get away with it—and she had.
Seraithe.
I didn't remember what she wore that night. Didn't remember who she was standing with. But I remembered the look on Vaelith's face.
And I remembered that grin.
The pendant warmed slightly.
I reached the cushion beside Vaelith and sat. The robe clung to my legs again. I shifted, then stopped. No use trying to make it feel right.
Vaelith didn't look at me.
"Welcome," she said.
Flat. Dismissive.
She raised her hand, and the servants moved with mechanical precision—placing trays, pouring drinks, moving like this had all been rehearsed.
It probably had.
The food smelled sharp. Sweet glaze and spice and things that should've made my mouth water.
They didn't.
"For those who haven't met her properly," Vaelith said, "as you all are aware, this is Elyssia. Daughter of Sythriss and my younger sister."
There it was again. The title.
I stayed still.
Kaelen nodded. "It's good you could join us."
Teryn gave that same polite half-smile. "A welcome addition."
Seraithe just tilted her head. "Long overdue."
I didn't answer. Just dipped my head slightly.
No one moved to eat.
Instead, Teryn spoke first, his voice smooth, easy. "Anyone else hear about the meeting down at the western coast?"
He sounded casual.
Too casual.
Kaelen didn't even glance up. "Posturing. As always."
"They've been quiet for centuries," Teryn said. "Now they're whispering again. That's something."
"Let them whisper," Kaelen muttered. "They'll come to their senses when the real fighting starts."
Vaelith cut in, her tone sharper than both. "Or they won't. And we'll have to break them."
Teryn raised an eyebrow, amused. "That would certainly make things simpler."
She didn't smile.
"If they won't bend, they'll snap," Vaelith said. "And the rest will learn from it."
That left a silence. Kaelen broke it with a slow breath.
"Force has its place. But fear doesn't build loyalty."
"It builds obedience," Vaelith replied.
Seraithe's glass clinked against the table as she set it down. "Obedience is so much easier than loyalty."
Teryn chuckled under his breath. "Easier to manipulate, too."
I blinked.
What?
What were we even talking about?
Something about coastlines and factions, obedience and loyalty—dragons talking like they were carving borders into the air with nothing but their words.
My eyes flicked between them, trying to follow. I caught pieces. Not the whole.
I must've looked as lost as I felt, because Vaelith sighed. Loud enough to make it known.
"She's confused."
I didn't argue.
"I thought she was being educated," Seraithe said, smiling into her cup.
"She is," Vaelith replied, sharper now. "Just not by you."
Then, flatly—to me.
"There are three factions."
I stayed quiet. Let her continue.
"The first believes in unity," she said. "One crown. One heir. The prince."
She said it like it was obvious. Unquestionable.
"Our side."
She didn't glance at me, but her tone made it clear: that included me. Whether I wanted it or not.
"The second wants independence," she went on. "They want to split the monarchy. Become self-ruling. Break tradition."
Kaelen spoke next, voice low. "They claim it's for freedom. It's really for power."
"And the third..." Teryn said, still smiling.
Vaelith's mouth thinned. "They want the throne too. Just not for the prince."
I blinked. "Wait—what?"
"You're not serious."
A civil war between Dragons! Humanity can barely survive one or two, let alone a war between them.
"They want their own heir seated," she said. "Someone they can control. Shape."
"Someone who owes them everything," Seraithe added lightly.
"A puppet," Vaelith snapped. "And they've been trying to make it happen quietly for the last thousand years."
"But that's changing," Teryn said. "Quiet isn't working anymore."
Kaelen nodded once. "Lines are being drawn."
I sat back slightly.
So this wasn't new. Just louder. The polite lies were starting to crack.
"You're saying this is a cold war turning warm," I muttered.
Vaelith looked at me then.
Not with surprise.
With approval.
"Exactly."
Seraithe leaned in, fingers tracing the rim of her cup.
"But the real concern," she said, "is the ones who haven't chosen. The so-called neutral factions."
Teryn gave a small nod. "They'll be forced to eventually. And if they're not with us…"
"At the very least," Seraithe continued, "we need them quiet. Cooperative. Or hesitant enough to stay out of the way."
I blinked. "Okay. But why are you telling me this?"
I glanced toward Vaelith, then back at the others. "Wouldn't… wouldn't Mother be the one to handle that?"
Silence.
Tension rippled through the air, quiet and sharp.
Okay, this is awkward.
I felt it before I saw it—Vaelith stiffening beside me.
Then Seraithe's eyes lit up.
"Oh," she said softly. "You don't know."
Vaelith turned toward her. "Don't."
Seraithe ignored her.
"You really haven't been told," she said, voice thick with amusement. "That's rich."
"Seraithe," Vaelith snapped, warning rising.
Too late.
Seraithe smiled—wide and wicked.
"It's simple, really," she said, lifting her glass but not drinking. "There's a faction that's been on the fence for far too long. Powerful, old, and proud. And until now, they haven't made a move."
She let the silence stretch, savoring it like wine.
"But now both sides are racing to win their favor."
My brow knit. "So?"
"So," she purred, "a gift has been offered. Something unique. A gesture to show sincerity, alliance… and a willingness to share blood."
My breath caught.
That word—blood—sank into the room like frost creeping across glass. Cold. Spreading. Sharp.
The pendant burned against my chest.
Seraithe didn't look at me when she said it. She didn't have to. Everyone else already was.
I didn't move. Couldn't.
"What are you saying?" I asked. My voice was flat. Too calm. I heard it and didn't recognize it.
Vaelith's voice cut in before Seraithe could answer.
"Don't."
Seraithe leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving mine. "The Ancients don't care for politics. But they care about legacy. Territory. Power. And a certain old monster has started paying attention."
"Don't do this," Vaelith said again, louder now. Her chair scraped harshly against stone as she stood.
Seraithe kept going.
"He hasn't chosen a side. Yet. Which means both sides are desperate to win him over. And so, one of them—our dear mother, in fact—decided to offer something special."
Vaelith was shaking. Not trembling—shaking. Shoulders taut. Jaw clenched. Her breath had gone slow and dangerous.
Seraithe's next words were silk-wrapped daggers.
"You."