“Oi, Venari,” came a voice with skipping steps up the stairs. “What’s the plan, why—”
An unfamiliar man no older than they paused in the doorway at Draven’s side. He stood nearly as tall as Draven, only a few inches shorter. His shoulder blade length blonde and caramel tightly wound corkscrew curls some of which had been dreaded, he had half pulled back away from his face. They not only made him look more of a darker, muted, ecru olive tan than he was, but much more handsome than Aydra wanted to admit. Blonde spiced hair danced along his jaw, short against his skin and wrapped around his lip, the color of it standing stark against his skin. His almond eyes darted between the three standing in the room.
She suddenly felt as though she were dazing into the ocean as his gaze found her, for his eyes were the clearest cerulean color of the ocean she’d awoken to out her window every morning of her life.
“Who’s the stiff?” asked the unfamiliar man.
Aydra balked as his words brought her back to reality. She blinked and nearly slammed the cup in her hands down on the table. “The stiff? Who do you—”
“Whoa—” Draven stepped in front of her and grabbed her arms. “Do not forget you are not in your kingdom any longer,” he said in a low tone. He let her arms go, and he turned around to the stranger. “Nadir, this is Aydra Ravenspeak.”
Nadir’s arms crossed over his toned chest, the vein in his taut forearms splintering around his elbow. The lean build of his swimmer-like body reminded her once more of the ocean, and she started to have an inkling of what he was.
“Ravenspeak?” he repeated.
“The surname my giver gave upon my marking,” Aydra informed him as she pushed her hair off her neck to reveal the raven silhouetted triad marking on the side of her throat.
Nadir’s gaze traveled over her once more, and she suddenly felt as though she were being scrutinized, as if he were determining her worth for battle, whether she was truly who Draven said she was or worthy of the title.
“Where is your crown, Sun Queen?” he finally asked.
Her jaw clenched, and she bit the inside of her cheek. “I dare not wear it when in a realm I do not command,” she replied coldly. “And who are you?”
The right corner of Nadir’s lip twisted just slightly, and he raised a brow in Draven’s direction. “I didn’t know you kept the company of the Promised, Hunter.”
“It’s new,” Draven replied as he straightened some of the papers on his desk, eyes darting towards Aydra.
Nadir turned back to Aydra, and she watched as the gills on his neck suddenly flickered visibly, just for a second, as though he were flexing them to prove he was what he claimed. “Nadir Storn, leading commander of the Honest army.”
Aydra’s arms crossed over her own chest. “The Honest have an army?”
“Who do you think has been protecting our shores for the last few hundred years?” Nadir smarted. His weight shifted, and he looked to Draven again. “What’s she doing here?” he asked him.
“Good question.” Draven straightened up and leaned his weight against the table, his butt just sitting on the surface as he pressed his palms into the wood on either side of him. “What are you doing here?”
Aydra’s eyes narrowed at the way he looked at her then. “Did you think I would ignore you?” she spat.
Draven’s eyes squinted at her. “You wrote me back a letter with only one word. One.Single.Word. One word that told me you’d fallen for your brother’s and the Chronicles’ lies once more.”
“I didn’t write any letter.”
Draven reached back and snatched a piece of parchment off the top pile of his desk. It landed in her hands, and he stood haughtily over her as she read.
Lies.
Her heart skipped at the writing on the page. “I didn’t write this,” she protested, meeting his eyes. “Draven, I swear—”
“Did the Orel go straight to you or did your lady deliver it?” Draven asked.
Aydra’s stomach plummeted, and she avoided his gaze, staring into nothing as she remembered the morning on which she’d received it. “My lady, Willow. She gave it to me.”
“Just perfect,” Nadir mumbled.
Draven’s nostrils flared. “You’re under more of a watch than I previously thought.”
“My brother has had Belwarks escorting me, but he has no spies—”
Brows raised on Draven’s face. “Really?” He strode determinedly through the wide opening and onto the deck, where he leaned over the edge. “Then how do you explain the company of riders coming in from our west.”
