The others were already arranging themselves around the table. Varyth was at the head because of course he was, Darian and Eilrys together on one side looking unfairly comfortable with each other, Brynelle moving to claim a seat near the middle. She spotted me and offered a small smile that looked like it cost her. The binding burns, probably. Still healing.
I started toward an empty chair near Shaelith when movement caught my eye.
Lincatheron stood near the window, dark wings folded tight against his back, having a low conversation with Fenric. The third-in-command’s ink black hair caught the light, but his posture was off. Too still. As though he was holding himself together by force of will alone, every muscle locked in place.
Whatever Lincatheron was saying, Fenric didn’t like it.
Or maybe he liked it too much. Hard to tell with him.
I claimed the chair across from Brynelle, positioning myself so I could see all the entrances. Shaelith settled beside her wife with enviable grace, an arm draped over the back of Brynelle’s chair.
I stared at the spread. Roasted something. Vegetables that looked like they’d been painted. Bread that probably had a fucking pedigree.
“You need to eat.” Varyth’s voice cut across the table, silver eyes pinning me in place.
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“It’s basic survival.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
His jaw tightened fractionally. Good. I hoped I was annoying the shit out of him.
Lincatheron and Fenric finished their conversation and moved toward the table. Lincatheron settled across from me with the kind of controlled movement that spoke of military training and too many battlefields. Up close, he was even more imposing—broad shoulders, brutal hands, those dark wings a constant reminder that he could probably snap me in half without breaking a sweat.
Fenric took the seat beside him, already scanning the room.
The conversation started light. Safer that way. Small talk about the food, the weather, whether the west wing needed repairs. Meaningless chatter that filled space without demanding anything.
I picked at my plate. Forced down a few bites of something that probably tasted excellent but turned to ash in my mouth anyway.
“So,” Darian said, leaning back with that easy smile that made him look younger than he was. “How long do you think before Mireth and Eryx convince the dragons to let them ride?”
“They already tried,” Brynelle said, and I caught the edge of laughter in her voice. “This afternoon. Mireth and Fionn climbed halfway up Velithor’s tail before Lira caught them.”
“They what?”
“The dragon seemed delighted,” Eilrys added, green eyes bright with amusement. “Didn’t move an inch.”
“Oh gods.” I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Please tell me Eryx wasn’t involved.”
“Eryx was the lookout,” Brynelle said. “They posted him by the gate to warn them if any adults were coming.”
“Of course they did.”
“Give them another year and they’ll have the entire dragon flight organised into a strategic aerial unit.”
Despite myself, I almost laughed. Almost. “Don’t give them ideas.”
“Too late,” Darian said. “Mireth was already asking Velithor about flying.”
“Fucking hells.” I reached for my wine. Drained half the glass. “What’s next? Are there any other mystical creatures I should be worried about them befriending? Please tell me we’re out of options.”
“Well,” Brynelle said thoughtfully. “There are the phoenixes in the southern mountains?—”
“The shapeshifters in the western forests,” Eilrys offered.
“Wyverns, but they’re assholes,” Darian added. “Wouldn’t recommend.”
