Zander moved in front of me with his arm extended, halting. “Nobody’s. It’s a juvenile. Stay back. They usually stay on the isle, but young dragons are known to buck authority.”
The little dragon, if you could call something the size of a warhorselittle, let out a sharp, irritable screech and released a burst of flame. It flared bright-orange but fizzled before it could do any real damage.
Like a tantrum.
“Are we talking dragon teen rebellion right now?” I asked, incredulous, still backing toward the edge of the ring.
“Pretty much,” Remy muttered from beside me, hands raised slowly, not quite threatening, not quite dismissive. “Hein’s probably already dispatched the youngling’s parents. But don’t agitate him.”
Naia stumbled as she stepped back, her boot catching on a dip in the earth.
The juvenile’s head snapped toward her.
Shit.
It lunged, maw open wide, claws scraping the stone as it rushed toward her, fast and wild, more instinct than intent.
Naia barely got her arms up.
But Tae stepped forward before anyone else could react, throwing his arm out, palm up.
“Stop!”
His power surged, acute and invisible, and the young dragonfroze. Its eyes went wide as if it hit an invisible wall of will. It shrieked, backpedaling in alarm, tail lashing wildly.
The dragon collided with the central podium, smashing it in two, then trampled it with a screech that echoed through the valley. Its tail swung in a wide, furious arc and slammed into a young tree lining the practice field, snapping it clean in half.
Then, just as suddenly as it came, a roar echoed from above. Deep. Commanding.
Tae dropped to one knee, his breath ragged, sweat beading across his brow.
The juvenile screeched again, but this time in surrender, and took to the air in a wild, haphazard flight.
Everyone stood frozen.
I looked to Tae, who still knelt with his hand braced against the ground, his chest rising and falling like he’d just gone twelve rounds with a full-grown striker.
“I really hate dragon puberty,” he muttered.
ChapterFive
Zander found me just after sunset, the shadows long and golden across the stone path behind the barracks. His armor had been stripped down to its basics, and he looked more like a weary man than a prince. But his eyes, those lavender crystals, still burned with purpose.
“Will you come with me,” he said, quiet but firm. “To see the king.”
I stiffened. “Is he… is he all right?”
Zander hesitated, and that was answer enough.
“His stasis is in flux,” he admitted. “Kaelith’s magic is unstable… and so is the magic sustaining my father.”
I nodded once, trying not to let my worry show, and followed him without another word.
The castle loomed ahead, its spires bathed in fading light, banners fluttering like breathless prayers in the wind. We climbed the spiral stairs of the western tower, past guards who nodded at Zander with shallow bows, past thick wooden doors warded in silver runes, past the familiar ache in my chest every time I stepped into this place.
The king’s chambers were on the uppermost floor—grand, cold, and far too still. I could feel the magic coiled in the walls, humming softly like an echo of Kaelith’s power, like it was waiting for something.
But as we entered the bedchamber, I stopped short.
