We make it to the Sea of Whispers, where the salt-tinged breeze carries the crash of waves against weathered rocks. The sand shifts beneath Titan’s hooves as we walk along the shoreline. He wades into the water up to his belly, just enough to cool his massive frame while keeping me and the saddle dry. The ocean spray mists around us, and I taste salt on my lips.
“Titan, do you think we can practice that exaggerated prance you showed me the other day?” I run my fingers through his thick mane, feeling the coarse strands slip between my fingers. He tosses his magnificent head, his dark eyes gleaming with intelligence, and I take it as a yes. “Thank you.”
When he’s finished wading, water dripping from his legs and creating dark patches in the sand, we walk back to the stable. The familiar scents of hay and leather greet us as we approach the practice ring. I left the sidesaddle on the fence rail for our return, the polished leather warming in the afternoon sun.
Carefully, I switch saddles and blankets, my hands working with practiced efficiency. The leather creaks softly as I adjust the straps. I climb the mounting block and settle onto Titan’s broad back, feeling his warmth seep through the saddle. The familiar weight distribution centers me. “Okay, I’m ready.” I keep one hand resting lightly on the saddle horn and one loosely holding the reins, more for appearance than control.
Titan picks up each front hoof higher than normal, his movements deliberate and theatrical. His head angles down so his powerful neck looks even more massive, muscles rippling beneath his midnight coat. Each measured clop of his hooves against the packed earth rocks me gently from side to side as we circle the ring. The rhythm is hypnotic, soothing. Oddly enough, spending time with Titan has become my sanctuary in the chaos I call my life.
“You’re a natural, Princess Raven.”
I turn my head and see Hemlocke leaning against the wooden fence, his arms crossed as he watches us with keen eyes.
“Titan is highly intelligent, like all warhorses. Their riders forget that fact and treat them like standard horses.” I stroke Titan’s neck, feeling his pulse beneath my palm. “He deserves as much respect as I do. He’s the leader of his herd, the king of his people.”
Titan tosses his head and makes several deep, rumbling sounds that vibrate through his chest—a language I’m still learning to understand.
“This is why he’s chosen to let you ride him,” Hemlocke observes, his smooth face creasing with approval. “I can see you have no pressure on the reins. Instead, you’re holding onto the saddle. When you want to turn, instead of pulling, you touch his neck with the reins on the side you want to go. Most importantly, you ask instead of demand.”
“I feel safe with Titan.” Titan switches to a regular walk, and I stroke his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady rhythm of his breathing. My black wings flutter slightly with contentment.
“He feels safe with you too,” Hemlocke says with a warm smile.
“How’s my princess doing?” Leander’s voice calls from across the yard, and I turn to see him approaching, his familiar gait bringing instant comfort.
“Great!” I lightly tap Titan’s neck with my hand, and he turns toward Leander without hesitation, his hooves crunching against the gravel. “How are you doing, Daddy Lee?” I smile down at him as Titan stops at the fence, his ears pricked forward attentively.
Titan makes a series of sounds to Leander—deep whickers and soft snorts that seem almost conversational. Leander laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Paternity-wise, no, I am not her blood. I am one of the mates of her mother.”
Titan continues his equine commentary, and I watch Hemlocke’s face turn three distinct shades of red before he disappears into the barnwith hurried steps. “Well, that’s interesting,” Leander muses, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “If I know my Raven, species won’t matter to her.”
“Okay, what are you two naughty boys talking about?” I ask as I slide off Titan’s back, my boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. My wings adjust automatically for balance.
“Titan asked if a non-dragon mate made himself known, would you reject him?” Leander’s eyes—twinkle with mischief as I pull the saddle from Titan’s back.
“Oh...” I pause, the heavy saddle balanced against my hip as I process the question. The leather is warm and slightly damp from our ride. “Honestly, I haven’t given the idea of a mate much thought.” I reach up and gently remove the bridle from Titan’s massive head, slipping the bit from his mouth with careful fingers. “Go grab a drink before we head in,” I tell him, patting his shoulder. He turns toward the water trough, his hooves creating small clouds of dust with each step.
“You’re avoiding the question,” Leander says with knowing amusement as he helps me carry the tack into the stable. The cool interior smells of fresh straw and well-oiled leather.
“Thinking of an answer, not avoiding.” I hang the bridle on its designated hook, the metal bit clinking softly against the wood. I turn to face Leander, studying his patient expression. “A good male is a good male,” I finally say, reaching up to brush hay from his shoulder. “I don’t care what species he is. Well, maybe not a naga—they creep me out.”
Leander and I burst into laughter together, the sound echoing in the stable rafters. Titan walks back in, water still dripping from his muzzle, and makes an inquisitive sound at Leander.
“She’s opposed to a naga—they creep her out,” Lee explains with a grin, already reaching for a brush. We work together in comfortable silence, our hands moving in familiar patterns as we brush Titan’scoat until it gleams like polished stone. The repetitive motion is meditative, and I find myself wondering if somewhere out there, my mate is thinking of me too.
Walking back to the dorms,the scales on the back of my neck prickle and rise like hackles on a wolf. Something or someone is watching me. The sensation crawls down my spine like ice water, making my black wings twitch involuntarily. I slide my hands into my jacket pockets, fingers finding the familiar weight of the throwing knives I’ve modified the garment to conceal. The leather hilts are warm against my palms, comforting in their deadly promise.
My dragoness rises just beneath my skin, awakening senses that are sharper than human perception. I can feel the subtle changes in air pressure when creatures and beings move—the displacement of space that betrays presence even when sight fails. The autumn wind carries scents of dying leaves and distant wood smoke, but underneath, there’s something else. Something predatory.
The northern dorms rise ahead, their stone walls dark against the twilight sky. The feeling of being watched hasn’t left—if anything, it’s intensified. Either someone is stalking me, or they’re a potential mate of mine. Stupid biology that lets the males know before we do. So unfair that they get the advantage of recognition while we’re left guessing and vulnerable.
I walk slowly, my boots crunching through fallen leaves, giving whoever it is ample time to make themselves known. It could be the guard drakes—those idiots attack as a pack, their pack mentality making them dangerous and unpredictable. It’s not one of my siblings. I would sense their familiar energy, the way their dragon calls to mine.
A sharp whoosh cuts through the evening air, and I dive sideways without thinking. The arrow whistles past my ear, so close I feel the fletching brush against my cheek. It embeds in the oak tree behind me with a solid thunk that reverberates through the trunk. My heart hammers against my ribs as I shift my eyes to my dragon’s vision and scan the area. Someone’s playing a deadly game, and I’m the target.
I back up to the tree, feeling the rough bark through my jacket as I examine the arrow. The metallic scent of the arrow shaft makes my nostrils burn. Dragon’s bane—deadly to my kind, designed specifically to kill us. The realization hits like a physical blow. A non-dragon had to fire it. Only they could handle the toxic wood without consequence.
My hands shake slightly as I pull out my phone and take a picture of the arrow, the camera flash illuminating the wicked point. I send it to both my parents with trembling fingers.
