“Trauma does that.” Aisling’s voice is matter-of-fact. “Changes things. Twists them. Doesn’t mean you’re less than what you were—just different.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I am.” She doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t offer details I haven’t asked for. The restraint is refreshing after Lakhu’s constant probing, his endless questions designed to map my weaknesses.
“Selene told me about your first days here,” I say cautiously. “That you didn’t trust them either.”
“Trust is too strong a word for what I felt.” Aisling’s mouth quirks. “I hated them, actually. All of them. Rurik especially.”
“The dragon you’re mated to now.”
“The very same.” She shakes her head, something like amusement flickering in her expression. “I spent weeks wanting to stab him in his sleep. He was loud, and invasive, and had absolutely no concept of personal boundaries. Still doesn’t, really. But somewhere along the way...” She trails off, shrugging.
“You stopped wanting to stab him?”
“No, I still want to stab him regularly. I just don’t want him to stay dead anymore.” Aisling says it so casually, so dryly, that it takes me a moment to process.
And then I laugh.
It erupts out of me without warning—a real laugh, full and startled and completely involuntary. The sound is foreign in my own ears. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this. Before my death, certainly. Before everything went wrong.
Aisling watches me with something like satisfaction. “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“Proof that you’re still in there.” She leans back in her chair. “Selene told me you’ve been running on survival instinct since you got here. Fight or flight. All defenses, no space for anythingelse. But you just laughed. That means there’s something left besides the fear.”
I don’t know what to say. The echo of the laugh still rings in my chest, strange and unfamiliar and somehow... healing.
“I did warn you,” Aisling continues. “Yesterday, on the balcony. I said we’re all disasters here. I meant it. Rurik set his own face on fire trying to impress me. Drayke spent weeks treating Selene like she was made of glass until she threatened to burn his cloak again. Auren once told a visiting dignitary that his treaty proposal was ‘functionally illiterate’ and had to be physically removed from the negotiation before he caused a diplomatic incident.”
“Wow.”
“Ask him about it sometime. Watch his jaw clench.” Aisling’s expression softens slightly. “My point is—we’re not perfect. We’re not even particularly good at being normal. But we’re honest about what we are. And that’s worth something, isn’t it?”
I think about Lakhu. His perfect performance of kindness. His careful manipulation of every interaction. How he’d seemed so trustworthy until he wasn’t.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “It’s worth something.”
TWELVE
NASYRA
Dinner is exactly the chaos Selene warned me about.
The great hall is massive—vaulted ceilings disappearing into shadow, long tables scarred by centuries of use, a hearth large enough to roast a small horse. The fire burns high and bright, casting flickering light across stone walls hung with banners and trophies I can’t identify.
I expected tension. Expected the careful silence of people waiting to see if the newcomer is threat or ally. Instead, I get Rurik.
“There she is!” He bounds toward me the moment I enter, all wild red hair and too-bright eyes. “The woman who tried to kill my brother! Multiple times! I love her already.”
“Rurik.” Drayke’s voice carries a warning.
“What? It’s a compliment. Zyphon’s been too comfortable for too long. Someone needs to keep him on his toes.” Rurik throws an arm around my shoulders before I can react, steering me toward the table. “Come on, you’re sitting with us. I need to hear all the details. Did he bleed? He never tells us when he bleeds.”
“She’s not here for your entertainment,” Aisling says dryly, appearing at my other side. “Let her breathe.”
“I’m being welcoming! This is welcoming!”
