A lazy curl of smoke slid off Ronan’s shoulders, not a threat, just a reminder. “Confident.”
Nostrils flaring, Elysian released Ronan’s wrist, retreating two steps. “I’ll bring them to the Flareglass, then.”
The word snagged in my thoughts.Flareglass?
A lake born of dragon fire and ice,Ronan’s voice answered down the tether.
Aloud, he spoke for the others. “It’s surrounded by stone, denser than mountain. Obrann’s men won’t touch it. Make it there and stay until we return.” His shoulders braced, tense as he fixed Elysian with a stare. “Do not proceed to Nyctom’s borders without us. Understood?”
A tendon in Elysian’s neck thumped against his struggling swallow. But he nodded once.
Ronan extended his hand between us, ready to sift me away. I looked past him first, to Elva, offering me a smile that trembled at the edges but held fast. To Ford, whose theatrical kiss nearly masked the tightness in his jaw. To Killian, unflinching, still devoured in steel.
And then to Callum. My brother, my guardian. I lingered on him longest, afraid of what I’d find. But his mouth softened, his chin tipping up in quiet assurance.
They were my life, my fight. And yet I was leaving them in danger’s wake while I was being swept toward a kingdom not my own, by the hand of the dragon prince himself.
It didn’t feel wrong. But it didn’t feel right either.
Months ago, I had sworn I’d rip out his heart and feed it to the Viper. Now…now the bond between us felt like the only thing keeping me balanced.
I drew in a deep breath, swallowing the dull threat of tears behind my eyes. Elva’s smile brightened in encouragement while Nezra wrapped an arm around her shoulders, a silent vow of protection while I was gone.
My eyes found Wells before I could take Ronan’s hand. The faint stain of blood was always there, drying along the curve of his nose no matter how often he wiped it away. His eyes were rimmed red, threaded with exhaustion, yet he still managed that brittle, boyish smile that fooled no one. It wasn’t joy. It was armor.
And still, it gutted me.
Because I knew the truth. His suffering wasn’t all his own. Some of it was bound to me, to the curse, to the choices I had made and the ones still waiting for me. The guilt would never wash clean. No fire, no absolution, no victory.
But I swore it then that before this was over, I would make it right. I would give him back what the world had stolen, even if it demanded blood. Even if it demanded mine.
The bond tugged hard and I tore my eyes away, swallowing the singe in my throat, and slid my hand into Ronan’s still patiently waiting. His grip was firm, protective, securing me even as my world unraveled.
And with that touch, the stone realm fell away, and we sifted into the dragon’s den.
My stomach lurched the moment we landed, sourness crawling up my throat until I collapsed to my knees. My hand clamped over my mouth, useless against the heave that forced bile up and out, burning as it spilled into the stone.
A warm hand slid across my back in slow, gentle strokes. Fingers found the end of my braid, twirling it once before settling at the back of my neck.
“Breathe,” Ronan murmured. “That’s it. In and out.”
I tried to follow his command, dragging air into my lungs, forcing it back out. Nope. Useless.
“It happens to everyone the first time,” he said, calm as if I weren’t painting Sahfyre’s sacred land with vomit.
“How do you know—” I gagged, the word breaking, “this was my first time?”
His touch never faltered, never pulled away. His scarred fingers only pressed soothing paths along my spine, tucking stray strands of hair away where they clung to my face.
“Because you’re…currently bent over, emptying your stomach.”
And gods, there it was. The curve of his mouth, faint, betraying him. A damn smirk. He was enjoying this.
“What’s so funny?” I rasped, coughing as I slumped further, my ass hitting the ground with a graceless thud. My arms locked tight around myself as my forehead dropped to my knees.
“Nothing funny,” he said smoothly. “I just never thought I’d be bringing the famed Viper to my kingdom.”
The gentleness of his hand never left me, tracing steady strokes from wrist to shoulder. Slowly, the nausea ebbed. Likely because there was nothing left in me to expel, but I let myself pretend it was because of him.
