The idea of facing my people was worse than weathering the stares of the nobles. I had finally managed to bore them. Jehoikim stopped pursuing my hand, and the lesser lords no longer circled like sharks scenting blood.
I was the returned princess. Nothing more.
But to face the hollow-eyed mothers, the gaunt children—the consequences of my selfish actions—I couldn’t do it.
“Shall I fetch the queen, or are you going to get dressed?” Freya challenged.
Kallias would see his people. He wouldn’t hide from pain. He’d bear their grief and press forward.
I frowned when my heart gave no reply. No ache of longing. No rush of memories threatening to drown me in misery. Just cold. Solid. A stone had settled in its place.
There was my answer. I could handle my people’s sharp accusations and condemnation. It would shatter like glass against my hardened heart.
With a dramatic sigh, I pushed past her. She hummed her approval and helped me dress for the high winds of Draconia.
By the time we reached the highest commoners’ level, my thighs burned from the descent. Freya may have been right about my inactivity.
The ground floor teemed with voices and movement, the noise near deafening. This was where the common folk petitioned the nobles. Once a week, my father descended to hear their pleas, though matters often filtered to him all week long.
We slipped into the crowd at the base of the stairs. For a breath, I let myself hope this might feel like before, no different from previous years.
A shoulder clipped mine—bony, hurried. I turned with the motion. The man wore a tattered tunic and offered a hasty glance.
“Your Highness!”
He froze. Gaze wide. Recognition dawning.
“The princess!”
“She’s well!”
“Dragon’s Heart!”
The swell of voices rose around me, and I swallowed against my tight throat as I forced a smile. Bows dipped; eyes stared.
I had to get out.
Panic seized my chest.
These people were here seeking aid and answers. Aid I should have been able to give them—but I returned empty-handed, more burden than blessing.
A hand clamped over my clammy palm and yanked me through the swell of bodies. Freya pushed through the crush, moving like she meant to clear a path.
The stench hit first. Sour sweat and spoiled fish. My stomach rolled. Elbows clipped my ribs. Fingers grazed my skirt. Voices rose, calling my name—pleas for me to hear their needs. Freya didn’t slow.
We burst through the stone arch of the Spire, stumbling into open air. Shadows pooled behind us where the crowd still pressed close, their faces upturned. Freya guided me toward the carriage, where two white horses stood calm and poised, a vision of grace compared to the prancing war beasts of Radaan.
A guard in pale-blue livery opened the door. Sunlight blazed down. I gripped his gloved hand, grateful for the barrier between skin. Once inside, I wiped my damp palms on my dress as Freya climbed in after me, securing the latch.
Outside, the black stairs coiled toward the Spire behind us. On the opposite side, a vast open clearing yawned—one of the few spaces left untouched. Father would address Draconia there with Argos, his voice carrying across the space. Everywhere else, apartments and shops crowded the land.
“Williard first, then fried fish,” Freya said. “Unless you’ve got another stop?”
I shook my head, gaze drawn to the window as a flicker of shadow crossed the sun. A chirp broke through the light. I squinted into the glare—Tsunami’s tail, green and blue with flecks of gold, swept overhead.
“She’s going to pester me all day,” I muttered. She couldn’t resist anything with wheels. Or wings. Or noise.
Sure enough, she followed as the carriage rolled through the heart of Draconia. We veered southeast, toward K’bar—city of trades and craft. K’lan held the harbor. Goods moved from merchant to laborer along the main route, and somewhere above it all, Williard’s shop perched.
