We moved through the throng, the queen carving a path toward the exit, following the route Nereus had taken. My spine itched—no doubt the purple dragon tracked my every step, sizing me up like prey. I gripped Nienna’s hand tighter and kept going.
The Spire’s heart had been carved from black stone, but the walls shone like polished onyx, throwing back the light and lending the illusion of brightness. Thick mats lined the floor, muffling our boots as Nyxaria guided us upward.
We avoided the vast central chamber, instead climbing narrow stairs tucked in shadowed corridors. The tight walls pressed in close, each step moreclaustrophobic than the last. Everything in this place felt constricted, pinched, rigid.
On the next floor, silence fell like a shroud. This was no public space. We rounded a corner and slipped into a room—and I understood.
Nereus positioned himself behind a chair at the head of a small table, knuckles white on dark wood.
Ronan entered last, swinging the door shut.
No one spoke. We just stood there, tension crowding the air. I looked and felt like a burnt idiot—clothes half-incinerated, smoldered to ash, still clinging to Nienna’s hand as if I were a chastised schoolboy.
“Nereus?” Nyxaria asked, voice thin.
His storm-gray eyes met hers. A breath passed. Then he shifted his gaze to me and straightened with a silent snarl. “Let go of her.”
My chest tightened. I held his stare and flexed my fingers. Nienna clung tight, but I eased free, not wanting to provoke him more than I already had.
Blowing a relieved breath out, he shook his head. “It worked.”
Nyxaria’s shoulders deflated. She pulled out a chair and collapsed.
“I can’t believe it,” Ronan muttered, circling around us.
“If it quelled the oath, then it’s settled,” Nienna said, lowering herself beside her mother. “He asked for my hand.”
“It’s far from settled,” Nereus bit out, glare drilling into mine. “Just because the magic that demanded I torch your body and toss you to the eels is satisfied doesnotmean I am. You have much to answer for.”
Jaw clenched, I nodded. “I requested a meeting prior to the duel.” This could have all been avoided had he swallowed his pride and met with me.
“You didn’t want to be locked in a room with me then,” he growled, rubbing at his brow. “Sea beneath—can you put on some clothes?”
“He’s fit for an old man,” Ronan said, drawing a glower from both me and his father. He chuckled, dropping his amused gaze.
“I have none.” I kept my tone dry. “Greaves could retrieve some from my ship—which you’ll be releasing.”
Nereus blinked, then his white brows lifted. “I’ll be doing what?”
“Releasing my crew and my ship.” My words carried no heat—just steel. I didn’t want to rile him without cause, but gods, I’d endured enough of his posturing. I lived through his duel, survived a torrent of dragonfire.
“Your oath is satisfied. My people have committed no crime. Let them walk the docks and share the grain we brought.” I tempered the demand, the blow to his ego, with a reminder of my own power.
The queen leaned back, eyes on her husband while the rest of us waited.
“Well enough,” he muttered.
Ronan groaned while Nyxaria loosed a sigh. At her side, Nienna offered me a quiet smile.
“Let me get him cleaned up,” she said, rising. “I’ll find him clothes.”
“Nienna!” Her mother caught her wrist, throwing a wary glance my way—eyes trailing down my ruined state.
Ronan’s face twisted into a disgusted grimace. “She’s seen more of him than that, I’d wager.”
“Ronan!” Nereus thundered. “Take him. Find something that fits.”
The boy scoffed, striding past. “Come on, old man.”
