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“Not at all,” I say.

The snub would’ve hurt me a couple of weeks ago, but now I’m glad to escape any occasion that requires me to bow and smile before royalty.

I drink the rest of her strong cider and let the fire warm my aching feet as the crew chants a sea shanty. I’ve heard Zephyr sing this one before, but they don’t join in.

They prop their chin on their fist, watching me.

I pat the empty spot on the log, and they hang their head, scraping up dirt with their heel.

“I’ll keep an eye on you from here, princess.”

They’re the one with experience in being the life of the party, but I’ve finally got a chance to play, and they’re sitting out the festivities.

I stick my tongue out. “No fun.”

Unwelcome grief for the father who always seemed annoyed by my existence sits heavy on my shoulders. I have to shake it off.

I take a full mug from the diver dancing past me and let another pull me into a reel. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but the encouragement and warm alcohol flowing through my veins make it easy to find a rhythm.

We laugh around the bonfire, celebrating the crew’s full pockets. They’re heavy with coins, and no one had to slay a dragon.

A low screech brings the dance circle to a halt; we all go still as the Queen’s dragon lands on the shore. A fountain spouts from the ocean, and a cerulean dragon drags herself onto the beach, sending freezing water rushing toward us.

“She’s not going to hurt you,” the Dragon Queen says. “She needs to dry her wings before I can move her for healing.”

The creature digs her foreclaws into the sand, fighting to stay upright, but she collapses beneath her heavy wings.

The orange dragon streaks down beside her, and the silver dragon lands elegantly, curling their tail around their hindclaws.

Removing her helmet, the other rider slides down from the fiery dragon and flips her golden-blonde hair over her shoulder as she speaks in Sartealean.

The Dragon Queen chews on the corner of her mouth to hide a smile, but I see it. I’ve heard the wraith only has one soft spot, and it’s for her wife.

I think that could be true. She wraps her up tighter in her cloak before putting her own on.

The Queens make their way to the bonfire, and the mood shifts. Everyone goes quiet. I spin around to where Zephyr is sitting, swiping their mug from their hands to lift my somber spirits.

Water hits my lips, cold and flavorless.

I take another sip, and my eyebrows draw together. They’re not drinking.

I cast a sidelong glance at them, going back to the night when they showed up on the beach for me, too sick to manipulate their aether. Is that what they were doing when they disappeared—trying to work something out of their system?

“Your Majesty, the high priestess of the Lunar Tide Coven would like to invite you to stay with her family at the castle for the evening,” Darcy says.

I swing my head back, disoriented by her return. Her eyes flit between Zephyr and me, then she blinks, refocusing her attention on the two Queens.

“My wife and I would rather start flying to a safe clearing once the ice dragon’s wings are dry enough for her to manage a few miles.” The wraith takes her wife’s hand, and shadows encircle them.

Her wife, Queen Rosemary, switches to the common language. “We’re lucky we weren’t too far away when we received your message. Strange things have been happening in these parts, but I guess that’s because of the conflict in the ocean.”

“What’s the conflict?” I ask, too impatient to wait for the information to reach Crossbill Haven. I lower my chin. “Your Majesty.”

The Dragon Queen hisses air between her teeth. “Apparently King Morrow’s mother had been working with the Gentrillian Queen to throw a coup during his youngest daughter’s wedding, but as you might know already, Princess Cordelia has gone missing. The other five princesses blamed their father and took matters into their own hands, turning against him.”

James curses. “We’ll have to re-negotiate sailing through at least five different territories if they’ve divided the waters between them.”

“Have you heard anything about Princess Cordelia’s whereabouts? Or her fae guardian’s?” Darcy asks, determination sharpening her features.