Page 21 of Wicked Depths

"The king is not the first to wage war against my realm, and he won’t be the last," I say, my voice quieter now, but edged with something raw. "Long before this human king claimed his throne, his ancestors built theirs on the bones of creatures far older than their fragile kingdoms."

Vaela’s expression shifts, the amusement fading, replaced by something else. "Explain."

I exhale sharply. "When the first men crossed into these lands, they were weak. Vulnerable. They were nothing but flesh and bone, unarmed against the magic of the wilds. They knewthey couldn’t conquer it—not as they were. So they did what humans always do. They stole. They harvested the power of the beings who came before them, using blood and fire to fuel their rise." My fingers curl against the chaise, the sharp tips of my claws digging into the upholstery. "Dragons were among the first to be hunted. My ancestors were slaughtered for their bones, their scales, their fire. Our power turned into weapons against us."

Vaela doesn’t speak, but her fingers toy with the pearls on her bodice, something thoughtful in the motion.

I continue, the words bitter on my tongue. "Even now, with their castles and their armies, they are still afraid of what they cannot control. The king wages this war not just to expand his empire but to rid the world of what he sees as a threat. He sees magic as something unnatural, something that must be either bent to his will or destroyed."

A beat of silence stretches between us.

Then Vaela laughs, soft but laced with something sharp. "And yet, he sought me out. He wanted magic for himself."

"Because he is human. And humans are hypocrites."

She nods, a slow and deliberate gesture. "And what about you, Dragon Queen?" she muses. "You see them as nothing more than vermin, don’t you?"

"They have given me no reason to see them otherwise."

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head. "I was born in the abyssal depths of Nythos, where the light fades, and the sea is nothing but an endless black void. My mother was a siren queen, my father something… older. Something darker. I never knew him. Only his power." She lifts a pearl between her fingers, rolling it in her palm. "The first thing I learned was that power is never given freely—it is taken. And I took mine."

Her voice is light, but there’s something weighted beneath it. A memory she is not giving me. I study her for along moment, the tension between us shifting into something heavier. Something unspoken, but undeniable.

Her fingers drift to her pearls again, a slow, absent caress. "You care for this land," she muses, voice lilting, teasing. "For the creatures that call it home. You fight for them. Bleed for them. Does that mean you’d bleed for me now, too? After all, I am a magical creature in your realm, am I not?"

I stiffen, her words curling around me like smoke, thick and suffocating. She leans closer, just slightly, enough that the warmth of her breath ghosts against my skin. I feel the shape of her lips hovering near mine, the smallest shift away from something dangerous. My pulse thrums, unbidden, betraying me.

I don’t answer. Can’t.

She exhales a soft, knowing laugh. "Speechless, Dragon Queen? How rare."

Before I can snap back, she straightens, stretching her arms lazily overhead, her silver hair catching the firelight. "Get some sleep, Nyxara. You’re no good to anyone if you collapse."

Then, with a playful smirk, she turns toward the door and strides out, slipping into the corridors of my castle like she belongs here.

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. My body still aches, but it is not the wound that lingers in my mind.

It is her.

And that infuriates me more than anything.

A flutter of wings draws my attention. Morrin perches on the edge of the balcony railing, his dark eyes gleaming in the candlelight. He watches me with that knowing, infuriating gaze of his.

"You’re brooding."

I scowl. "I don’t brood."

Morrin flaps his wings, unimpressed, before hopping down onto the back of the chaise. He has been with me for years, since the night I found him—broken, bleeding, left for dead in the ruins of my childhood home. A hatchling then, barely clinging to life, his wings torn, his tiny body frail. I had hesitated before reaching for him, before pressing my hands against his fragile frame, whispering power into his veins. He shouldn’t have survived. But he did. And when he rose again, stronger, darker, his wings spreading into the night like the shadows themselves, I knew.

He was mine, and I was his.

We were bound, not just by magic, but by something deeper. Something unspoken. He has been at my side ever since, my only constant in a world that has taken everything else from me. "How are you healing?"

"Fine." The answer is clipped, but he doesn’t push. He knows better.

His head tilts slightly, sharp ears twitching. "And the sea witch?"

I inhale slowly, my jaw tightening. "She is… tolerable."

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