Page 45 of Wicked Depths

The Sentinels stir before I see them, their presence a ripple through the chamber’s dim glow, a whisper of movement barely caught by mortal senses. The air shifts, thick with their unseen forms pressing against the edges of the room. A flicker of something more solid emerges—a figure materializing from theshadows beside me, their voice little more than a breath against the cold stone walls.

"Dragon Queen," one murmurs, their tone a hollow echo. "Rhyzan waits beyond the doors. He reeks of blood and iron. He wishes to speak with you."

I inhale sharply, tasting the scent now that it has been spoken into existence—iron, sweat, and something darker.

I straighten, flexing my claws against the stone table. "Let him in."

The Sentinels vanish in an instant, the heavy doors groaning open as they pull them apart from the inside. A cold draft sweeps through the chamber as Rhyzan steps forward, his broad frame cutting through the dim torchlight, the molten gold of his eyes sharp, unreadable. His armor is streaked with blood—some his own, most not. His movements are careful, measured, but I do not miss the tension in his shoulders, nor the exhaustion etched into his face.

He strides toward me, silent but certain, the doors slamming shut behind him.

I brace myself.

This will not be good news.

The Sentinels step aside as he approaches, their forms flickering between solid and incorporeal. Ever watchful. Ever silent.

"They breached the borders," Rhyzan says, his voice rough like gravel.

The fire in my gut roars.

I flex my claws, exhaling slowly, forcing myself to stay calm.Think before you burn.

"How many?" I ask.

His jaw tightens. "Too many. They sent trained hunters, men who knew what they were doing. We killed most of them, but notall. Many of my warriors fell. The ones who survived are gravely wounded."

I close my eyes for half a second, long enough to taste the bitterness of it.

The king sent assassins into my land. Trained men. Killers. They came to slaughter my people, to spill the blood of those who swore their loyalty to me.

And I let it happen. My body tenses with the urge todestroy.Before I can respond, a voice cuts through the room.

"If they need healing," Vaela says smoothly from the doorway, "then we should go to them. I can help them."

I turn, my eyes narrowing.

She stands with her arms crossed, radiating effortless confidence, draped in the same pearl bodice she always wears—lustrous and fitted, the gleaming shells forming delicate curves that frame her body. Chains of gold drape over her shoulders, catching the candlelight, thin strands cascading down her arms like the remnants of a siren's song turned to metal. Small shell accents glisten along the edges, a mark of her realm, of the deep, unknowable power she wields.

Below, the flowing skirt of deep seafoam silk moves like water, split high along her thigh, teasing flashes of smooth, toned skin with every shift of her weight. It should not hold my attention as long as it does, but my gaze lingers, unwilling, tracing the soft sheen of her skin, the way the light reflects off the pearlescent undertones that seem even more pronounced now that her magic has fully returned.

Her silver hair spills freely down her back, thick and glossy, strands twisted and pinned back with tiny, iridescent shells and stones that gleam like opals. There’s a glow about her, something untamed, something deeper than power. Something that makes her seem untouchable.Divine.

But it’s her eyes that hold me captive.

They burn with something I don’t recognize. Something dangerously close toanger.Vaela does not get angry. She taunts, she teases, she manipulates. But this? This is different.

She isfurious.

"Take me to them," she says, stepping forward.

"You assume I will allow that," I murmur, my voice dangerously low.

Her lips curve. "You assume you have a choice."

A muscle ticks in my jaw. Sheknowsshe’s pushing me. I should refuse. But my people are dying. And as much as I hate to admit it—I need her.

I exhale sharply. "Fine."

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