Page 4 of Rhapsody of Ruin
I would not win with tears. I would not let them see me bent. If Rhydor thought to humiliate me, I would show him how dangerous a pawn could become.
My gaze slid across the hall, past masks and whispers, until it caught on Nyssa. She lingered in the shadows near the alcove, her healer’s mask pale as bone. She tilted her head the smallest fraction.
I gave her the barest nod.
The first court game would be held two nights hence. And I would see to it that the dragon prince learned just how sharp a pawn’s teeth could be.
Chapter 3
Rhydor
Every surface of the council chamber gleamed with silver inlay, from the runes etched into the obsidian floor to the moonlit panels that climbed the high walls. The air was thick with glamour, the sort of enchantment that pressed down until even breathing felt like submission. The long table of black stone stretched between us and the throne dais, narrow enough to funnel power in a single direction: upward, toward Vaeloria.
I had stood in war camps with ash clogging my throat and blood sticking my armor to my skin, and still I had breathed easier than I did in this room.
Torian walked beside me, his expression sharp and unreadable. My brother’s calm was a blade honed on calculation; mine was born of fire chained just short of breaking free. Behind us, our veterans filed in and took their places against the walls. They were not permitted chairs. The Fae would not allow dragon steel too near their queen.
At the head of the chamber, Vaeloria Thalassa sat high on her throne, her silver mask gleaming beneath lanternlight. Her posture was perfect, her hand resting lightly on the arm of her seat, but I knew a trap when I saw one. Every inch of this place was designed to strip me bare, to make me kneel without forcing my knees to the floor.
I would not kneel.
Elowyn sat at her mother’s right hand, gown of twilight silk cascading around her. Her mask was simpler than many, but it framed eyes as sharp as glass. She did not look at me, not directly. She never did. But I felt the weight of her presence as surely as I felt the wards pressing against my skin. I rememberedthe moment in the hall the night before when she had defended herself with silence, the way her spine had held straight even when laughter cut around her like knives.
She hated me. She had every right to. And yet, when the silver light shifted across her face and caught the curve of her cheek, my pulse betrayed me.
Vaeloria’s voice sliced through the silence. “Prince Rhydor. You requested audience. Speak.”
Every eye turned. Masks leaned forward, eager. I stood taller, squaring my shoulders, forcing the weight of their gaze to slide off me like rain.
“I come to propose a union that serves both our realms,” I said, voice steady. “Not through myself, but through my brother, Torian.” I gestured to him, proud, deliberate. “He is a strategist of unmatched brilliance, a man who has led troops and rebuilt cities. He has the discipline and clarity required to rule at your daughter’s side. He is the stronger match.”
Torian’s head snapped toward me, shock flashing in his eyes before he schooled his face. His fists tightened against his thighs.
The chamber stilled.
Vaeloria tilted her head, mask glimmering. “Your brother.” Her voice was velvet around steel.
“Yes,” I said. “His temperament suits courtly life. He knows the weight of treaties, the necessity of balance. My kingdom gains peace, yours gains a capable consort.”
A murmur rippled down the line of nobles. I heard Sylara’s fan snap open with delighted cruelty.
Iriel smiled from his seat at his mother’s left, lazy as a cat watching a mouse trap close.
Torian’s jaw clenched. He said nothing, but I could feel his betrayal like heat against my skin. We had planned together forthis journey, every step measured, every angle considered. But I had kept this card hidden.
Vaeloria’s silence stretched until it threatened to choke. Finally she spoke, each word cutting as if engraved in stone. “Only the first seed.”
The words rang in the chamber like a judgment.
I stiffened. “With respect, ”
“Only the first seed,” she repeated, louder now. Her gaze held mine through the slits of her mask, cold and certain. “The line of dragons must bind with my line through its eldest flame. You. No other.”
My hand curled into a fist at my side.
From the corner of my vision, I saw Maelith, the shadow-thin counselor, dip his quill and note the decree into his ledger. Legal precedent, recorded in silver ink. Trapped not just by words but by history.
The murmurs grew.
