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Arrik and Shane stepped aside as the prince and his entourage weaved past them with a fit of giggles and whispers. He stared after his brother and spat on the ground once he’d disappeared into the building. The lanterns wavered in the light breeze, their shadows dancing on the cobbles of the path.

“You need to get that under control,” Shane said softly.

He tipped his head back and peered through the trees to a small patch of visible sky. Stars glimmered above. “He spoke of my mother.”

Shane sucked in a sharp breath. “That sod.”

“I could have killed him.”

“Arrik,” his friend growled. “Control your words. The walls have ears.”

Shane was right. One misstep and everything they’d built in the last few years would be ruined. He needed to do better.

For his mum.

For those abused by the royals.

17

Wren

It couldn’t be, and yet…there was no doubt about it: there was a water dragon lurking just outside her cell. The dragons never lived this far north. It was too cold. The thermals from the underwater volcanos around Lorne made it the perfect home for dragons. What in the blazes was one doing here? In a dungeon. Facing the Princess of the Dragon Isles.

In the near-pitch-darkness, the dragon seemed to glow faintly in the water in an enthralling, luminous manner. Wren knew some dragons lit up like that to attract prey into the deepest depths of the sea; for Wren to witness it first-hand was nothing short of astounding.

Going by what she could see of its head and face, she knew the dragon was bigger than Aurora, though it seemed just as sleek as her. The spines that protruded from the water were tall and thin, however, making the dragon perhaps more suited to water-dwelling than sky-flying.

From the neon blue light the dragon emitted, Wren concluded that its scales were a rich blue-black, like spilled oil. The beast’s spines flared, and she held her ground at the sign of aggression. At the first sign of weakness, the creature would attack.

She exhaled slowly and tried to calm her racing heart. The dragon rumbled softly, its gaze focused completely on her. Wren was staring death in the face. She was unable to tear her eyes away from the feline gaze of the beast. It hissed and bared its long, pointed teeth. Dark humor seized her and she had to stifle her laughter. After everything that had happened, it would be ironic if the creature killed her.

In some ways, Wren found it fitting. Almost welcome, in a twisted kind of way. To be so far away from home, a prisoner no less, but to die under circumstances the people of Lorne were accustomed to, was far preferable than any other method—tiny fish with razor teeth included.

You’re not going to die today. At least not without a fight.

Not while she still had a kingdom to save and a sister to protect.

What would her mother have told her to do? How could she work the situation in her favor? The dragon was different from those of the isles. Did it communicate in the same way?

Wren gave a small chirrup, but the beast didn’t respond in kind.

She frowned, worry churning in her gut. Did the Verlantians know that the dragon was in their dungeon? Was it put there to eat her?

Regardless, Wren was a daughter of the isles, and she wouldn’t idly sit by while there was the smallest hope of the dragon helping her.

She swallowed hard, opened her mouth, and began to sing. Her dragon song started off softly, just testing the waters. The beast didn’t attack, but neither did it retreat.

Her lips trembled in nervousness, causing her hums to vibrate off-key. The dragon shifted in front of her, a low growl emitting from its throat.

Come on, Wren. You can do this. Think of everything your mother taught you.

Her mother. Her mother had taught her everything she knew about dragons, even though the woman had not been a native of the Dragon Isles. She had loved the creatures as fiercely as Wren had and ensured her daughter knew everything there was to know about communicating and befriending the beasts. And yet she had been sure to instill in Wren a reverence and a fear of the creatures.

Dragons were not to be trifled with. Even the naval officers of Lorne did not escape injuries and death at the hands of the dragons.

They weren’t pets. They were partners.

Emotion saturated her song, and added depth to her humming and power to her voice where, before, there had been none. Her pitch leveled out, and, though the dragon growled louder when she paused to consider what to say or sing, Wren’s resolve stood firm.