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Alora shifted on the cot as his calming icy hands pulled dagger straps up her leg, clasping the buckles on her thigh.

“An inevitable beating to come, my dear mother, without fail, would catch me before I would return. Her tender voice would soothe my young nerves. She told me that our path is not written in stone, but in the ever-changing skies above. And in those skies?—”

His hands traveled down to pull on her boots before lacing them tight.

“—the Celestials would move just as they were always destined to. The sun brings hope of a new day. The stars shine in the darkest of nights. And the darkness covers us, protecting us. We need not be afraid of what is before us, as it is already lingering in the skies.” Garrik stood and leaned to grab her black upper armor, offering his hand to pull her up.

Next, he guided the scale-like armor onto her arm and toweled it around her torso. Latching three metal clasps and straps near her right shoulder above her chest. A dragon spitting fire, surrounded by matte smoke embellishments, lay engraved above her left breast.

It felt lighter, airy, the gentle breeze streaming through the open entrance of the tent licked at her warmed skin.

“She told me”—his hands fastened straps on her upper arms—“your path ahead is not a matter of chance. It is choice. And yours alone. The sun and stars will find you along the way, just as they were always meant to.” Garrik finished with her gear and pulled daggers from his own belt, placing them in her thigh straps. He leaned, reached around her, grabbed her obsidian dagger from the cot, and sheathed it at her side.

“I know you are scared of what lies ahead. I know it is hard to trust me. You have chosen to stay and become one of us until you deem that time as concluded. Ever since that moment, Maker of the Skies aligned with you. Fear not the path ahead, for you are not alone. The sun brings you a new day, and He and His stars are with you on your worst. And if by Destiny, the stars fail you, shadow will follow.Iwill follow. Even in the end of days, you will never be truly alone, Alora. You are safe. You are protected.”

But I am afraid.Alora dropped her chin, knowing he could hear her.

The High Prince shifted his weight. He gently lifted her chin to meet her worried sapphires with reassurance. “Fear is in here.” Garrik tapped on the dragon over her heart. “No one can make you feel fear. Danger is real, but fear is a choice. Never trust it. Do not let it consume you. It does not know your incredible strength. Feel it. Every part of it. Then let it push you to your greatest victory over yourself and above all else.”

Alora’s troubled heart calmed listening to his quiet voice so full of certainty and belief. In her.

With a soft brush of his hand, shadows stirred in his palms in a gentle movement toward her head. A budding pearlsea flower shadowed between his fingers before he brushed her hair back and steadied it on her ear. Garrik traced his ringed hand to the soft spot between her neck and shoulder, thumb brushing against the cut on her neck.

“I am sorry for what this and my kiss caused you today. This was not your doing, but my selfishness alone.”

Alora’s breath stopped at his touch. At his words.

“I should not have taunted you about this. I am sorry. It willnothappen again.” The taunt or the kiss? Garrik examined the mark, softly brushing it once more before looking down at her evaded eyes.

Her warm skin prickled with a chill at his touch.Strange.Her training armor overheated within minutes of simply putting it on. But this …

Garrik noticed her confusion. “I had one of our armor smith’s and Eliya’s ice powers craft yours specially. It should allow you cooler comfort against your skin but still protect you the same. There is only one thing missing.”

With swirling shadows, a crimson cloak appeared in hand.

Garrik draped the fabric around her neck as he had done once before. He pulled the silver dragon clasp to the left of her neck—where it sat on each of his Dragon’s—and tightened the straps before trailing his hand across the fabric under her collarbones.

Aredcloak.

Not black, worn by his entire Dragon’s Legion.

Red.

The color respected and adorned only by those in his trusted Shadow Order.

Through the glow of the sun’s rays on the canvas, the High Prince’s brightened, and silver eyes stared into her glistening sapphires. Then his voice, like an ethereal melody once longed to hear but forgotten by time, drifted around them. A language she never spoke, but so simple and beautiful and something incredibly ancient in his voice.

Alora’s eyes burned, threatening to burst at the emotions surfacing.

Like a sacred blessing. He spoke. In alluring swirls of his tongue, bending the air around them, the inflections of every word raw and damning and consuming but every part cocooned with demanding hope and overpowering conviction.

The words trickled like a sweet mountain stream. Like a morning song, calling the sun to rise. Something of protection and power and grace.

Something lethal.

An oath. A promise.

Mine.Maybe she imagined it.You. Are. Mine.