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Eight

NYXARA

The scent of damp earth lingers in the air, the remnants of an early rain clinging to the stone walls of Varethorne. I stand at the edge of the balcony, watching as mist curls over the treetops, stretching like ghostly fingers toward the castle. The battle from the night before still lingers in my mind—not the fight itself, not the smell of scorched flesh or the rush of adrenaline.

No.

Her.

The way she moved. Fluid. Calculated.Unfazed.

The way my bodyreactedwhen she was nearly struck down.

I protected her before I could even think.

And now, the knowledge of that sits deep inside me, gnawing like a festering wound.

Morrin flutters onto the stone railing, his dark eyes sharp. “You’re thinking too much.”

I scoff. “I wasn’t aware thinking was a flaw.”

The bat stretches his wings lazily. “For you? It is.”

I roll my eyes and turn, striding into the depths of my castle. The halls are dim, the ever-burning sconces casting longshadows along the stone. I find Vaela exactly where I expect her, lounging in the dining hall like she owns it.

And she is barely dressed.

My steps falter for the briefest moment, but I mask it quickly, my expression smoothing into one of indifference.

The sheer white robe she wears drapes loosely off her shoulders, gossamer fabric clinging to the curves of her body. The deep plunge of the neckline leaves little to the imagination, the faint shimmer of her pearl-toned skin catching in the firelight. The slit in the robe reveals the smooth length of her thigh, shifting slightly as she crosses her legs, entirely at ease in her own damn audacity.

My mouth is dry.

She watches me knowingly, her silver hair tumbling over one shoulder as she lazily lifts a goblet of wine to her lips. “You look tense, Dragon Queen.”

I grit my teeth, my eyes dragging—unbidden—over the delicate swell of her breasts, the sheer fabric teasing what lies beneath. The way her fingers toy absently with the rim of her goblet, as if she knows exactly what she’s doing.

The urge to burn the robe from her body just to rid myself of the distraction is infuriating.

I force my gaze back to her face, my voice smooth and unaffected. “Cover yourself properly before my staff mistakes you for a wandering courtesan.”

She smirks. “Oh? I wasn’t aware your castle had guests in need of entertainment.”

I exhale sharply through my nose. “Put something else on, Vaela.”

“Come now, Dragon Queen.” She leans forward, the movement deliberate, the thin lace slipping further off her shoulder. “You don’t like what you see?”

I should ignore her.

I should turn on my heel and walk away.

Instead, I say, “We need to discuss our strategy.”

Something flickers in her gaze—interest, intrigue—before she hums and rises with a slow, unhurried grace. The fabric of the robe shifts around her, sheer and weightless, clinging to the dip of her waist.

It takes every ounce of my willpower to not let my eyes follow the movement.

She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “Strategy? My, how serious. I thought you enjoyed handling things with sheer brute force and fire.”