Page 40 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Arenna didn’t recognize the woman standing before her in the makeshift mirror. Somehow, she looked worse than when she had left Brookworth. Her cheeks were sunken, giving her a skeletal appearance, and her skin was deathly pale. Her ribs protruded beneath the thin layer of skin.

One small consolation was that the last of her bruises had started to fade, leaving only blotches of yellow.

The final remnants of Jaksen’s abuse , she thought, rubbing her hand over a band of skin on her bicep where she’d been grabbed too tightly.

But the purple, scarred flesh around her wrists reminded her of the marks that would never fully disappear.

Three more days and nights had passed at sea.

Arenna had been removed from her cell since the night her world had imploded— again .

She spent her time avoiding the Fae King and his council, treating them as if they were their own creation of the Rot.

Most of her days were spent in the kitchens with Thomas, peeling, chopping, cooking, and cleaning.

But all that changed today, when she could no longer avoid them, because they would arrive in Port Alaraine in less than an hour.

As the sun broke the horizon, Marea had brought her the finest black leathers Arenna had ever seen, adorned with the same scales that Kayson and his council wore.

After a few moments of inspecting the foreign material, she tugged the shirt on and slipped into the pants, marveling at their craftsmanship and how well they fit. Arenna snapped on the vest using the buttons sewn into the side, then strapped her knife into a belt wrapped around her hips.

Arenna hated how frail she still looked—even in strong clothing. It was a constant reminder of how deeply Jaksen’s control had hollowed her out. But she clung to hope: with routine, time, and training, the strength would return. The muscle would come back.

At last, she fastened the thick black fur cape over her shoulders.

She looked again at the woman in the mirror—draped in black leather, a scar cutting across her face.

Arenna looked like something born of fire and ash. Something made for war. She scoffed, turning away from the polished plate and her scarred reflection. A warrior she might appear, but it was only a ruse.

Inside, she still felt like a coward, and no amount of leather could change that.

* * *

“I’m glad to see the leathers fit you well,” Bramnen said, nodding toward Arenna’s clothes, wearing a similar set of black scales.

“Perfectly,” Arenna said, smoothing her hands over her chest. “I’ve never worn anything so well made, even in Brookworth.”

“Glad you like them, because they’re yours.”

She jerked her head toward him. “I can’t pay for something like this—” she began, but Bramnen held up a hand.

He smiled. “It’s a gift. You’re part of this council now, Firewielder. You need to look the part.” Bramnen winked, patting the thick fur cape draped over his back.

Arenna nodded, smirking, hoping it was enough to hide how uncomfortable she felt.

“What kind of pelt is this?” She ran her hand along the scales again.

They almost felt like leather, rough and smooth at the same time.

If she looked closely, hers were slightly different from Bramnen’s, as if the creatures that once bore them weren’t all the same size.

“Dragon scales.”

Arenna choked on air alone. “ Dragon ? They’ve been extinct for thousands of years. How is Worden capable of making clothing from them?”

“They’ve been handed down through generations of Fae.

” The low pitch of the Fae King’s voice was something Arenna doubted she’d ever get used to.

She hated the way it sent shivers down her spine, and how his presence always put her on edge.

“In Drakian culture, dragons would gift scales from their tails or backs to their riders as protection, solidifying the bond between them.”

Arenna took a step back, creating some distance between herself and the king. She had agreed not to bludgeon the male in his sleep, but that didn’t mean she had to be friendly with him. Even if his stories turned out to be true and he wasn’t the monster her former husband had made him out to be.

Kayson continued, “Fae are distant relatives of the Drakians. When they were exterminated along with their dragons, the scales and Drakian steel weapons were left behind. My ancestor, the First King of Worden, decided they were too useful to be forgotten. Since then, they’ve been passed down through generations of Fae rulers and their armies. ”

Suddenly, the weight of the scales she wore felt too heavy to bear.

“I’m not worthy of this,” Arenna said, gesturing to the black scales.

“I’m not Fae, nor Drakian.” She decided not to mention that she didn’t feel like a lethal weapon, either, not like the generations of Fae and Draka who had worn this vest.

“You are the Firewielder,” Kayson replied, walking toward the uppermost section of the Hadley . Over his shoulder, he added, “If dragons still lived, any one of them would be honored to have you on their back.”

Her stomach dipped. Hard .

Bramnen patted her shoulder, grinning in agreement with his king before following him. Marea was already there, holding a thin piece of parchment in both hands.

Arenna watched as the king fell into his role, his shoulders sagging as Marea spoke to him. Atop his dark hair gleamed a golden crown of dragon heads, likely an homage to the First Four Dragons of Pheanixios, and she wondered how heavy that crown mentally felt.

Turning toward the port coming into view, Kayson’s words clanged through her mind but wouldn’t take hold.

After years of being told she was useless, nothing , a waste of the Seven’s powers, Arenna had begun to believe it.

Deep down, she didn’t feel worthy of a dragon, nor the pulsing molten gold in her veins. She did not feel worthy of life.