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LILY

“Come on.” My father faced me in his full armor, his blade held at the ready, his eyes angry like I was actually his enemy. “Don’t hold out on me, Zunieth .” He circled me then spun his sword around his wrist.

My father treated me like a man rather than a daughter, at least when he trained me in the sword.

He never took it easy on me, pushed me like a soldier under the dictatorship of a commander.

I never turned my back on him and waited for an opening.

Most daughters had fathers who aged and became withered and weak.

But my father’s strength only seemed to grow.

He slammed his fist against his chest as his face tinted red like this battle was real. “Don’t you dare give up, Lily.”

“I’m not giving up?—”

“Then move.” He continued to circle me in the courtyard among the olive trees and the red geranium flowers that flowed out of the terra-cotta pots.

Zehemoth lay on his belly a distance away, his eyes watching the battle in silence.

“I need a break?—”

“You don’t get a break.” He came at me with his sword raised.

I blocked his hit and anticipated his flurry of strikes, the way he made his sword move so quickly it was like a violent dance. I blocked each hit with my sword then caught his blade in my vambraces before I pushed it off. I punched him hard in the face and forced him back.

He took a step or two before he righted himself. He smiled, his teeth coated with blood. “That’s my girl.” He slammed his fist against his chest a second time before he spun the blade around his wrist again. He came at me once more.

Whenever I thought I couldn’t go on, he gave me a reason to. The pride in his eyes made me feel like I could do anything.

He rushed me again, barreling down on me harder, steel against steel.

After he parried my sword, he spat blood on the stone and kept going.

He’d been training me since I was a child, and now that I was a grown woman, he pushed me harder because he knew I could take it.

He used his height and strength against me, simulated real battle and extended no mercy.

If he disarmed me, the battle was over—and I was dead.

He slammed his elbow down on my arm to get me to drop the sword, but I moved in the nick of time and hit him so hard that he lost his grip on the hilt of his blade.

The sword dropped to the ground, and before he could react, I kicked it, and it flew off toward Zehemoth. The weapon skidded then came to a stop right in front of him.

His eyes stared at it before they lifted to me again.

My father stepped back, catching his breath as he looked at me with new eyes.

Then he brought his palms together and gave a slow clap, the smirk on his face infectious.

A chuckle came from his throat, a brightness in his eyes.

“The blood of kings runs in those veins. The courage of a Rothschild beats in that heart.” He stopped his applause and came to me, his hand moving to my shoulder the way he did with my brother.

He gripped the plate of armor that covered me, but I could somehow feel his fingers through the metal.

“Future Queen of the Southern Isles, Queen of Dragons, the mightiest ruler this side of the world has ever seen.” He let me go then retrieved his sword from where it lay before Zehemoth.

He bent down and picked it up by the hilt before he brushed his hand over Zehemoth’s snout, giving him affection the way Khazmuda did with me whenever he saw me.

Zehemoth closed his eyes like he enjoyed it.

When my father came back, he gave me a one-armed hug and kissed the side of my temple. Then he returned to the castle to remove his armor and wash away the sweat and blood from our spar.

I sheathed my blade across my back and joined Zehemoth. A wooden bench was next to him, so I took a seat, the olive trees and flowers behind me. A cool glass of water sounded refreshing at that moment, but my body felt weak, and not from the battle that had just concluded.

Zehemoth stared at me for a while before he lifted his snout so our eyes were level. I sense your despair . He wasn’t a full-grown dragon yet, just a few years away from rivaling his father’s size. Just as I was a few years from true adulthood. Are you hurt?

“My father would never hurt me.” He pushed me with his power and skill, but he never landed a blow that would cause me harm. Sometimes he would put a wooden blade to my neck to mark his victory, but he never actually touched me.

Zehemoth looked just like his father, Khazmuda.

Covered in shiny black scales with black eyes, he was beautiful like midnight, a dragon that would be powerful and feared by anyone who gazed upon him.

But his heart was pure, and his intentions were kind.

The only enemy he had were the grizzlies he loved to eat. Then what troubles you, Sunieth?

My eyes trailed down to my boots against the cobblestone.

I wore the armor of the kingdom, forged in the fires of dragons, the best steel to protect my beating heart.

I felt like a soldier trained for a battle I didn’t want to fight.

“All my life, my father has prepared me for the crown. But I’m not sure if I want it.

” I slowly raised my eyes to his, seeing the affection Zehemoth had for me in his gaze.

He was my best friend, the one I confided everything to, another brother in my family tree.

Tell him. He will respect your wishes.

“I know he would.” Succession was transferred to male heirs.

Had been that way throughout his entire family history, but my father had broken that tradition and named me his successor, regardless of my gender.

It was historic and touching. My brother never seemed to care about my father’s decision—at least, he didn’t show it.

Then why do you hesitate?

“Because…” I swallowed, feeling the sting in my heart.

“Ever since I can remember, he’s trained me to take his place.

We’ve sailed together, we’ve sparred together, he’s taught me everything he knows.

Without that…I’m not sure how much interest he would have in me.

” I took a slow breath and felt the pain once my fear had been released.

Zehemoth didn’t have a changing expression the way humans did, but it was obvious that my words dug deep underneath his scales. Your father loves you, Lily.

“I know he does. But…would he love me as much?”

Yes .

“I’m not so sure…” Our time together was always spent training me.

He never asked me about my dreams or my interests.

He looked so proud of me, but sometimes I felt like he didn’t really know me.

Just knew me as the daughter who would rule this place whenever he decided it was time for him to step aside.

I had no other value. “If I told him I didn’t want to rule, he would focus on my brother…

and we wouldn’t spend as much time together.

If we aren’t sparring or training, then what are we doing? ”

Speak to him. I assure you it will subdue the ache in your heart.

“I don’t know… We don’t really talk.”

I’m sure he would change that if he knew the error of his ways. He’s a good man, a loving father, and has simply lost focus.

I shook my head. “I like that he’s proud of me. I like the way he looks at me. If I tell him, he’ll never look at me that way again. I’m not sure I could live with that.” My eyes dropped down to my boots again.

Zehemoth moved closer, bringing the tip of his snout close to my knee.

My hand reached forward and felt the scales of his face, the coolness against my fingertips. I watched Zehemoth’s eyes close as I continued to stroke him, comforting me in the best way he knew how.

By being with me.

Hawk sat across from me at the dinner table, the cards between us. He was five years younger than me, an age gap big enough that we seemed to live in a different era of time. We didn’t have a lot in common.

We played for a while, and I let him win sometimes.

When the night deepened, Mother came into the room. “Time for bed, sweetheart.” She came up behind him and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I want to keep playing.”

“I know,” she said tenderly. “But it’s late.”

“It’s not late for Lily,” he argued.

“That’s because she’s an adult now.” She continued to run her fingers through his hair. “You still have a few years to go.”

“Come on?—”

“Shall I get your father?” she threatened.

My brother poked at the seam with our mother because she was the softer of the two. But my father was the authoritarian of the family, the one who could raise his voice just slightly and the foundations of the castle started to tremble.

Hawk dropped his argument and left his chair.

“Say goodnight to your sister,” Mom said.

“Night,” he said as he walked away, clearly ticked off that I got to stay up as late as I wanted.

She came around the table and kissed my temple as she gave me a one-armed hug. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Mom.”

Her fingers trailed through my hair as she walked away and turned into the hallway.

The cards were still on the table, so I scooped them into a pile in front of me then started to organize them.

I sensed a shadow in the room, the presence of someone who had entered without notice.

My eyes flicked up above me to see my father standing there, appearing out of nowhere.

I gave a slight jump at his entry. “You scared me.” I returned my focus to the cards, and I was halfway done with returning them to the deck when I realized he hadn’t moved. I flicked my eyes up again.

No longer in his uniform because of the late hour, he was in the clothes he wore in the privacy of the castle. Trousers and a short-sleeved black cotton shirt. He still had the bearing of a king—especially when his eyes looked like that.

Intense.

I stilled when I sensed the tension in the air, when he didn’t smile at me like he usually did, when my mind told me that something was terribly wrong.