Page 3 of Rhapsody of Ruin (Kingdoms of Ash and Wonder #1)
Rhydor
Every surface of the council chamber gleamed with silver inlay, from the runes etched into the obsidian floor to the moonlit panels that climbed the high walls.
The air was thick with glamour, the sort of enchantment that pressed down until even breathing felt like submission.
The long table of black stone stretched between us and the throne dais, narrow enough to funnel power in a single direction: upward, toward Vaeloria.
I had stood in war camps with ash clogging my throat and blood sticking my armor to my skin, and still I had breathed easier than I did in this room.
Torian walked beside me, his expression sharp and unreadable.
My brother’s calm was a blade honed on calculation; mine was born of fire chained just short of breaking free.
Behind us, our veterans filed in and took their places against the walls.
They were not permitted chairs. The Fae would not allow dragon steel too near their queen.
At the head of the chamber, Vaeloria Thalassa sat high on her throne, her silver mask gleaming beneath lanternlight.
Her posture was perfect, her hand resting lightly on the arm of her seat, but I knew a trap when I saw one.
Every inch of this place was designed to strip me bare, to make me kneel without forcing my knees to the floor.
I would not kneel.
Elowyn sat at her mother’s right hand, gown of twilight silk cascading around her.
Her mask was simpler than many, but it framed eyes as sharp as glass.
She did not look at me, not directly. She never did.
But I felt the weight of her presence as surely as I felt the wards pressing against my skin.
I remembered the moment in the hall the night before when she had defended herself with silence, the way her spine had held straight even when laughter cut around her like knives.
She hated me. She had every right to. And yet, when the silver light shifted across her face and caught the curve of her cheek, my pulse betrayed me.
Vaeloria’s voice sliced through the silence. “Prince Rhydor. You requested audience. Speak.”
Every eye turned. Masks leaned forward, eager. I stood taller, squaring my shoulders, forcing the weight of their gaze to slide off me like rain.
“I come to propose a union that serves both our realms,” I said, voice steady.
“Not through myself, but through my brother, Torian.” I gestured to him, proud, deliberate.
“He is a strategist of unmatched brilliance, a man who has led troops and rebuilt cities. He has the discipline and clarity required to rule at your daughter’s side. He is the stronger match.”
Torian’s head snapped toward me, shock flashing in his eyes before he schooled his face. His fists tightened against his thighs.
The chamber stilled.
Vaeloria tilted her head, mask glimmering. “Your brother.” Her voice was velvet around steel.
“Yes,” I said. “His temperament suits courtly life. He knows the weight of treaties, the necessity of balance. My kingdom gains peace, yours gains a capable consort.”
A murmur rippled down the line of nobles. I heard Sylara’s fan snap open with delighted cruelty.
Iriel smiled from his seat at his mother’s left, lazy as a cat watching a mouse trap close.
Torian’s jaw clenched. He said nothing, but I could feel his betrayal like heat against my skin. We had planned together for this journey, every step measured, every angle considered. But I had kept this card hidden.
Vaeloria’s silence stretched until it threatened to choke. Finally she spoke, each word cutting as if engraved in stone. “Only the first seed.”
The words rang in the chamber like a judgment.
I stiffened. “With respect, ”
“Only the first seed,” she repeated, louder now. Her gaze held mine through the slits of her mask, cold and certain. “The line of dragons must bind with my line through its eldest flame. You. No other.”
My hand curled into a fist at my side.
From the corner of my vision, I saw Maelith, the shadow-thin counselor, dip his quill and note the decree into his ledger. Legal precedent, recorded in silver ink. Trapped not just by words but by history.
The murmurs grew.
Iriel leaned forward, mask tilted just so, his smirk slicing deep. “Perhaps the prince fears to warm our Shroud. Perhaps he thinks his flame too small.”
Laughter rippled across the chamber.
My blood burned hot. Torian’s fury coiled tighter beside me, though his face gave nothing away. Draven, standing at the wall, raised a lazy brow as if to say I told you so . Brenn shifted, restless. Tharos’s iron hand flexed, scraping faintly against the stone pillar where he leaned.
I drew a long breath through my nose, forcing my hands to unclench. Every instinct screamed to roar, to lash out, to remind them what dragonfire could do to their silver walls. But that was what they wanted. They wanted the beast, not the prince.
I would not give it to them.
I forced my voice calm. “So be it. I hear your will.”
The laughter died. Surprise flickered behind masks. They had expected me to rage.
I did not bow. I did not break.
But inside, humiliation cut deeper than any blade.
I let my eyes drift, just for a heartbeat, to Elowyn. Her posture was flawless, her mask serene, but I saw the faintest twitch of her hands where they lay in her lap. A reaction. A tremor. She felt the sting too, though she would never admit it.
And in that moment, heat flared low in me that had nothing to do with rage.
I despised her. I desired her. The contradictions burned me alive.
“Council dismissed,” Vaeloria said, her voice final.
We turned as one. Torian stalked at my side, silent fury radiating from him. The veterans fell into step, their eyes watchful, their jaws set. Behind us, I heard the rustle of silk, the murmurs of nobles feeding on humiliation like carrion birds.
At the door, I looked back once. Elowyn’s eyes met mine across the chamber, only for an instant before she turned her head. Cold. Controlled. But that flicker remained.
I told myself it was hatred.
I prayed it was not.
And I swore that if they thought to bind me in chains of silver and shadows, they would learn what dragonfire could do to a cage.