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Rhea

M y heart pounds. My eyes rove around the room. The only thing that looks slightly amiss is the urine puddle by the wall, and of course… me.

I wait, imagining the man on the other side breaking down the door and discovering the Neutro’s body slumped over the privy.

To my immense relief, retreating steps sound.

I wait for a few excruciating moments until silence reigns again. Tentatively, I open the door and peer out. The hall is clear. I leave the room and hurry back into the party.

The din of conversation and the bright glow of the many candelabra strike my senses with disorienting force. My face feels flushed, and I feel as if everyone is staring at me, able to decipher exactly what I’ve been up to in the last ten minutes.

I feel trapped, short of breath. I need to get out of here. My legs nearly give out as I take a step forward. I cover the misstep by pretending to rearrange my dress, then slip out the closest door. A balcony.

Get it together, Rhea.

I stare fixedly at the vast night sky and take a deep breath. A cool breeze hits my face. Scraggly branches from the woods below scratch the underbellies of the passing gray clouds. Sucking in a breath, I lower my gaze and notice a smudge of blood between my fingers.

Shit!

“Trying to escape,” a deep male voice asks from the shadows to my left.

I jump along with my heart, turning to face the man and folding my hands behind my back. Did he see the blood? I was trying to escape, though the sly smile the man wears implies a joke, that I was trying to escape from the party—not from what I did. Yet, I can’t help the wild roar of my heart at the idea of being discovered. My face must tell it all because he quickly bows, looking stern.

“My apologies, Madam. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

It takes a moment to regain my composure, but in the end, I raise my chin and smile. “N-no. No trouble. I just… didn’t see you there. You startled me.”

Quickly, I appraise him from head to toe. He wears a Sky Order uniform, which he fills up damn well. The straight lines of the jacket enhance his wide shoulders, and the form-fitting trousers stuffed into black boots hug his strong thighs with gusto. His dark hair, I can’t tell the exact shade in the dim light, is wavy, loose strands framing his face—not the crew cut of a Sky Order’s fresh cadet. An officer then? His jaw and chin are strong, not to mention his high cheekbones. Piercing blue eyes appraise me back.

I raise an eyebrow admiringly. He is a morsel—a work of art that has a positive effect on my nerves. A good distraction.

His left shoulder, the one where Sky Order insignias are worn, is turned the other way. I wish I could tell his rank to assess him better. No luck there. I don’t see a dragon rider pin either. It could be hidden behind his raised lapel. Behind my back, my hands fidget, though I’m careful not to stain my dress. I need to get rid of that damn smudge.

He looks straight ahead into the night, exposing a perfect profile. The thump, thump of wings catches our attention. One of Embernia’s ancient dragons and his rider streak through the sky, heading west. Perhaps a messenger carrying supplies to the front lines.

A wistful expression shapes the man’s face as he stares after the rider and their mount, as if he’d rather be on a scaled back and not this gloomy, ancient castle, surrounded by leafless branches groaning in the wind. Does this mean he’s a rider missing the thrill? Or one of the many Sky Order members who wasn’t chosen and now performs one of the less desirable jobs?

“ Most never become riders, Rhea, ” my father said when I told him I wanted to join the Aerie Academy. “ And if you don’t get chosen, you still have to serve. It will be a lifetime of military service, an existence that will forever revolve around war and conflict. Most women who serve never find husbands or build families. Is that what you want? ”

There’s only one type of family I would ever want to build, and that is a strong, influential one. I would never have children who would be indiscriminately marched into a Neutro’s den to be cleansed . The elite’s offspring aren’t treated that way.

“ Yes, Father. That is what I want, ” I replied in a calm tone, telling him none of the rest.

I hide so much from him. Despite everything, he deserves a quiet existence. He has suffered enough.

“Ever been on a dragon?” I ask the man, pushing thoughts of my father away.

He inclines his head and looks at me askance. “I have.” He flashes me a dazzling smile.

Is he flirting? Trying to use the status of a dragon rider to secure company for the night? Not that I wouldn’t appreciate his efforts under other circumstances. The man is a specimen. It’s just that I’m a little preoccupied by other things at the moment.

Still, it’s a bit shameless. In Embernia, dragons are like gold and jewelry and castles, except better. They lend people prestige. Nothing is more appealing than power, and nothing is more powerful than a dragon rider—what with their capacity to blow anyone across Embernia, electrocute them, or incinerate them to cinders. Clearly, this man isn’t beyond using said prestige to get women into bed. Though the question remains… Is he one of those living a lifetime of military service without the privilege of being a dragon rider? Has he been on a dragon simply as a passenger? If that’s the case, he’s a cunning bastard.

He turns his shoulders slightly, and I almost get a peek of his insignias but not quite. It’s as if he’s teasing me. On any other night, I might tease back, but I can still see Cindergrasp’s sweaty face reflected in that mirror.

Compartmentalize, Rhea. Compartmentalize.

I can’t go all night like this. I still have the Rite of Flight to get through, and that will carry its own stress. Blinking slowly, I inhale and shove Cindergrasp behind my mind’s closed door, where most of my childhood memories and all other unhappy recollections live.

Do what you do best. You learned it a long time ago. Pretend everything is all right. This night is like any other, and you have the perfect distraction in front of you.

I lick my lips and rake my gaze over the man’s tall frame, pausing at just the right places.

His nostrils flare, and his eyelids lower.

Attraction sizzles between us. He finds me as enticing as I find him, it seems. I like it when a man isn’t shy about what he wants. I, too, prefer that approach, though it often unsettles those of lesser confidence. However, this man isn’t the least bit intimidated by my forwardness. Good.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he says. “You aren’t the kind of woman I would… fail to notice. What is your name?”

“Rhealyn, but you can call me Rhea.”

“Rhea? Is that what everyone calls you?”

“It is.”

“Then I will call you Rhealyn.”

I frown. Only my mother ever called me by my full name, so I don’t want him to do that.

“I prefer Rhea,” I insist in a firm tone meant to set a boundary. Is he the kind that respects those? He’d better be, or he won’t get far with me.

“Rhea it is, then,” he says with a dashing smile that coaxes a lovely dimple from its hiding place.

“What is your name?” I ask.

“Everett.” A pause. “Forgive me if this sounds forward,” his voice drops a few octaves, making my skin pebble, “but you are beautiful. Pure obsidian hair is so rare.”

Under this dim light, how can he be so sure of the exact color of my hair? The answer becomes evident as soon as I formulate the question. He must have noticed me inside earlier. The thought accompanied by the sound of his velvet-smooth voice leaves me a little breathless. It’s not every day a man as attractive and self-assured as this one pays me a compliment. Frankly, at the Academy, I’ve been surrounded by oafish men for far too long—creatures who years ago ceased to perceive me as anything but one of their comrades. Their true natures have been laid bare to me for nearly as long. None of them hold any mysteries I would wish to uncover, no hidden traits to explore or secrets to pique my interest.

“Thank you.” I smile with pride.

Dark hair is common in Embernia, yet typically a shade of rich brown, not the raven hue I inherited from my mother. When she was alive, my father would often say it was as abundant and luscious as hers. At the moment, it is unpinned, flowing in long waves to my shoulders.

“I would say more,” Everett adds, “but I fear it would be inappropriate.” That dimple appears again. His blue eyes twinkle.

Oh, he’s good. Inappropriate enough, I would say, leaving me to imagine what other parts of me he finds attractive. I’d like to tell him all the attributes I like about him as well, but a lady must not reveal her hand too early in the game.

“The party not to your liking?” He cocks his head toward the door, beyond which the buzz of conversation continues. His voice is honey-laden, his expression virile and suggestive.

My skin responds to his baritone again. He moves closer, taking a small sideways step. He towers over me. His large hand slides over the balcony railing as if reaching toward my waist, though it remains in place. This man certainly knows how to use his Goddess-given attributes to his advantage.

Wouldn’t it be nice to get a chance to enjoy him? However, given his uniform, it may not be an option. Has he already noticed my Scion pin and determined that a dalliance between us would be allowed? The pin marks me as an elite graduate from Aerie Academy, and therefore, a candidate for the Rite of Flight, so depending on his rank, our involvement could mean breaking all kinds of rules.

Before we get too far, I’d better find out. I will not endanger my chances of getting a dragon, no matter how delightful the morsel is. There’s already enough riding against me.

“Parties don’t bother me.” I wave my unblemished left hand in the air as if it’s all the same. “I came out for some fresh air, to relieve my anxiety over the upcoming ceremony.” I glance down at my chest to call attention to my Scion pin just to discover it’s missing.

Wyrm’s rot! Where did it go?!

No, no, no!

It must have come loose in the privy.

Oh, Goddess! If they find it, they’ll have no trouble figuring out who killed Cindergrasp. I need to get it back.