[Draven’s POV]

The council chamber smells of old parchment and older grievances. I settle into my chair, watching the elders file in with their ledgers and their endless opinions. Monthly meetings. The tedious cost of power no one warns you about.

The routine business flows past me in a blur. Border disputes, resource allocations, training schedules requiring my seal. I answer when required, approve what needs approving, sign where signatures are demanded.

My mind drifts elsewhere. To a woman with fierce blue eyes who refused to cower. To questions about her mysterious past I cannot seem to stop asking, despite always getting identical answers.

“—and that concludes standard matters.” Corwin’s voice pulls me back. “However, there is one additional topic the council wishes to raise.”

Something in his tone makes my spine stiffen. I know that careful hesitation all too well.

“Speak plainly, Corwin. I despise dancing around subjects.”

The elders exchange weighted glances and Elder Maren, the eldest among them, clears her throat deliberately. “My lord, the matter concerns succession. And the question of a consort.”

“No.”

“Lord Draven…”

“I said no. This discussion is closed.”

“With respect, my lord, it cannot remain closed forever.” Maren meets my gaze steadily. “The High House requires stability. An heir to secure our future against all threats.”

“Our future is perfectly secure.”

“Is it truly so? Look at us, my lord. We are not young. When we pass, who guides the next generation? Who ensures your legacy continues?”

“She’s not wrong,” Khaira murmurs through our bond. “Though her timing is characteristically terrible.”

“The High House will endure as it always has,” I say flatly.

“It has been four years,” Elder Corwin adds gently. “Four years since Lady Lyanna—”

“Do not speak her name.”

Silence falls like a blade across the chamber. The weight of it presses against my chest.

Lyanna. My partner. My heart. The woman who made this cold fortress feel like home. Four years ago, enemies took her from me while I was too far away to protect her. I wasn’t there when she needed me most.

Since that day, the hatred between our houses has turned from cold hostility to open bloodshed. I’ve killed more of our enemies in four years than my father in previous decades. It’s never enough to fill the void.

“Grief cannot lead forever, my lord,” Maren says softly. “The living must continue living.”

“I am living.” I insist stubbornly, pretending like nobody knows otherwise.

“You are existing. There is a profound difference.”

“She speaks the truth,” Khaira observes unhelpfully.

“I think your dragon would agree with us,” Maren says. A hint of dry humor touches her lips. “Khaira has always been the wiser of you two.”

Despite everything, I almost smile. “She certainly believes so.”

“Because it’s true,” she agrees in my mind.

“The High House of the Black Dragon needs an heir,” Corwin presses. “Enemy houses circle like vultures. They smell weakness where succession remains unclear.”

“Let them circle. Let them come. I’ll add their bones to the cliffs.”

“Bones don’t rule territories, my lord. Living heirs do.”

“A colorful image, but impractical,” Maren adds.

I rise from my chair, signaling the meeting’s end. “This discussion is finished.”

The elders rise reluctantly. One by one, they file out—all except Maren, who remains seated with infuriating patience.

“I said the meeting is finished.”

“The meeting is. My counsel is not.” She waits until the door closes. “Sit, Draven. Please.”

Something in her tone makes me pause. She’s known me since childhood, watched me grow from a reckless boy to whatever I am now. So I sit.

“You believe I’m just being stubborn.”

“I believe you’re being terrified. And I understand why.”

“She fights unfairly,” Khaira observes. “Using your own heart against you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Perhaps. But a loving liar.”

We fly the patrol route in silence. Khaira’s wings beat steady rhythms while I try to empty my mind of everything the elders said. I fail completely. Thoughts drift unwillingly to her.

Evelyn. The houseless woman with fierce blue eyes who challenged me in dark corridors.

“Interesting,” Khaira rumbles. “Your thoughts wander to her often lately.”

“My thoughts wander everywhere. It means nothing.”

“Does it? She stirs something in you. I feel it through our bond.”

“She stirs suspicion. Nothing more.”

“Suspicion doesn’t make your heart race when she defies you. Suspicion doesn’t keep you awake wondering about her.” I grip her scales harder, knowing she won’t feel it anyway.

“Grant me a merciful silence, Khaira.”

“I merely observe what you refuse to see, Draven.”

My dragon rumbles with something dangerously close to laughter but mercifully holds her tongue. “You’ll thank me eventually.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

We continue the patrol, but her words echo through my mind long after we land.

What is it about Evelyn that haunts me so? She’s nobody—a houseless rogue with a suspicious past and convenient answers. Yet her defiance awakens something I buried with Lyanna.

The way she meets my gaze without flinching. Chin lifted, refusing to cower even when wisdom demands submission. She fights like someone trained by a High House, yet claims to be nothing.

There’s fire in her. A stubborn, reckless flame that should infuriate me but instead draws me closer. When she challenged me in that corridor, something long dormant stirred in my chest.

I think of her fierce eyes, the way heat rises to her cheeks when anger overtakes caution. The graceful violence of her movements in the training yard. How she refused my crude test with dignity instead of desperation. She stood taller.

And even when I finally sleep, I dream of fierce blue eyes and fire that refuses to die—and a woman whose secrets call to me louder than any warning.