Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Perhaps I should’ve foregone the costume’s crown. And maybe the steel-tipped combat boots, too. Total overkill for an ambassador. But I’d needed my armor more than ever. In minutes, I would come face to face with Sebastian Mórisi for the first time since the referendum.
Nerves buzzing, I rocked back on my heels and peeked at the world beyond my bubble. The line ahead of me stretched toward massive double doors carved with a kraken’s tentacles twisting in shadow. Every other ambassador was a male built for war. Once again, I was the lone female. The fire-breathing ballerina known across realms as the Pirouette Princess, wrapped in silk and scales, fighting the urge to faint before the curtain could even rise, despite all the retraining Olyssa insisted I undergo after I’d asked to become her envoy to this land.
“I’m tired of waiting,” the adder hissed, his forked tongue flicking in agitation.
Tension as thick as smoke rippled through the line. He was eager; I wasn’t ready. But I had a mission. Change Sebastian Mórisi’s nei to a já, allowing berserkers from different factions to wed. Everything else was… a complication.
My invisible bubble popped. Breathe.
It must be fascination. An odd one at that. He wasn’t even my type. I preferred soft, soulful men who spent time in libraries rather than battlefields. Always had, always would.
The massive doors creaked open at last. Air scraped past my teeth when a stern-faced servant stepped into the corridor, his eyes sharp and his posture rigid. “The king will see you now, one at a time.”
Muttering curses, the adder stalked forward. Guards shut the doors behind him with a resounding boom.
My pulse skidded. This was really happening.
Though math wasn’t my favorite, I worked a quick calculation based solely on the amount of time Olyssa spent with her meet-and-greets. Half an hour. With eight ambassadors ahead of me, including the adder, I would be seeing the king in…
Argh! I didn’t know. My brain refused to make sense of the numbers. But whatever the length, surely I’d be calm by the end.
Only three minutes later, the doors opened. Two guards dragged the groaning adder back into the hall, his eyes unfocused, his head lolling. His boots scraped against the stone, useless as the men dragged him away.
“So it’s true,” the wolf ambassador stated. He sighed. “Looking into the kraken king’s eyes causes seasickness.”
“Next,” the servant announced, gaze sweeping over the remaining ambassadors.
I pressed my hands to my fluttering belly, hopeful. Maybe I’d only reacted to King Sebastian’s eyes at the vote. Maybe every immortal in these halls felt that same lurch and mistook it for something more. Ja, ja. That must be it. Just the eyes. No bond, no complication, only a diplomat and the king I’d come to sway.
Rather than rebuilding my bubble, I forced myself to observe what would be my new workplace for the next three years. The palace walls rippled with ice-blue coral, faintly alive despite the absence of water. Sea-glass lanterns dangled from a domed glass ceiling, shedding blue-green light that shimmered across polished floors like waves.
If I were the decorator, I would have softened the lighting near the entrances. Reduced the intimidation factor. Intimidation was rarely productive long-term—
The doors opened, and another ambassador exited, pale and waxen, looking ready to vomit.
Ash and embers.
One by one, the other ambassadors went in confident and emerged sick.
Finally, I was the only one left. Then came the words I both dreaded and anticipated. “Dragon, you’re up.”
I smoothed my gown once more and reset my balance. This meeting would be a performance like any other. A dance from the opening step to the final bow. I might even walk out with the answer I desperately craved.
Find the rhythm. Keep the count. I glided forward, shoulders back, chin up. Always give them a grand entrance.
“Princess Bronwyn Drachenveil the Graceborn, Pirouette Princess, Queen of Ice, Swan of Ashmorra and Mistress of Motion,” the herald announced. My cheeks warmed as he listed the silly titles bestowed by fans. “Sister of Olyssa Drachenveil, Queen of Dragons.”
“Just Ambassador Bronwyn,” I muttered. Royal titles were supposed to be suspended during the years of contracted service.
The doors shut behind me without a word from the herald.
Message received. I would be called whatever the kraken wanted to call me.
I continued forward, focusing on the chamber—and my breathing—before daring a glance at the king. The throne room loomed like a cathedral of the sea. Arched ceilings of glass revealed dark waters overhead. Columns of petrified coral lined the walls, saturating the air with the scent of salt and seablooms. Mother-of-pearl inlaid the floor in swirling patterns that glimmered with each flicker of light.
My sister Adelaide, chief spy of Ashmorra, had made me memorize crucial rules for surveillance and shadow work while residing in the kraken court.
The first, meant to be all-encompassing for my stay? When people think you’re harmless, they will tell you things. You’re a ballerina, Bronwyn. Half the kingdom already assumes your head is full of twirls and ribbons. Use it. Don’t correct them, even when pride wants you to.