“Really, Dracoth?” she chides, silver eyes narrowing like blades as they cut into me. “Now of all—”
I silence her with a raised hand, my gaze never wavering from the Elder.
“Such a pride prick,” Princesa mutters under her breath for my ears alone. Her words land like rain on lava—ignored, inconsequential.
She is my Princesa. That is her name.
The intruder arches a brow. “A pleasure,Princesa.Now, where was I?” he mumbles, only to be interrupted by a sudden fit of spluttering coughs. The sound echoes through the cavern, each hacking spasm forcing him to double over, shaking as though his very bones were coming undone.
My lip twitches.Mockery?Or is this fool’s intent to goad me into action?
Princesa slips her small hands over mine. Her stern gaze—so steady, so knowing—bores into me, anchoring the molten fury echoed through our bond. The sight of her delicate face and thegentleness of her touch cool the fire in my chest. I force out a long breath, loosening the tension in my limbs.
“Gods, what a kink.Please excuse me,” the Elder wheezes at last, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he straightens. “It’s this stuffy Scarn air. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but the ash really gets in your lungs, does it not?” he adds, lightly tapping his chest.
“No,” I growl, the word rolling out like thunder. This fool must hail from the softest corner of Klendathor—perhaps Draxxi?
“Elder Harkus,” Garzum finally speaks, his voice a low rumble as he rises to his feet.
The name lands like a stone in the cavern, its weight rippling through the crowd. A murmur of disapproval builds, spreading like a poisonous miasma.
Harkus.
Even I know that name—a stinging reminder of Elder Zyraxis’ loss and the Council’s punishment of my clan.
“This is aninsult!” Zelarn, a grizzled ancient warrior, roars from the crowd. “The Council sends a weakDraxxusto mock us!” he spits with fists clenched, moving menacingly toward Harkus.
But a figure cloaked in a brown hooded robe moves swiftly, halting Zelarn with a mere outstretched hand and a subtle shake of their head.
“Silence!” Garzum cries, raising his hands high, but the crowd remains restless—muttering, pointing, their anger bubbling like magma.
The Draxxus Elder, to his credit, stands brave and proud, his gaze flicking among the attendees with no shred of fear.
“Silence!” Garzum roars louder this time, his voice cutting through the uproar like a plasma claw through bone.
“You all bring shame to the Magaxus!” Garzum spits, his narrowed crimson gaze sweeping the assembly like fire. “Like a pack of mad hydraliths without a lick of sense among you.”
His gaze fixes on Zelarn, the ancient warrior’s defiance wilting under the Elder’s scrutiny. He looks away, his shoulders sinking in quiet submission.
“To attack an Elder—any Elder—en masse would condemn our entire clan!” Garzum continues, his voice shaking with unyielding intensity. “Is that what you want? To invite ruin upon what’s left of us?”
The heated murmuring stops.
“My thanks, Elder Garzum,” Harkus says with a solemn nod, his voice calm and measured. “I did not come to stir up old hatreds, nor did the Council send me as an insult to you all.” He sweeps a hand across the muted crowd. “Although, perhaps it was meant to punish me.” He chuckles softly at his own joke, the sound hollow in the cavern’s tense silence. “No, I have come to fulfill another duty.”
He turns deliberately, his gaze locking onto Princesa and me.
“To verify the happy couples,Mortakin-Tok.”
Harkus begins his approach toward the raised stone dais where we stand, an open smile plastered across his face. I do not return it. My eyes track his every step, untrusting. His distaste for our cloaks had been plain when he first noticed them, but now he holds his tongue. Whether out of fear or calculation, I cannot tell.
Beside me, Princesa releases an audible sigh of exasperation, throwing her hands up. “We’re doing thisagain?” she groans, silver eyes rolling heavenward. “Listen, space Santa, we’ve already been through this with Garzum over there.” She flicks a dismissive wrist toward the awkward Magaxus Elder like the regal War Chieftainess she is.
Harkus maintains his faint smile, though his gaze lingers on her. “You are... most peculiar. Much different from High Chieftainess Rocks,” he muses, stroking his long beard thoughtfully.
My hands tighten into fists at that title—High Chieftainess. A mockery. It should not exist. It will not exist, not when I’m finished.
“Ugh! Rocks. Rocks. Rocks,” Princesa snaps, the words tumbling out in a rush. Her pretty face twists into a sneer. “I’ve never met the woman, and I’m already so over her.”
