The Death of a Tyrant's Concubine

CHAPTER 20 - The King's Uncle

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【𝐒𝐊𝐘𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄】

Autumn was arriving in just a few weeks, and with its nearing approach, my mood only worsened.

The island was usually overcast, but in the heart of summer, there were moments when light spilled through the gray. Farmers seized those fleeting hours with feverish urgency, their fields alive with motion, their hands heavy with sweat and soil.

Normally, I would've spent these bright hours in the sky, flying more than ever. But knowing winter crept just behind autumn soured the air.

Winter was when the dragons would sleep.

And when I was to meet my betrothed.

Most nights, sleep brought no rest. Only nightmares. I wondered what the Pyreen king's uncle was like. Most from Pyree were warlords. And I heard this prince was the worst there was. An undefeated general with a taste for violence and a temper as quick as it was cruel.

Drained, I lay sprawled along Starscale's back as he strolled through the farmlands. Villagers waved from their cottages and fields, offering wild berries to me or strips of dried fish to Starscale.

The sea breeze rolled inland, cool and briny, tugging at my pale pink gown as we approached the cliffside.

A roar cracked through the sky.

I looked up, shielding my eyes against a rare shaft of sun that pierced the cloudbank. Dragons circled high above. They dove into the churning sea, expertly grabbing fish and cackling amongst each other as they feasted.

One among them cast a shadow so vast, it swallowed the light.

Dreadwing.

The oldest of our flock. A mountain of black so large he could easily swallow Starscale with a single gulp. He plummeted in a sweeping descent, landing beside us with a crash that shook the cliffside. I jerked upright, gripping my saddle as the earth groaned beneath his weight.

Farmers who had once smiled now shrank back, hastily returning to their plows and baskets.

Claude expertly slid down the rope from her saddle. She landed on the grass and marched toward me, her black leathers slick with salt and wind.

"Skye!" she called, her voice carrying over the waves crashing below. "There's trouble."

My heart knocked against my ribs.

"What is it?" I asked.

"That damned prince," she spat. "Fishermen spotted a Pyreen vessel. They'll make landfall before dusk."

The world tilted slightly.

"What?" I choked out. "They weren't supposed to arrive until winter!"

After we'd sent our proposal, stating clearly the date of our readiness, their only reply had been a cryptic: We shall meet.

And now they come months ahead of schedule?

Claude turned on her heel, already storming back toward Dreadwing.

"We need to move the dragons to Guardclaw Nest. Now."

"W-wait!" I cried, hopping off Starscale and scrambling after her. "That island's barely large enough to hold them all and it's so close to here... What if they're discovered?"

She paused at the rope, gripping it tight. Her steely-gray eyes burned beneath furrowed brows.

"The mist is thick enough to veil the island's edges," she said. "The envoy won't stray far from Stormgard Castle. And if all is well, they'll be gone before the first leaf falls."