>>Aelin
The wind carried the scent of char and sun-warmed stone.
I had only meant to take a quiet walk — to clear my head, to prepare for the meeting that would begin in less than an hour. But as I wandered into the outer corridor of the palace — the one that curved like an arc around the highest slope — I stopped in my tracks.
Below, in the vast, scorched training grounds, the world was on fire.
Not with destruction, but with power. Intention. Control.
Draegon was there, bare-chested and gleaming in the golden afternoon sun. A thin shimmer of hardened black scales lined his arms and shoulders like armor forged from his very skin, refracting violet in the light. His purple eyes were sharp, focused — completely locked onto his sparring partner.
Vesper.
