Page 74 of Wings of Ice and Steel

At the entrance to her wing, they were greeted by judgemental frowns on the faces of the guards. One gestured curtly for her to follow him and Kayla bade her a swift farewell, Nieve giving her a look that promised so much more before wishing her a good night, too.

It wasn’t fair.

Ariadnne wanted to drag Nieve through the doors, only the stony gazes of the guards keeping her moving as they escorted her through the wing.

In the echoey corridors she inhaled the lingering scent of pine on the scarf Nieve had gifted her, but came crashing back to earth when she opened her doors to see Melixanthe waiting on her couch. Her handler’s stern expression said it all. She’d already heard. Someone must have seen them and run to inform her.

‘What the fuck happened?’ Melixanthe rose, eyes glinting like coals in the dim light. ‘I placed my trust in you, how could you break it so completely?’ Her tone was cold and clipped. ‘Brawling like a common thug in a tavern. With some of our own, no less.’ She shook her head. ‘I honestly don’t know what to do about this. It was badly done, Ariadnne. Again. You seem incapable of keeping out of trouble.’

Ariadnne felt her anger roiling in response. She should be allowed to make mistakes, and she had been intending to help Melixanthe—

‘You’re not being fair,’ she muttered. ‘So what? I got into a fight. You should have heard what Failion called me.’

‘So what? You are a varanya, not some commoner!’ Melixanthe’s voice rose. ‘What’s that?’ She nodded to the scarf at her neck.

‘None of your damn business.’

Melixanthe looked affronted, but Ariadnne didn’t care. She didn’t care how petulant the action might be, she marched to her bedroom and slammed the door, escaping Melixanthe’s judgmental stares.

Behind her, her sharp ears picked out the sound of Melixanthe starting towards her door. She must have second-guessed herself as the footsteps stopped, then headed off the other way. She released the breath she’d been holding.

Failion had been overly defensive. He knew more than he was saying. And that tidbit he’d admitted—that Sol had been distracted of late—she was more convinced than ever that he was to blame.

With shaky hands she stripped, and then as old habits died hard, she curled on the rug in front of the fireplace to sleep.

Thirty-three

Ariadnne

Damn the sun, and the way it streamed through the window, chirpy and bright. Ariadnne rubbed her overly sensitive eyes, mouth hairy and dry, regretting every sip of ale that had passed her lips. It turned out she wasn’t immune to hangovers. Who knew. With a groan, she dragged herself out of bed, already cutting it fine for training. The memory of her heated conversation with Melixanthe surfaced, bringing with it a convoluted mix of guilt and frustration.

She forced down a queasy bite of toast from the tray Sascha left in her living room. It didn’t sit well in her stomach, but she needed to eat. She vowed to learn from this experience.

She made it to the yard, but Melixanthe barely looked at her during her session with Garth, her avoidance leaving Ariadnne picked clean and bare.

She hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she’d been trying to protect…

She bit down a fresh pang of guilt as a wave of disappointment rolled off the general’s proud form. She shook it off, trying not to care.

Throwing herself into the sparring ring, she worked up a sweat, only pausing when the gate pealed with a mind-splitting clatter. A tug in her chest drew her eye to the archway, a tightening of the band that cradled her heart as she sensed her mate’s arrival.

The knights at Nieve’s side paled into insignificance as they entered the grounds, laughing and jostling as they would any other morning. Nieve’s lips tilted as she caught sight of Ariadnne waiting on the sand, sparring forgotten. Her pale face lit the air around her, the sight setting Ariadnne on fire to the point that she was overwhelmed by the urge to drop everything and run to her. Unbidden, scales rose, mottling the bare skin of her arms.

She couldn’t handle training alongside her, not like this, not today. She couldn’t trust herself to remain aloof, to not head to Nieve right there and kiss her perfect lips. No. She needed another way. Without thinking, she turned and stripped. She wouldn’t be forced to stand next to the one she longed to touch and pretend there was nothing between them. Instead, she exploded into her dragon form. They could go straight to aerial work, plans be damned. Melixanthe could believe her defiant or difficult if she wished.

If the company were surprised by Ariadnne dictating the session, they hid it well.

All except Nieve, whose eyes lingered too long, brows drawn in concern, before climbing into position.

Feverish, Ariadnne threw herself into the aerial course, flinging herself into the turns with a reckless abandon that had her team shouting with surprise and struggling to make shots. Wild twists, sudden drops—she exalted in it all, her dragon ignoring their handler’s commands with snide satisfaction.

They were free. Alive. Untamed.

Until the moment she ran out of course and her fevered energy waned.

Landing with a thud, her company disembarked—relief on many of their faces. She felt another pang of guilt as Kayla shot her a quizzical look.

Ariadnne knew Melixanthe would be further angered by her reckless flight, so lingered as a dragon, looking to the skies and wondering how easy it would be to grab Nieve and disappear.