Maybe it was the swamp waterboarding tonic that caused her soul to leave her body temporarily.
Maybe it was the stellar first day she had on the job in the Draken Forces: 7 broken protocols, 2 ignored commands, and 1 royally irritated King who happened to be her ex’s dad.
Maybe it was sharing a fucking dragon for 3 hours with the man she caught cheating. A real bonding experience.
Whatever it was, slightly fewer fucks were given than 24 hours ago.
Heartbroken still? Yes.
A crybaby? No.
A bad bitch? On her way.
Serena walked through the war summit camp, Hyran, Elara, and Gav behind her.
She barely noticed the usual stares that followed.
That was until she felt her pulse spike and skin flush hot. She stopped mid-step, body reacting automatically. Her head turned.
Finnick Shadowclaw stood near the eastern ridge, mid-conversation with one of his commanders. Except he wasn’t looking at his commander. He was watching her.
She t his eyes. But he didn’t look away.
Heat flooded her cheeks. But she couldn’t move, rooted to the ground.
She felt the sudden, insane urge to go to him. Like he was comfort and she wanted a hug. It was bizarre. She had no business feeling that.
His chest rose once. Slow. Controlled. Then he broke eye contact, looking at his commander.
A hand closed around her arm.
"Turn," Elara whispered. "Now."
She pretended to fix Serena’s collar for a split second.
"There," she said, loud enough for anyone watching. "That was bothering all morning."
Serena snapped back to reality, just now realizing everyone behind her stopped as well.
She started walking again pretending like the last minute didn’t happen. But her face flushed even redder if that was possible.
Her thoughts spiraled. She was beyond confused. What the hell was wrong with her?
That instinct she felt in her gut to go to him now. That made no sense. Was it because she slept with him in his bed last night? That sounded terrible no matter how many tis she rephrased it.
Was the pull that bad when she was with Dexmon?
Wait...
Shadowclaw should not be compared to Dexmon. Gods, Shadowclaw was not her mate. Sure, they hugged and kissed last night. It was just a kiss. A platonic, friendship hug and an accidental kiss.
Did they kiss this morning too? Her brows furrowed in concentration. Everything was so damn foggy and her head hurt.
She shook her head, almost to get rid of the thoughts, but it didn’t work.
Gavriel snorted behind them.
Elara: She’s concussed, Gav.
Gav: You don’t see staring at—
Hyran whacked him before he could finish the thought.
"Ouch," Gav said. "That was an over reaction if I’ve ever seen one."
Hyran glanced at the gold bracelet on Gav’s wrist.
It took a mont for the ssage to sink in. Gav was also concussed and conveniently forgot that everyone wearing one was on the sa mindlink: the Draken Forces, the Hidden Fla, and Shadowclaw.
"Oh. Right," he said after a minute. "Whoops."
Serena exhaled and continued toward Nightspire’s tent across the camp.
They entered his tent in broad daylight. He had already called her his niece publicly, so it would be odd for her not to pay respects.
"Your grace," Serena said as she crossed the threshold, dipping respectfully. "This is Hyran Thornfell, our Master Mage and Gavriel Sterling, our Gamma."
Riven Nightspire’s smile curled like sothing being sharpened.
"Serena," he said, voice smooth. "Way too damn polite. You sound like you’re addressing a creditor, not family."
Before she could respond, he pulled her into a hug.
Then his eyes landed on Elara, and sothing in his expression flickered with recognition.
"Elara," he said, already moving toward her. He pulled her into a hug as well, just as familiar, just as disarming.
Hyran’s voice cut through the mont. "Remarkable. Three embraces before noon. Either you’re genuinely affectionate or you’re checking us for weapons." He smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "I’m honestly not sure which is more unsettling."
Nightspire’s eyes slid to Hyran, amused. "The famous Thornfell wit. I’d heard you were... observant."
"Occupational hazard," Hyran replied, settling into a chair without being invited. "I notice things. Patterns, mostly. Who hugs whom. Who pours the drinks. Who controls the flow of information in a room." He crossed one leg over the other. "Fascinating stuff, really."
Gav glanced at Hyran, already seated and completely at ho in another king’s tent. He briefly considered applauding.
The tent flap opened again.
Garrett Darkhowler stepped inside.
Without thinking, Serena and Elara collided into him in a tangle of arms and relief.
Garrett caught them both, one in each arm, laughing as he staggered back half a step. "Careful. You keep throwing yourselves at like this and people are going to start rumors. Worse than the ones they’re already telling."
Both won laughed. Elara wiped tears from her eyes. Serena did too.
"Here I was thinking you forgot who I was last night, Serena," Garrett said, voice softening just slightly. "Your crown is in the way for to ruffle your hair."
"Don’t you dare," Serena warned, face darkening.
Nightspire moved toward the side table and poured whiskey for everyone.
"Sun’s up, swords are sharp, and we’re all still breathing," Nightspire said, handing out glasses with the casual authority of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. "I’d say that’s reason enough to drink."
Hyran accepted his glass with a raised brow but said nothing. Gav took his with significantly more enthusiasm. He looked at Serena. "I like him already. Terrible sign."
"Cheers to reunions," Gav said, lifting his glass. "And to family trees that apparently need a cartographer to navigate."
They sat. The conversation was casual.
"There’s a bounty out for King Tiberon’s head," Nightspire said after a few minutes. "Dexmon’s listed with him."
Serena spoke before Hyran or Gav, surprising everyone. "Isn’t there always a bounty on kings?"
She rembered how Nightspire was. She’d almost forgotten. There was always a ans to an end. A ga of chess.
Concussion chess in her case.
At the mont, she was three moves behind and the board was on fire.
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Aye. There is."
"But we’re not here to discuss bounties on kings, are we?" Hyran swirled his untouched whiskey. "We’re here because you want sothing from her. The hugs, the whiskey, the casual revelation about bounties. It’s all very well choreographed." He tilted his head. "So. What’s the price of admission to whatever you’re actually selling?"
Nightspire’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. "I can see why Tiberon keeps you around, Thornfell. You’re delightfully paranoid."
"Paranoid implies irrationality," Hyran said. "I prefer ’appropriately cautious around n who smile too much.’"
Nightspire took a sip of his whiskey. "Does Tiberon know where you are from?"
"I’ve told them I’m Frostborne," Serena answered, unflinching.
Nightspire studied her for a mont, then glanced at Hyran. "There’s a reason Frostborne was targeted six years ago. Annihilated in their beds in the dead of night."
Serena swallowed, adrenaline was in full force.
"And she’s sitting in this room."
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