Chapter CLX: The lord of the Stormlands

The walls of Stormspire loomed ahead, dark and foreboding against the muted sky. The Dragon Princess entourage had arrived, but the guards had refused them entry. The clamor of their voices rose in the air as tension simmered, knights of the Dragon exchanging wary glances with the Stormland sentries.

Lord Bastian Belton appeared, his expression hardened and resolute as he approached the standoff. His deep voice cut through the noise, commanding immediate attention. “What in the name of the gods is going on here?”

One of the Dragon Army knights stepped forward, his armor catching a fleeting ray of sunlight. “We are here to accompany her royal highness, the Dragon Princess Rya,” he declared.

Lord Belton’s brows furrowed, skepticism shadowing his features. “I don’t see any princess around here. And until I do, none of you are entering.”

The words had barely settled when a rush of wind swept over them. A shadow crossed the ground, drawing every gaze upward as a mighty dragon roared across the sky, wings outstretched, slicing through the clouds with powerful strokes. The creature descended in a graceful arc, the gusts from its landing sending dust spiraling through the air. The beast stood tall, her scales shimmering like molten gold.

With a fluid motion, Rya dismounted, her leather riding attire fitted perfectly, lending her a striking, formidable presence. She walked forward with an ease of both confidence and command, a glint of mischief dancing in her eyes.

“Apologies for the delay,” she said, her voice smooth and unapologetic. “Emberlace was hungry, so we had to make a quick stop for a hunt.”

Lord Belton’s eyes met hers, a flicker of recognition sparking. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was every bit as imposing as everyone described, resembling a lot of his father in his youth. But at that moment, he seemed almost disarmed. He stared, caught between surprise and something else, until realization pulled him back to his senses. His expression shifted, and he sank to one knee, bowing low.

“It is an honor to receive you, Princess,” he said, his voice steady, though the tension in the air was palpable.

Rya’s smile widened, and the Stormlands seemed just a little less cold. She steadied herself, recalling her mother’s voice echoing in her mind: Behave like a good guest, but remember—everything you see is yours. Hold your ground and know your power. The nerves that had tangled in her chest loosened a little. She squared her shoulders and approached the castle gates where her entourage and Lord Belton waited.

The young lord stood tall, grayish blue eyes sharp beneath dark brows, the crest of his house—a roaring tempest—emblazoned on his chest. He was formidable, a man clearly used to command. Rya met his gaze and offered a polite, confident smile, one that didn't betray the slight tremor she felt within. She was here with a mission, a promise she had made to herself and to her parents: she would return only after securing the reopening of the southern roads.

With a measured voice, she said, “Thank you for your patience, my lord. I trust the wait will be worthwhile.” Lord Belton's eyes flickered with something she couldn’t quite place, but then he nodded, dropping into a bow.

Rya’s fingers brushed the hilt of her dagger—unseen beneath her riding cloak—as if to remind herself of her own strength. She walked forward, feeling the weight of expectation settle on her shoulders but refusing to let it bend her. The negotiations ahead would be difficult, but she would not falter. She was her mother’s daughter, the firstborn Dragon Princess, and she would make both of her parents proud.

Rya had expected the cold, forbidding atmosphere of Stormspire to be even more imposing than it was, but as Lord Belton led her through the ancient halls, she found herself distracted by the strange, magnetic pull between them. His tall, commanding figure moved ahead of her, his footsteps echoing off the stone floors, as though every part of the castle was imbued with the weight of centuries.

The castle’s walls were lined with shields and swords, banners bearing the sigil of the Stormlands fluttering in the breeze from the high windows. The storm outside continued its furious battering of the cliffs, but here, inside, it was strangely serene—though it never quite felt warm. It was as if the castle itself had inherited its lord’s temperament: aloof, guarded, and proud.

“You must see the view from the northern tower, Your Highness…” Lord Belton said, glancing back at her with a look that, despite its coolness, was slightly more curious than she expected. “Although you probably saw everything you had to see on top of your dragon.”

Rya nodded politely, though she hadn’t missed the glimmer of something in his eyes. It was there again, that faint spark—amusement, perhaps, or something more dangerous. She pushed it aside, concentrating instead on the task ahead.

They made their way through the corridors until they reached the tower’s base. The staircase was narrow and winding, and Rya had to keep pace with him as he ascended quickly, his long stride eating up the steps.

"Do you climb these towers often?" she asked, half to fill the silence, half out of genuine curiosity. She wasn’t used to being in the presence of someone like Belton—someone who wore his pride so openly, his confidence so thick it almost seemed impenetrable. The only man who carried himself like this in her presence was her own father, but even he would sometimes break for her. Lord Belton didn’t seem like a man who would break for anyone.

He looked back over his shoulder, his lips twitching into a smile that, for just a moment, softened the harshness of his expression. "I climb here when I need to be alone."

Rya glanced out the nearest window, where the wind whipped the ocean into a frenzy below. The view was stunning, and for a brief moment, she forgot the tension that lingered between them. "The Stormlands do live up to their name… Does it ever stop raining around here?"

"Sometimes…" he said, his voice a low rumble. He turned to face her now, leaning against the stone wall with a casual air that seemed to invite conversation. “They said when the families of Old Theran first arrived, they offered sacrifices to their gods so it would stop raining for at least a few weeks during the year… Our short-lived summers.”

Rya, trying to steer the conversation to safer waters, asked, “Your mother, Lady Giana, was of therian ascent, wasn’t she?”

There was a flicker of recognition in Belton’s eyes at the mention of his mother. A shared heritage. She had expected his dismissal, but instead, he seemed to study her.

"She was," he said, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than necessary. “She died a long time ago, I don’t remember much of her.”

Rya bristled slightly at the words, but she pressed on, her tone softer, more thoughtful. “It’s strange, isn't it? That we share blood from a time long past. My mother, the Queen, visited the free cities of Theran when I was young… She said the place was made of ruins… Ruins of a great empire.”

Belton’s lips quirked upward at the mention of her mother. "The Dragon Queen Isabella. Of course, I’ve heard the stories… She came back from Theran thousands of therian soldiers who are commanded by her only. For what I know, not even the Dragon King can command them. Is this true?"

Rya smiled faintly at the comment. "It’s true. Mantiarea Raina."

“The Queen’s Guard…” He said, translating the ancient name the queen’s therian soldiers called themselves. His eyes flicked to hers, the challenge still there, but now, something else—something more dangerous. "I’m curious, Princess… Who will be left to command these therian soldiers upon, gods forbid, the passing of the Queen? To your brother, the future king? To his future wife, the new queen? Or, perhaps… The Dragon Queen’s eldest daughter… You?"

Rya faltered for the briefest moment, the unexpected question striking a chord. She met his gaze, searching for any hint of genuine curiosity. But no, his eyes were calculating, sharp as a blade. He was testing her, seeking to pry open the layers of her influence and power. It was a game, one she recognized all too well, but one that stung nonetheless.

Why does he care? she wondered, trying to steady her breath before speaking.

“It’s quite unusual for the Dragon King to have a queen,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with subtle defiance. “Much less one who commands an army of her own. The matters of my mother’s succession aren’t quite fixed yet.”

Belton’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that carried both admiration and something more elusive.

Before Rya could react, he stepped back, tilting his head with a practiced air of polite indifference. “You must be tired from flying your dragon for two days, Your Highness. Allow me to show you to your chambers. You should rest before dinner.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a response that was neither accepting nor dismissive. She strode past him, her gaze fixed ahead, but the hallway was narrow, and as she moved, her chest brushed against his arm. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through her—an electric reminder that, for all his cunning and calculated questions, there was something unsettlingly magnetic about him.

She felt his eyes on her back as she walked, the weight of his scrutiny like a storm gathering in the distance. Rya knew one thing for certain: Lord Belton was no friendly host. He was a man who wielded his mind as deftly as a sword, and he intended to decipher her, to undress her mind in order to disarm her.

But if he thought she would be an easy read, he was sorely mistaken.