"I told you so," said Withian as they ascended the last staircase that would take them back to the ground level of the palace. Arynn could see his lips pull into a smug grin as they were bathed in sunlight again.

She grumbled, "Told me what?"

"Dragons are real."

Arynn's face contorted in a grimace. "That's not a dragon," she said as she limped next to him, secretly regretting the moment she'd shooed him away when he tried to carry her. "That's a leviathan—a deep sea serpent that happens to breathe fire. It's the stuff of myths, really."

"Clearly not," said Geoffrey from in front of them.

"And how, pray tell, are you going to get our scaly friend down below to melt the Wall for you?" Arynn missed a step and stumbled again, hurting the injured foot again, and wailed. Her ankle had swollen from walking on it, becoming so big it strained against the leather and laces of her boots.

Her heart pounded painfully against her ribcage as she felt the ground being ripped away from under her feet. "What the fuck," she groaned as she was scooped into Withian's arms and came gave to face with the boy. She demanded, "Put me down. I can walk on my own."

He rolled his eyes dramatically and craned his neck to look past her as not to bump into anything. He grimaced, "Why must women always do the 'Oh, I'm a strong and independent woman; I don't need a man to save me from hurting my swollen ankle even more' thing?"

She thrashed is his grip. "Because I have suffered injuries a lot worse than a twisted ankle and always came out alive." Her attempt at escaping his hold was futile, as he was stronger than he looked. The drop to the marble floor would be hazardous on her injured leg, she decided, and stayed still. But not without fixing him with an intense glare.

"Should I be more worried that you lot look like you've seen the gates of hell themselves, or the fact that something terrible enough happened that Arynn is allowing someone to carry her," came the voice of prince Iyer from their right. He was dressed formally, in a fine tunic the color of blood, woven with golden thread and a golden crown on his head. His blue eyes landed on Arynn and Withian.

Arynn gritted, "I didn't allow anything. Your lesser half grabbed me from the floor and won't let me go." Her green eyes narrowed as she turned them away from Iyer to glare up at his twin brother again.

"We took Arynn to see the dragon," said Withian as he shifted her effortlessly in his arm like she was only a chest or a sack of potatoes. "But then she had to show us her endearing clumsiness and tripped over a log."

"It was dark," she protested.

"And then," said Withian as if she hadn't spoken, "she stared at the dragon for a very long time in silence. And suddenly, she got up and drew her sword to use it as a bloody cane." He rolled his eyes at that. "And then she refused to let me carry her up the stairs, until she tripped again just now."

"I stumbled," she grumbled. "And for the last time—dragons aren't real."

"To be discussed," he said again.

She groaned, "No."

Iyer grimaced and walked to Withian with his hands out. "Give her to me," he said and huffed when his brother dumped Arynn into his arms without warning. "You're a real cunt; do you know that?"

"Language, Iyer," said Withian in a soft and dreamy voice as he brushed the sleeves of his tunic. "That's what Mother always said, no? She was always so patient with you."

"But then again," said Iyer. "I never quite got on her nerves like you did. You were born for it, I suppose, to get under her skin and drive her to madness."

A mean laugh came from Withian's throat. "You were born for the throne. I had to find something to occupy myself with."

"I feel I don't want to be here for the escalation of this conversation," said Arynn before Iyer could say anything else. She shifted in his arms so that she could fold her hands behind his neck. Softly, she asked, "Can you please take me to my bedroom?"

Iyer carried her up the winding staircases that would lead the to her wing of the palace and walked backward into the door of her bedroom to open it. "Bring her a cold compress," he said to Aleksei, who had been placing stones on a sheet of red gauzy fabric, and set Arynn down on the bed. To Arynn, he said, "I'll be right back."

Aleksei pulled at the laces on Arynn's boot and set it down on the floor. She whistled lowly at the sight of the nary red swollen ankle that his underneath. With careful fingers, she prodded the skin and laid the compress on top of it. "What the bloody hell have you been up to this time," she muttered to Arynn as she unfastened the belt from around Arynn's hips.

"It was dark and there was a log," she said grumpily.

"You accident-prone idiot," laughed Aleksei as she set the scabbard down on the chest at the foot of the bed. "I'll bring you water and quenepas. Stay here," she said.

Arynn glared. "It's not like I'll be able to leave and run about the corridors."

"Do you play chess," asked Iyer as he opened the door to her bedroom again. There held a wooden chest in his hand, the lid carved with the crown of his House. He walked around to the other side of her bed and took a seat at the edge, sitting down at the very edge of it.

"I do," she answered as she tried to sit up and hissed at the movement of her foot. She reached forward to grab the compress and place it back on her ankle, but was beaten to it by the prince. "Klarx rai (thank you)," she said as she leaned back into the pillows, and delighted the at the feeling if the cold soothing her ankle.

He opened the chest to reveal a square board made of glass, with clear and matte white squares on its surface. The pieces sat underneath it—pawns, bishops, knights, rooks, kings and queens all made of clear and matted glass.

He laid out the board and arranged the pieces on top. "What do you prefer to be," he asked when the pieces all stood in their places. "Black or white? The clear glass is white and the matted is supposed to be black. Mother gave it to me on my tenth birthday—she loved glass things."

She turned the board around so the matted piece were on her side of the board. "Like in battle, I prefer to defend rather than attack," she said as she picked up her white Queen. "I feel that making the wrong first move can lead to disastrous ends."

"You didn't mind making the first move when you killed our mother," said Withian from the doorway.

Arynn kept her face carefully blank as she watched Iyer move the knight on the right of of his king forward, over his row of pawns. "You mother made the first move there," she said as she loved the pawn in from of her king two steps forward. "By killing innocent Tohari people—men, women, children. They all died at her orders."

Iyer mirrored her movements and moved his own paws two steps ahead so it stood face to face with her own. He raised his eyebrows at her and said softly, "If you choke, I win." He looked to his brother, who had made himself comfortable against the closed door.

Arynn allowed a smirk to find its way to her lips. She said, "But I never lose," and moved her queen to the far left of the board, locking the king in its place. Her green eyes found his unbelieving blue ones. "Checkmate."