småne slipped into her chamber, the heavy wooden door groaning softly as it swung shut behind her. The faint glow of bioluminescent scales flickered in the dim light as the SeaWing guard dipped his head respectfully, his webbed talons brushing the stone floor. "If you need anything, princess," he murmured, his voice low and smooth like the tide rolling over sand, "call me or the shark. We're right outside." His dark, liquid eyes lingered on her for a moment before he turned, his tail swishing gently as he stepped back into the corridor. The door clicked shut, leaving Ismåne alone in the quiet expanse of her room.

The chamber was cool, the air carrying the faint scent of salt and pine. Moonlight spilled through the arched windows, casting silvery patterns across the polar bear rug that lay sprawled in the center of the room. Ismåne let out a long, weary sigh, her breath misting in the chill. She padded across the stone floor, her talons clicking softly, and settled onto the rug, the thick fur cushioning her scales. Her wings folded neatly at her sides as she lay down, her gaze drifting to the golden bracelet coiled around her wrist.

The bracelet gleamed in the moonlight, its intricate carvings catching the light like tiny stars. She twisted it absently, the metal cool against her scales, her mind wandering to the weight it carried—not just in gold, but in duty, in expectation. The patterns etched into the band seemed to shift as she turned it, telling stories of ancient battles and forgotten promises. She traced a claw along the edge, her thoughts as tangled as the engravings.

Outside, the distant crash of waves against the cliffs echoed faintly, a reminder of the vast, restless ocean beyond the palace walls. Ismåne's tail curled around her, her talons idly combing through the rug's fur as she stared at the bracelet, lost in the quiet of the night.

A sharp rap on the door jolted Ismåne from her thoughts. She lifted her head, her silver-blue scales catching the moonlight as she turned toward the sound. For a moment, she hesitated, her talons stilling on the golden bracelet. Then, with a soft sigh, she called, "Come in."

The door creaked open, revealing the regal silhouette of Queen Coral. The SeaWing queen's bioluminescent scales glowed faintly in the dim light, casting a soft, ethereal aura around her. Her wings, though folded neatly at her sides, seemed to carry the weight of the ocean itself, and her sharp, intelligent eyes softened as they landed on Ismåne. A warm smile spread across her snout, and she stepped inside, the door closing gently behind her.

"Hello, dear," Queen Coral said, her voice smooth and melodic, like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. She glanced around the chamber, her gaze sweeping over the polar bear rug, the arched windows, and the flickering moonlight that bathed the room. "How are your accommodations? Does it suit you?" Her tone was warm, but there was a hint of concern beneath it, as though she were carefully measuring Ismåne's comfort.

Ismåne straightened slightly, her wings shifting as she sat up on the rug. She offered a small, polite smile, though her eyes still carried a trace of weariness. "It's... lovely, Your Majesty," she said, her voice soft but steady. "The room is beautiful, and the view of the ocean is breathtaking. I couldn't ask for more." She paused, her talons brushing against the fur of the rug. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Queen Coral's smile widened, and she took a step closer, her talons clicking softly against the stone floor. "I'm glad to hear it," she said, her voice warm with approval. "You're our guest, and it's important to me that you feel at home here. If there's anything you need—anything at all—don't hesitate to ask." Her gaze lingered on Ismåne for a moment, as if searching for something unspoken, before she added, "You've had a long journey. Rest well, dear. Tomorrow is a new day."

With that, Queen Coral inclined her head gracefully and turned toward the door, her bioluminescent scales fading slightly as she stepped back into the corridor. The door closed with a soft click, leaving Ismåne alone once more, the queen's words lingering in the air like the faint echo of the sea.

SCENERBEAK

Night draped itself over the palace like a heavy cloak, the moon casting its pale light through the arched windows of Ismåne's chamber. The SeaWing princess sat on the edge of her bed, her talons idly sifting through the small seed basket that rested at her feet. The woven container was supposed to be filled with treasures—tiny trinkets, fragrant herbs, perhaps even a few precious gems. But as she rummaged through it, her hopes dwindled. All she found were a handful of dull beads and a few sticks of incense, their scent faint and unremarkable.

Ismåne sighed, her shoulders slumping as she dropped the beads back into the basket. "Is this all?" she muttered under her breath, her voice tinged with disappointment. She had expected more—something to distract her, to remind her of home, or at least to fill the silence of the night.

"I thought you'd like it," came a smooth, mocking voice from the shadows.

Ismåne's head snapped up, her heart pounding as she spun around. There, leaning casually against the wall with a sly grin on her snout, was Blister. The SandWing's dark, calculating eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and her golden scales seemed to shimmer with an almost predatory light. Her tail flicked lazily, the venomous barb at its tip glinting like a dagger.

"Blister," Ismåne snarled, her voice low and dangerous. She rose to her full height, her wings flaring slightly as she faced the intruder. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

Blister's grin widened, her sharp teeth glinting as she stepped forward, her movements as fluid and deliberate as a serpent's. "Oh, Ismåne," she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You didn't think a little thing like a locked door could keep me out, did you? I go where I please." She tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over the room before settling back on Ismåne. "I brought you a gift. Those beads? They're from the Scorpion Den. Rare, you know. And the incense? A specialty of the SandWings. I thought you might appreciate a taste of my kingdom."

Ismåne's eyes narrowed, her talons curling into fists. "I don't want anything from you," she hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. "Get out. Now."

Blister chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Ismåne's spine. "So hostile," she said, feigning hurt. "And here I thought we could be friends. After all, we're both princesses, aren't we? Both with... ambitions." Her gaze hardened, and for a moment, the mask of amusement slipped, revealing the cold, calculating dragon beneath. "Think about it, Ismåne. You don't have to be alone in this. We could help each other."

Ismåne took a step forward, her eyes blazing. "I don't need your help," she spat. "And I certainly don't need your gifts. Leave. Before I call the guards."

Blister's grin returned, but it didn't reach her eyes. She inclined her head mockingly, her tail swishing behind her as she turned toward the door. "As you wish, princess," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But remember this moment. When the time comes, and you realize you're in over your head... you'll know where to find me."

With that, she slipped out the door, her golden scales disappearing into the shadows of the corridor. Ismåne stood frozen for a moment, her heart racing, before she let out a shaky breath and sank back onto the bed. The beads and incense in the basket suddenly felt like a taunt, a reminder of the dangerous games being played around her. She clenched her talons around the golden bracelet on her wrist, her mind racing as the weight of Blister's words settled over her like a storm cloud.