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Ainsley stayed where she was until she heard the sound of people approaching, accompanied by the jangle of chain mail and horse hooves on cobblestone. Then she began to walk in the opposite direction through the narrow alley, taking fast, rushed steps through the winding path. There was no point in running and drawing attention to herself.

A shadow passed overhead, and Ainsley pressed herself against the wall, hoping it wouldn't smell her. A heavy black creature swept past, wings outstretched on either side in a slow glide.

So the letter had been telling the truth. Ackerley controlled the dragons now.

Ainsley waited until the beast had passed, then continued, watching the star-specked sky above her and barely able to hear her footsteps over the sound of her heart hammering in her rib cage. When she adjusted her grip on the hilt of Gael's cutlass, it slid around in her palm, slick with sweat by now.

If her father had used dark magic, his control would be greater than hers. For the second time in her life, Ainsley had only herself to rely on. And unless she could find Gael's crew, she would be vastly outnumbered.

But Gael wouldn't know where she had gone now, wouldn't know where to look for her. She should've stayed put, but then she would have been found out. The conflict made Ainsley's head hurt.

Maybe she needed to find Gael first. She was going to search for the crew—so maybe Ainsley should wait for them near the Finch, rather than running in circles through the city, trying to find them.

Ainsley stepped out of the alleyway and directly into a gaping, toothy maw.

A surprised gasp escaped her lips, and she stumbled backwards, nearly falling over an uneven stone. Huge golden eyes burned into her, sending a nervous shiver down her spine. For a moment, she was completely captivated, in awe at the sight of the beast that blocked her way. A low growl sounded from its serpentine throat.

So this was what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a dragon's hostility.

Swallowing, Ainsley leaned towards it slightly, trying to touch its mind. It was to no avail—it was completely inaccessible, as though it had been shrouded and blocked off completely. It should've felt her panic, should be helping her right now. But all she met when she tried to connect with it was cold emptiness.

In one last ditch effort, she reached out and placed both her hands on the dragon's snout, digging her fingers into its scales and desperately trying to channel something. It shrieked and reared up on its hind legs, wings flaring out on either side and blocking out the rising moon. Ainsley's heart plummeted. A spout of flame burst from its jaws, throwing light and heat over her face.

There were hurried footsteps from the direction she'd come, and Ainsley whirled to face them, throwing herself into the fray before the soldiers got a chance to surround her.

Her attack surprised them, she knew. She felt the blade of her cutlass dig deep into some patch of unprotected skin, and one of the guards screamed in pain. Her elbow smacked hard against someone's chain mail, so she aimed for unhelmeted heads instead.

She never got a chance to guess how many there were, surrounded in a flurry of movement and the dark shroud of the alleyway. She fought in an animalistic frenzy, determined to cause whatever harm she could in the few split seconds of surprise she had.

A hand found the back of her cloak and she was forcible heaved to the side. Her back hit a wall and pain shot through her, but she leapt to her feet anyways, cutlass already out in front of her. She made contact with someone again, but this time, their foot found her chest, and she was shoved backwards into someone's arms. She dug her blade into their leg where the chain mail ended, and the choking grip around her fell away. She jerked away before she could be grabbed or hit again, and ran back the way she'd come, breathing hard.

Something dragged against her cloak, so she tore blindly at the clasp until she could shove the whole garment off of her, releasing herself just before she made it out of the alley.

The dragon's face appeared suddenly in her line of vision, jaws open in an earth-shattering roar. The sound itself seemed to come a moment later, something between a scream and a growl, and so deafening it seemed to shove her forcibly to the ground. Her bare palms scraped painfully against the cobblestone as she fell back, trying to prop herself up on her elbows and scramble away.

Then, beneath the spread, leathery wings, she saw a figure. Far away, and frozen in place. Their gazes met even in the darkness.

Gael's eyes were huge with horror.

Two pistol shots cracked the air. Then there was a third. If the dragon felt or even noticed them, it showed no sign.

"Gael!" Ainsley shouted, pushing herself up onto her knees.

A crushing weight descended on her shoulders, shoving her back to the ground. Her chin hit the stone, her teeth clacking together painfully. Hands pinned down her wrists and feet, and before she could defend herself, several soldiers were holding her down against the road, suffocating her under their weight.

Then she was jerked to her feet, dazed and gasping for air. Cold metal bit into her wrists, and when she tried to wriggle away, she was unable to part her hands.

A guard wrapped his arms tightly around her, nearly lifting her off of her feet, and another pressed a cloth against the lower half of her face. The sharp scent of tangor root filled her nose, and despite her best efforts not to breathe it in, she was well aware that her situation was hopeless by now.

Darkness began to creep in, clouding the edges of her vision no matter how much she struggled. Finally, she felt a wooziness settle in, and she went limp, head lolling back against the guard's chest. Her guard. Her own soldiers, turned against her by the king.

The last thing she saw was Gael, still trying to fight her way to her side.

—

Consciousness came with a pounding headache that filled every corner of her skull. Ainsley shifted, feeling soft bedding beneath her. Light streamed in from somewhere, filtered into a soft red haze that warmed her cheek. She rolled over onto her back, caught in a moment that wasn't quite reality. The stability she rested on wasn't familiar, didn't rock like the Finch did. Where was she?

Memory came back to her suddenly, and she sat bolt upright, fighting off the sheets that were tangling around her legs. Her heart thumped unnaturally in her ears.

She was in her room.

Not her room on the Finch, the dark hold of the ship that she had started off hating but eventually gotten comfortable in. No, this room had plush wool carpeting on the stone floor. An imposing mahogany dresser stood in one corner of the large space, and the bed she was lying in was many times bigger than the makeshift one in the ship's hold. The two large windows that looked down on the courtyard were bordered by thin red curtains that only partially concealed the heavy iron bars that had been set into the surrounding stone. Those were new.

She was back at the palace.

Ainsley slid from the bed, realizing she was wearing a light, sleeveless nightshirt and trousers. One of the maids must have dressed her. Bright sunlight streamed in through the gauzy curtains; it had to be midday already. She could only have gotten here so fast if they had brought her on the dragon's back.

Ainsley stared around the room, the tangible feeling of dread pulsing in her ears. Everything seemed suddenly foreign, like she was a stranger in the room she had grown up in. Memories assaulted her, memories of her and her mother sitting on this very bed and talking late into the night. Memories of her mother coming to check in on her in the middle of the night, trying to hide a fresh bruise on her jaw. Saying she only wanted to make sure Ainsley was all right.

She hadn't been fitted with a damper yet. Since he controlled the dragons now, Ackerley had likely deemed one unnecessary.

Knees trembling beneath her, Ainsley sank down to the bed again, sitting on its edge and burying her face in her hands as she tried to compose herself.

Where had she last seen Gael?

Running towards her, pistol drawn, ready for a fight. She was capable. She could take care of herself. But the dragon, huge and smoky and white-hot, filled Ainsley's vision. Gael couldn't fight a dragon, much less a dragon and a dozen of her own soldiers.

Tears pricked her eyes, burning like fire.

Please be alive, Gael. Please. Please.

The heavy wooden doors signalled another's presence by scraping against the floor, and Ainsley shot to her feet, fists balled at her sides. When Ackerley stepped in, flanked by two guards, she nearly threw herself at him then and there, anger burning and boiling over within her like an unwatched pot over a fire.

"Ainsley," he greeted, tone impassive. "How wonderful to have you back."

Ainsley shook where she stood, eyes wide and quivering.

"How dare you?"

The words were raspy, shivering with emotion. And yet, she thought that for a moment, they cut him. His expression shifted slightly, then hardened again.

"I did what had to be done. You've forgotten yourself. You've forgotten your duties to your people."

She swallowed, unable to form words. Maybe he was right.

"It is not too late, daughter. Apologize for the trouble you've caused and you'll be returned to your training. Come back to your kingdom."

"How can I?" Her voice trembled. "How can I, when I've found something so much better?"

"What, your delusional fantasy of living with your pirate friends?" He snarled, face contorting—he looked so much like her when he was angered, didn't he? "The ones who took you hostage and have put you in harm's way so many times? You were even injured for it!" He stepped forward and grabbed at Ainsley's arm, where the healing scar, shiny and pink, stood out on her pale flesh, but she tore away, hating the brush of his fingers on her skin.

"Don't touch me!" Her voice rose in pitch and volume. "Don't come near me! I know you offered me to them! I know!"

He stepped back suddenly, shocked into silence by her explosive reaction. Ainsley quivered where she stood, staring at him.

"So the captain told you."

"Yes, she did. Because she respects me in a way you never have—she treats me like I'm my own person." Tears blurred her vision. Speaking of Gael was like driving a rod straight into her chest. Maybe she would never see her again. Maybe she was dead. "You may have me back in your grasp, as you have everyone else in this kingdom, but I will be slave to your wishes no longer." She glared at him, searching for any sign of a reaction. Any sign of compassion. "I'm not your puppet. Find another heir. You don't need me to fight your wars now anyways."

He was quiet for so long, Ainsley felt a cold trickle of fear traverse her spine. Then he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. His next words were not directed at her, but at the guards who had stood silently for the duration of the conversation.

"Bring her to the prison. Perhaps she'll change her tune after a night beneath the palace."

Ainsley's heart seemed to seize suddenly in her chest.

"What?"

The soldiers were upon her suddenly, grabbing her arms in strong grips that resisted her violent jerks.

"No! Let go of me!"

The doors were pushed open, and as she was dragged through, squirming and kicking, she twisted back over her shoulder, searching to send one more furious glare at her father's receding form.

oof, things are looking bad. at the time of my uploading this, tides is at over 10k views and almost 1k votes, and i just wanted to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart! without your incredible support and interest, this story would've been impossible to write. please continue by voting and commenting, tell me what you think or your guesses on what'll happen next—your feedback means the world to me!