The Crown Of Flames

Water thundered somewhere overhead, hidden behind the veil of floating-island mist, and the palace courtyard below Welmort Palace shivered with every distant crash. Feng felt it through his boots first - stone vibrating, air thick with cool spray that beaded on the black-and-gold plates of his armor - then through the sound itself, the waterfalls’ rhythm swallowing the hush that usually followed a royal arrival.

Stake landed beside the fountain steps with a weight that made the courtyard stones ring. Blue flame licked from his nostrils and vanished into the mist, turning the sunlight into a trembling halo around his shadow. The ministers gathered in a tight formation beneath the dragon statues, gold banners hanging limp as if the air had forgotten how to move. Citizens spilled in behind the guards, faces lifted, hands clasped, eyes hungry for the sight of their crown.

“Crown Prince Feng has arrived!” a guard cried, voice cracking on the last word.

“Long live the Prince!” the crowd answered in a wave that rolled across the courtyard like a drumbeat. Ministerial voices followed, all at once - praise, relief, urgency - until Feng cut through them with a single motion of his hand. People leaned back as if the air itself had obeyed him.

“Please stand.” Feng’s voice carried cleanly, shaped by years of ceremony and controlled breath.

They rose together. The minister nearest the fountain bowed so low his forehead almost kissed wet stone. “Your Highness, today’s gathering is ready.”

Feng didn’t look away from Stake. He could feel the dragon’s heat even through the armor’s lining, a steady pressure like a storm waiting to choose its path. “Good.”

The minister swallowed, glancing at the blue flames as if they might suddenly become teeth. “The day’s arrangements are secured. The people are assembled. Your dragon - ” His gaze flicked up. “ - awaits.”

Stake’s head lowered, not in submission, but in attention. His throat rumbled, a low sound that rolled under the courtyard like distant thunder trapped in a bowl. Feng finally turned his body toward the people, letting them see the smile that was expected of a Prince who brought peace.

“Then let’s not keep him waiting,” Feng said.

For a moment, the courtyard belonged to ceremony again - banners, bows, the careful choreography of trust. Feng felt the old comfort of it settle into his ribs. He had secured the route through the sky-bridges, arranged guards at the waterfall platforms, confirmed the ministers’ orders. If Welmort’s peace was to hold, it would hold today.

And it would hold because Stake was beside him.

The blue flame intensified, then steadied. Somewhere in the palace corridors, a bell chimed as if counting down to the gathering’s start. Feng’s eyes lifted toward the balcony levels above, where golden carvings framed windows like watchful eyes. He could already imagine the arc of the ceremony - dragon’s welcome, prince’s address, the people’s concerns spoken into the open light.

He had even planned for the details he couldn’t control: the wind off the waterfalls, the way children always pressed too close, the tremor that came when Stake exhaled in public.

What he hadn’t planned for was what Stake would choose to look at.

A hush threaded through the crowd as if someone had pulled a silk ribbon tight across everyone’s mouths. Feng heard a faint shift of feet near the fountain steps. Guards tightened their stance. Ministers straightened, their faces sharpening into performance.

Then Stake’s attention snapped.

His head jerked toward the upper level, toward a balcony draped in pale curtains that fluttered with the cold spray. The dragon’s eyes narrowed, pupils widening until the gold in them looked like molten metal trapped behind glass. Blue flame flared once - hot enough to warm the mist - then cut off short, as if his throat had been stopped by a hand no one else could see.

Feng’s gaze followed the line of Stake’s stare.

Anna stood on the balcony.

She wasn’t centered like the ministers. She wasn’t posed like a court marvel. She simply existed there - still, composed, her posture relaxed against the wind’s tug, as if she had been placed in the world for the world to notice. The sunlight caught the edge of her hair, turning it copper at the ends, and the waterfall mist softened the sharpness of her expression.

A tiny cobra curled around her wrist, scales dark as polished stone. Zink’s tongue flicked once, tasting the air, eyes fixed ahead with bright, alert precision. Even at this distance, Feng could see the way the serpent’s body tightened as Stake’s eyes met Anna’s.

Stake froze.

The crowd didn’t yet understand what had changed. Their attention stayed on Feng, on the Prince’s armor, on the dragon’s grandeur. But Feng felt the shift in the space between them - felt the way his authority should have anchored the moment and didn’t.

Minister voices stuttered around him. “Your Highness, shall we - ”

Feng lifted his hand, stilling them. “Hold.”

...