The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and freedom as Elissa stood on the cliffs of Fair Isle, watching the dragon descend. Its shadow stretched over the courtyard, where her father and brothers waited in stiff-backed formality.

She should have been among them, a dutiful daughter in silks and jewels. Instead, she was here, boots scuffing against stone, wind in her hair, hands itching to grip the rigging of a ship rather than curtsy before royalty.

The dragon landed in a rush of wind and dust, and from its back dismounted the royal, silver-haired, draped in velvets too fine for a world of salt and spray.