She giggles beside me, too loud for the shadows. I shoot her a look — half warning, half indulgent — but she doesn’t see it. She’s looking up at the tavern sign swinging overhead, bright-eyed and breathless like a girl let loose from her cage. Gods, that’s exactly what she is.

The capital stinks of smoke and sweat and spilled ale — but she drinks it in like perfume. Like freedom.

I shouldn’t have brought her here. I shouldn’t have let her take my hand back in the Red Keep, whispering about how she wanted to see the city “as the real folk do.” I should’ve said no. But I’ve never said no to her — not once. Not when it mattered.

Her laughter bubbles again — reckless, radiant — and it slides under my skin like firewine. She doesn’t know what this night means. What it could mean. But I do. And I still brought her.

We move deeper into the narrow lane. Our cloaks trail behind us, black as crows. She bumps against my arm on purpose, her smile wide beneath the veil.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” I murmur without turning my head.

“I am,” she says, grin wicked, “and so are you.”

Damn her.

The laughter. The boldness. The way she owns every room and alley she walks through, as though born for more than courtly obedience. She doesn’t belong in silk gowns and careful words. She belongs out here — in the wildness, in the dark, with me.

The pleasure house is just ahead. The flicker of lanterns on silk-draped windows, the thrum of muffled moans and music like heartbeat drums. She slows, uncertain now. Good. She should be. This is where innocence is bartered for heat, where masks fall off and want speaks loud.

She turns to me, one brow lifted. “Are we going in?” she asks. No fear in her voice. Just curiosity. Challenge.

She doesn’t understand. Or maybe she does, and that’s why she came. Maybe she wants to burn her name into the world with mine, consequences be damned.

My blood pounds loud in my ears. I should stop. I won’t.

Instead, I step closer. Close enough that her breath catches and her lips part. I tilt my head, speak low into the space between us:

“Come then, little dragon. Let the city see who you really are.”

And I take her hand again.