There was absolutely nothing but an orchestra of insects and birds accompanied by the sound of the gentle waves of the lake.

Eden stood at the edge, taking in the sight of the calm water and embracing the silence. The sun was blocked out by a thick layer of overcast clouds, painting the sky in delicate shades of white and gray. It was perfect. She relished the feeling of the fine sand, remembering days spent on beaches in the Caribbean and Mexico, as she unbuttoned her blouse and unfastened her sarong. The fabric fell to the ground, and Eden stepped forward to greet the cool water. A breath escaped her as she welcomed the cold edge to the temperature. Some may have recoiled, but she found it to be the exact temperature she needed to meditate.

Step by step, she submerged in the water. Eden walked straight forward until the water’s crest was at her shoulders. Lifting her legs, she floated atop the water. Water muffled her hearing, and she let out a deep, even breath. She focused on the sound of the waves caressing her ears, the feeling of coolness against her skin, the smell of the towering pine trees and freshly dampened earth. The complicated web of her lineage dissolved like a drop of ink in the water as Eden found her center. Her innate fear of the water soon, too, unraveled.

Meditation for dragonbornes required a certain level of bravery and determination, since the water was the most natural enemy of a fire-breather. A deeply embedded phobia sparked in each one when going for a swim, knowing that in an instant, they could be disarmed from their most vital strength. Centuries of nonstop wars had installed that panic in all of their minds. Heck, Eden even knew some that could not even cope with an actual bath, opposed to a shower. Years of healing training had helped her conquer that phobia.

The hardest thing to let go of to reach her true center was anger. Already quick-tempered beasts, Eden had led a life that brought on pure rage.

Soon enough, however, she was one with the water and solely focused on the simple act of existing. Reaching it was blissful—the most blissful thing Eden ever experienced. It was her own addiction.

The sensation made her feel like a black sheep. Most dragons were obsessed with status or fighting, but Eden’s attention was only on becoming one with herself. The better she honed her skill to find peace, the better of a healer she would become. She wanted that for no other reason but the fact she was obsessed with the craft.

“Eden!”

Her face scrunched at the distant call, not fully registering what it was.

“Eden!”

Like a light switch, her rage returned to her body. Propelling herself up, causing a splash around her, Eden found her footing and stared daggers at the person standing on the shore. It was her cousin, Ivy. The woman physically flinched from the icy glare coming her way.

“What?” Eden hissed.

“S-sorry to bother you, but your dad wants you. He’s, uh, he’s in the study.”

Eden simmered a bit, but anger still flared in her chest. Walking to shore, her eyes never faltered from Ivy, who remained locked in place.

“Everyone knows not to disturb me when I’m meditating,” she growled. Letting out a calming breath and closing her eyes for a moment, Eden reached down to gather her clothing. “However, I know you were just following orders, so thank you for coming to get me. Next time, just stand and wait for me to finish. Father will understand.”

Her words came out rushed, clearly too frustrated to fully mean the sentiment. She flashed her cousin a somewhat apologetic smile before walking away. No footsteps sounded behind her, so Eden knew Ivy was still locked in place.

Dealing with Eden could sometimes be a bit of a… chore. In an attempt to hone her meditation skills, she had decided to not hold onto anger for even a second, meaning that she was silver-tongued and then immediately apologetic. Before she decided to always express herself, Eden held in far too much aggression, causing her to be moody and hateful. Now she was the definition of a Sour Patch Kid: sour followed by a whole lot of sweetness.

Once she was back in the house, Eden changed into something more appropriate to meet with her father: fitted white pants and a navy blouse. Tying her hair back into a sleek ponytail, she made her way into her father’s study. As usual, Carlyle Tallant was sitting in his favorite chair. His arm was propped on the side, fist to his chin as he thought hard about something. He finally realized Eden was in the doorway when his gaze wandered to the door.

“Eden! Come in, have a seat,” he called to her as he readjusted his posture and folded his hands across his lap.

Eden sat where she always did, right across from him in a winged back chair with her legs folded at the knee. “You sent for me?”

“Yes, yes. Oh, were you meditating?” he asked with the same halfway apologetic tone she had used on Ivy.

“Of course I was. Ivy came shouting at me right as I was in the zone.”

“I hate that. The girl should have known better than to disturb you. Didn’t think I would have to spell out my directions to her,” her father said with the shake of his head.

He’s pacifying me, Eden thought, her nose twitching in annoyance. While there were many occasions where her father’s inability to be angry with her worked in her favor, the rest of the time it was absolutely irritating and smothering. “Can we get to the point?” she asked in her most restrained tone.

“I can’t want to simply speak to my daughter?”

“You certainly can,” she answered. “However, when you do, it’s more likely in passing or when we are at events. You don’t just send someone for me to shoot the breeze. So, tell me why I’m here right now.”

Carlyle grimaced for a moment but smoothed back out his composure. He wasn’t the biggest fan of her new blunt ways—but he had the most patience when it came to Eden.

“Very well, then,” he sighed, rubbing his hands together. He was nervous. Why was Carlyle Tallant nervous? “I know this has not been your favorite topic of discussion in the past. I think you know I’ve been more than patient with this, Eden, but it’s been over a hundred years.” Eden’s breath caught in her throat, dreading his next words. “It’s time we make the arrangements for you to marry Darian.”

“Ugh, Father, no!” Eden groaned. “Not this again!”

“Now, Darian is a fine man, Eden. He’s one of the best warriors we have, he’s loyal to the core and remarkably driven, not to mention reliable.”

“Just because he has a polished status doesn’t mean I want to marry him.”

Carlyle sat back then, no longer wringing his hands and folding them back in place. “Sometimes, sweetheart, life isn't about wanting, but about need. There are already rumblings of a new rebellion sparking somewhere in the ranks, and we must strengthen our front. It will be good for publicity, as well as good for the Kingdom. Darian is well-liked and well-respected.”

“Then why don’t you marry him?” Eden mused.

“Eden,” Carlyle warned, signaling that she was overstepping her boundaries. Clearing his throat, he began again. “Can you tell me why you don’t want to marry Darian, then?”

Eden squirmed in her seat. There wasn’t a particular reason why she didn’t want to be with Darian. He wasn’t a bad guy, and all her father had said about him was true. Eden didn’t even fully buy into the belief that dragonbornes had a soulmate, so she wasn’t distraught over the possibility of missing out on a mate. Something, however, felt off to her about Darian. She had hoped time would make the feeling fade away, but it hadn’t. In fact, if anything, it had grown stronger. Eden’s only hope had been that so much time would pass, Carlyle would forget the marriage had ever been a topic of conversation. She didn’t have such luck.

“Precisely,” Carlyle sighed at her silence. “I know being forced into something isn’t exactly savory, but—”

Eden snorted, crossing her arms defiantly. “That would be putting it lightly.”

“But,” Carlyle pressed on, “we all have our duties. I have never asked much of you, my daughter. This is your duty, your role in the Kingdom.”

“How very medieval of you, marrying your daughter off like cattle to the highest bidder.”

As soon as it left her lips, Eden knew she had crossed a line. The temper flared in her father’s eyes just as remorse swam in hers. Carlyle opened his mouth to yell and raised his hand to point aggressively at her but caught himself. Holding up his palm instead, he took a moment to compose himself.

“You know it is not like that. You also know this is not a request, but an order. I have arranged for you and Darian to meet for dinner. A date of sorts, so that you can have some time to adjust to the idea. I want to discuss this no more.”

“Father, I—”

His hand remained in the air, signaling her not to continue. “Speak no more. Go get ready for dinner. Your reservation is at seven o’clock.”

Obediently, Eden stood from her seat and exited the room. She was boiling over with emotions and had absolutely no idea how to sort through them. All at once, she wanted to breathe fire with fury, vent her frustrations about the course of her evening, and cry for her future to come.

Marry Darian? Her stomach turned at the thought. She didn’t have the time to sit and try to think things through, having to throw herself into getting ready for dinner. A dinner with Darian. God, she wanted to kick and scream like a child not getting their way.

Eden blurted out curses in frustration as she dried and styled her hair into the glossy auburn waves, attempting to release some of her anger before it began to bottle up. After applying subtle but flattering makeup and dressing in a one-shoulder black dress, Eden had to head right to the town car waiting on her. Her father had given her hardly any time to prepare, causing her to bitterly cement the notion he had been pacifying her with agreeing Ivy should have waited for her to finish. Must Carlyle manipulate everything, even the smallest interactions?

Eden already knew the answer to that.