Page 34 of Fallen Nocturne

I don’t want to argue against centuries of wyvern training and methods that clearly work for everyone else. But the thought of striking Coral makes my stomach turn.

Landon catches my expression. “It’s pressure, not pain. A way to reinforce commands.”

I stare at him, then at the keeper and finally at Coral. She has now flopped onto her side in the flowers, her wings spread out like she’s making snow angels. Petals stick to her damp scales. She looks absurdly precious, entirely unaware that we are discussing how best to discipline her.

My mate wouldn’t hurt something I loved.

I hold Landon’s gaze. “No.”

Landon’s brow furrows slightly. “Rhianelle—”

I move between the keeper and Coral, my hands clenched at my sides. “She’s not… she doesn’t need that. I won’t allow it.”

Tarian exchanges a brief look with Landon. Nothing is said, but I can read the judgment in the slight tightening of his mouth. To him, I am the soft elven queen who does not understand how these things work, allowing emotion to overrule practical sense.

My throat tightens. They think I’m being foolish and soft. Maybe I am. But the thought of anyone striking Coral makes something fierce and protective rise in my chest.

She’s mine. She trusts me.

I feel tears prick at my eyes and hate myself for it. This is exactly what they expect from me.

But Landon’s expression softens when he looks back at me.

“All right,” he says quietly. “We’ll do it your way.”

The keeper throws his hands up in disappointment and stalks off, muttering something in Old Fae that I don’t catch. His boots strike the ground hard enough to send up small clouds of dust.

Landon steps closer and I’m suddenly very aware of how tall he is. The morning light catches the copper in his red hair. “We’ll find another method.”

I nod quietly, not trusting my voice.

Coral chooses that moment to sneeze, scattering dandelion fluff over both of us. White fluff clings to Landon’s hair and my dress. Landon wipes his face and despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Let’s start with basics,” he says with a smile. “Posture training first.”

He crouches beside Coral, studying her. His hands move over her wings, checking the joints and membrane. Coral leans into his touch, making happy sounds.

“Is she food motivated?” he asks.

“Very,” I say.

I pull a piece of dried meat from my pouch. Coral’s head snaps toward me instantly. Her eyes lock onto the treat with focus. I hold it above her head and she rises onto her hind legs, reaching for it with her front claws.

“Good,” Landon says. “That’s what we need.”

It takes us another twenty minutes to coax Coral back to the training ground proper. I walk backward, holding treats just out of reach. She follows like I’m leading her on an invisible leash. Landon walks beside us, occasionally redirecting her when she gets distracted.

She gets distracted often. A bird flying overhead catches her attention and she tries to chase it, forgetting about the treat entirely. An interesting-looking rock needs thorough investigation. The wind carries an interesting scent and she has to stop and sniff the air for a full minute.

My bad leg is throbbing by the time we reach the designated training area. The dull ache has sharpened into something that demands attention. I try not to limp, but Landon notices anyway.

“Do you need to rest?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

He nods and turns back to Coral.

Guilt twists in my stomach. He’s done nothing but be kind all morning. I’m snapping at him because he doesn’t remember a dream. Because touching him doesn’t set me on fire. None of that is his fault. It isn’t fair and I know it.