Chapter 266
The sky over Westeroz was filled with smoke trails by the time we returned.
Not from war. From presence.
The dragon—still unnamed—circled once above the castle before vanishing into the clouds. It wasn’t attacking, but no one in the city below could tell the difference. They saw a beast of fire blotting out the sun. And they saw me, walking calmly through the gates with soot in my hair and power in my stride.
People knelt in the streets.
Some in awe.
Some in fear.
The Alpha walked beside me, silent as always, but more people stared at me this time. Their queen. The one bonded to the fire.
We didn’t speak until we entered the inner court. The tension wrapped around the walls like barbed wire. Servants froze when they saw us. The guards bowed lower than usual. The council had already been summoned.
They wanted answers.
They wanted control.
And I had neither intention of giving them.
“I heard it myself,” Lord Vellan said, voice clipped. “The screech from the sky—it cracked the tower glass. That thing is a weapon!”
“It’s a creature,” I corrected. “A sentient being. And it is not a thing.”
Lady Arlen crossed her arms, her eyes sharper than daggers. “And yet it answers to you. You walked into fire and came back leading it. You expect us to believe it won’t turn against us?”
“If I didn’t control it,” I said calmly, “this castle wouldn’t be standing.”
The room fell silent. I didn’t yell. I didn’t need to. The truth had a way of sounding like thunder when you owned it.
I felt the Alpha’s presence behind me—unmoving, unreadable. But I knew he was ready to speak if I needed him to.
Lady Arlen pressed on, her voice more cautious now. “The people are afraid, Aria.”
“Good,” I said.
That word landed like a slap.
“Fear keeps them alert. Fear prepares them. What’s coming won’t care if they’re afraid or not—it will burn either way. But me? I’m the reason they’re still alive. So yes, they can be afraid of me. As long as they remember I’m still on their side.”
She blinked, thrown off by my calm.
I didn’t give her time to recover. “The rogue dragon is now under control. We found the valley. No survivors. No attackers. But there were old runes there—something or someone tried to summon that beast.”
The Alpha stepped forward at last. “And they succeeded.”
Lord Vellan frowned. “What sort of runes?”
“Dark,” I said. “Blood-based. A spell meant to twist an ancient creature into a weapon. But it didn’t work—not fully. It lashed out. It killed everything. It burned the spellcaster too, I think.”
Lady Arlen’s lips thinned. “So we’re under threat. From inside our lands.”
I nodded. “And someone in this castle likely knows who’s behind it.”
A murmur spread. Uneasy. Sharp.
“I want the old war records unsealed,” I added. “The ones from before the Fire Pact. The rebellion. I want every name that ever had blood ties to the dragons or magic.”
“Those are restricted archives,” Vellan said slowly.
“They were,” I corrected. “Not anymore.”
Silence again. I didn’t care. They could choke on it.
I turned. “Dismissed. I have a city to calm—and a dragon to speak to.”
They didn’t argue. Not this time.
I found him waiting on the balcony.
Not the Alpha.
The dragon.
He was perched on the far cliffs beyond the gardens, his silver wings tucked in, watching the horizon. I could feel his thoughts from here—heavy, still wild. But no longer lost.
I sat on the balcony’s edge, cross-legged like a child, eyes closed. And I let the connection open fully.
A name. That’s what came first.
“Zaerion,” I whispered aloud.
The dragon growled low from the cliffs, and I felt the word hum between us. It was his. Or mine. Or ours.
Memories came in fragments—Zaerion flying beside other dragons, fire raining like light, a woman’s laughter—my laughter, from another life.
I gasped.
Flashes of blood. Of betrayal. Of a broken crown.
I stumbled back to my feet, heart pounding. The images felt real, not dreams.
“Aria.”
I turned. He was there—my Alpha. Always arriving just when the world threatened to unmake me.
“You saw something,” he said, stepping closer.
“Memories,” I whispered. “Not mine. Not entirely. But they live in me.”
He nodded. “The Moon-Blooded never die. They’re reborn. Power like that doesn’t vanish—it waits.”
I stared at him. “You believe all of it.”
“I believe you.” His tone left no room for question.
Something inside me softened—but didn’t melt. I didn’t want to be soft. I wanted to be ready.
“There’s something else,” he said, lowering his voice. “I caught wind of a message. Slipped between two noble houses. No signature. Just a symbol.”
He handed me a folded parchment.
I opened it slowly.
There, in blood-red ink, was a mark: a crown surrounded by fangs.
I froze.
“I’ve seen this,” I whispered. “In the scrolls. It’s the mark of the Blackfangs.”
“The cult that swore to kill every Moon-Blooded,” he confirmed.
“And they’re here,” I murmured. “Inside the walls.”
Later that night, I didn’t sleep.
I sat in my chambers with the scroll spread out before me, Zaerion’s thoughts brushing against mine from the cliffs, and my Alpha standing guard in the shadows of the balcony.
I was no longer just a girl pulled from the sea. No longer lost.
I was Moon-Blooded.
Bound to flame.
And hunted by those who feared the rise of a queen who could command dragons with her heartbeat.
Let them come.
I’d burn before I bowed
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