Chapter 270
The throne room no longer felt like a sanctuary for power—it was a battlefield. The air trembled with whispers, tension, and the bitter edge of fear. As I entered, the shock of corrupted flames fading at my fingertips, I realized the court was fracturing.
The resistance had started.
Whispers of revolt had begun the moment word got out: a dragon tamed, a queen wielding fire. Some called me a savior. Others, a monster.
I scanned the faces—painters of false loyalty, eyes flashing with betrayal. *Lady Arlen*, stone-faced, fingers clutching a folded scroll. *Lord Vellan*, his gaze flicking between me and the empty seat beside mine. And others—less conspicuous, but just as dangerous: advisers from the old guard, their loyalty to bloodline stronger than to any throne.
I steadied myself. My heart still burned with the aftereffects of purifying the corrupted dragon. My magic was new, still thrumming like a captive storm in my veins.
But I was not alone.
My Alpha stood behind me—an anchor of unwavering steel. His armor still bore charred residue from the ritual chamber—proof of solidarity. His eyes met mine, soft and strong.
I raised my voice. “You summoned me, Lord Vellan?”
He inhaled sharply. “Your Grace—these symbols, this sanctuary for dragons—it’s... unorthodox. Dangerous to our traditions. We must uphold stability.”
“Traditions can die,” I said quietly. “When we rely on them more than life itself.”
Lady Arlen’s voice cut in, cold. “We rely on more than tradition. We rely on the balance magic used to keep. Now you shift it. For power.”
I clenched my robes. “For survival.”
Someone smirked. A murmur rose like wildfire.
“Enough.” I said it as though ordering fire itself. Silence blazed before me.
“You serve me—or you do not.” I stepped forward, eyes locking with each doubter. “If you work against me, you work against the dragons—and everything I’ve sworn to protect.”
Lady Arlen faltered, tension in her shoulders. “You’d really break us for *them*?”
I turned away. “The dragons are part of me.” I looked back, voice soft. “Just as you are. And you can stand with me... or be consumed.”
A long, quiet beat. Then she bowed. “For now, I serve.”
Several others followed. Only one voice refused to remain silent; but the threat of dragons overhead kept it solitary.
I exhaled—not relief. Not victory. But *clarity*.
\---
After the council disbanded, I retreated to the garden terrace with my companion and protector. **He** closed the distance with a hand against the balcony railing.
“We did it,” I whispered. “I think.”
He didn’t respond. Just the wind in his hair. The faint scent of pine and flame.
I dropped my robe’s train and looked at him. “Thank you for holding the throne. For every moment you stood between me and a blade.”
He turned fully, expression unreadable. “You held it yourself.”
I stared, raw and fragile for a heartbeat. Then I gestured toward the moonlit sky. “Tell me something—tell me anything to make me believe we can do this.”
He came closer, silent as dawn. He brushed a fingertip under my eye.
“You *have* done it,” he said. “I saw the corrupted dragon bow. That’s not obedience. That’s reverence. You saved it. You changed it. You *are* the Mother of Dragons.”
I swallowed. “And if the next egg hatches... what then?”
He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close. “Then we stand together. Because I’ll be sworn to you—death or flame.”
I closed my eyes and let the steadiness of his body ground me. Not romantic words. Not honeyed flattery—just strength.
**That’s what made me love him more than I could express.**
\---
\### Flashback: The Original Moon-Blooded
Night fatigue hit me later as I navigated the lower archives with old scrolls in hand. I sank into the history we should never forget.
The original Moon-Blooded queen. My past self. *Her* name had been Ilanora, first of our line. The spells bound her to the dragons in ritual at birth. She ruled with fire and mercy until betrayal tore the magic—and ended her life in a bath of flame.
My fingers traveled over scrolls written by her hand—*“To the daughters of flame, beware who thirsts for light more than life.”*
I swallowed hard. Ilanora had loved unguardedly. A king’s daughter. A council advisor with secret lines. She’d trusted too much—lost too much.
Seeing my reflection in the mirror cracked by centuries of curse, I felt the weight of legacy.
But I wasn’t her—though the blood, the flame, and the betrayal bound us.
And I *would* learn to trust without surrendering.
\---
\### A New Ally
I emerged at dawn, heading toward the armory. A slender woman stood there—foreign, quiet, resolute—studying steel and firelight.
She introduced herself as **Mirella**, a phoenix-blooded scholar from the southern isles who had heard of the awakening of the Moon-Blooded and traveled to lend her knowledge.
Her skin shimmered faintly in torchlight—softer fire magic in her veins than mine. She didn’t offer friendship. She offered knowledge: “The final egg, found in a hidden nest beneath the mountain—still unknown to the Blackfangs. But its magic is old. Dangerous. Ill-fated.”
I demanded more. She described how the ritual on the corrupted dragon had stoked the last egg’s potential—but improperly—with the blood of hate. **It’s unstable**, she warned. **If it hatches before it chooses its queen... it could destroy everything.**
I steeled. “We stop it.”
She bowed slightly. “It requires a tether of flame—’true flame.’ Yours. Anchored by the blood of dragons and the heart of a queen. You can bind it.”
My chest tightened. “And if I cannot?”
She didn’t avoid the question. “Then it chooses... and we all bleed.”
\---
\### The Final Confrontation
That night, we walked beneath the dragon statue—an immense bronze shape frozen in mid-roar—toward the stables. Zaerion and the purified tidal dragon lay quietly, trusting.
Mirella joined us, lantern in hand. She led me to a hidden trapdoor—a secret tunnel carved into volcanic stone.
The Alpha came as always—silent, strong.
Together we descended.
A hollowed-out egg lay alone on a pedestal—pale, with veins of gold.
Mirella knelt before it. “This is the final egg. Lady Moon-Blooded, it awaits.”
It thumped faintly in time with the dragon’s heartbeat.
I knelt beside it, placing a hand on the shell. Heat rippled into my palm—it was *alive.* I whispered, “Al’shara... binding.”
A soft golden flame rose from my fingertip, dancing on the surface.
The egg glowed brighter. Cracks formed.
Mirella began chanting in ancient serpent-tongue, weaving the ritual.
The Alpha lifted his sword high. “Stand behind me,” he whispered.
I hesitated. Fear stung my limbs.
But he nodded, unwavering. “Together.”
I stepped behind him, hands clasping his waist, heat and fear mingling in my gut.
Mirella’s chant grew louder. The egg shattered in blooms of golden flame—no smoke. No destruction. Just renewal.
From the shell emerged a hatchling—white-gold scales, eyes blazing with starlight. It whimpered and fell forward.
I reached out.
It squeaked, lifted its wings—already massive for its size.
The moment its head rose, the Alpha clasped my hands over his chest. We were bound.
The hatchling roared—a single note—but it filled the passage with resonance.
Zaerion roared back in acknowledgment.
I realized we were standing in the earthquake of future history.
I whispered, “Welcome, Kyral.”
Bonds Strengthen
We emerged as dawn broke.
In my arms lay the first-born of the egg. At my back stood two dragons—Zaerion and the purified one. At my side stood my Alpha—companion, sentinel, mate.
Mirella stepped forward. “She’s bound to you, Queen. *Your* dragon.”
I looked down at Kyral, whose first roar shook the world awake.
I turned to the Alpha. He offered me the hatchling. I accepted.
“Let them see,” I said, voice calm but fierce. “We’re not hiding anymore.”
He smiled—not sweet. Proud.
I put my arm around him. One more step toward the balcony.
We stood before the city. Dragons soared above us in salute.
I raised Kyral, wings fluttering.
I had reclaimed my reign.
Together, we would burn the night and build the future on ash, not fear.
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