Chapter 271
The skies roared for me now.
Three dragons circled the castle spires—Zaerion, the storm-colored sentinel; Vaelith, the one I had freed from corruption; and Kyral, my newborn bond. Their wings painted shadows over the city and their cries echoed like war drums through the mountains.
The world was watching.
But not everyone was cheering.
Inside the stone walls of Westeroz, rebellion was smoldering—quiet, disguised as courtesies and traditions. The court bowed, yes, but their eyes gleamed with concealed intentions. They feared me, and fear had always been fertile ground for betrayal.
I should have felt victorious. Instead, I felt watched.
“You should rest,” the Alpha said behind me as I stood at the grand balcony. “You’ve barely slept since the hatching.”
“I can’t.” My voice was hoarse. “They’re already moving against us. I can feel it. Like splinters under the skin.”
He didn’t argue. He never did when I spoke like this—when I spoke as someone who had seen too much. Instead, he stepped beside me and folded his arms, scanning the city below like a sentinel.
“They won’t act yet,” he said. “They’re waiting. Testing the air. Seeing if the fire will burn itself out.”
“They’ll soon learn fire doesn’t fade,” I said. “It devours.”
\---
We convened the council the next day in the war room. Lady Arlen, Lord Vellan, and all remaining members of the royal advisory circle were present. Mirella stood to my right, draped in ember-threaded robes, her phoenix-touched presence as sharp as steel. And of course, my Alpha stood at my side, silent but watchful.
I didn’t bother with ceremony.
I placed my hand on the obsidian table. “We know someone smuggled pieces of the Blackfang ritual text out of the lower chambers,” I said coldly. “We found the missing pages in a servant’s quarters—along with bloodstone shards and binding powder.”
Lady Arlen lifted her chin. “Are you suggesting the council is responsible?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” I said. “I’m stating that this is treason, and the traitor is either here or protected by someone who is.”
Vellan scoffed. “And what evidence do you have, other than scattered powder and ink?”
Mirella stepped forward, voice like flint. “Bloodstone can only be handled by those trained in forbidden binding. That eliminates common servants. These are court hands.”
The room stilled.
I circled the table slowly. “You thought I wouldn’t notice. That the rituals failed. That your summoned creature was burned. But what you didn’t account for...” I turned to them, eyes burning, “...was that I would *survive* it. And bind the dragon to me instead.”
I stopped at Vellan’s side.
His jaw tightened.
“Tell me,” I said softly, “was it rage that drove you to try and summon another corrupted beast? Or desperation?”
He didn’t reply.
But he didn’t deny it, either.
I let the silence carry the weight.
Finally, Lady Arlen rose. “This—this madness has to stop. The queen is growing reckless. Dragons in the skies, forbidden magic in our halls—our people fear for their lives.”
“They should,” I replied.
A gasp fluttered through the room.
I placed my palms on the table, letting a hint of flame spiral from my fingers. Not enough to harm—just enough to remind.
“This is not a democracy. This is a throne. You serve it—or you burn beneath it.”
\---
By the time the council dissolved, whispers had spread through every corridor. I knew I was playing a dangerous game—pressing too hard, too soon—but I also knew something darker was stirring beneath the surface.
That night, I returned to my chambers and found Mirella waiting by the hearth, a map stretched across my table.
“Someone is channeling power from the eastern vaults,” she said as soon as I entered. “Residual magic. Forbidden. I traced it.”
She pointed to a sealed gate just beyond the training grounds. “A hidden chamber. I believe they’re trying to awaken something ancient—older than your dragons. Older than even the first queen.”
I frowned. “What could be older than dragonfire?”
Her face tightened. “Shadowflame.”
The word sent a chill through me.
According to legend, *shadowflame* was the inverse of my gift—a fire born from death and pain, not life. While my dragons responded to purity of soul and strength of bond, shadowflame was wielded by those willing to consume their own kin for power.
I looked at her. “We’re going down there.”
She nodded. “I thought you’d say that.”
\---
We waited for midnight.
When the castle was asleep, and the winds carried no secrets, we slipped past the guards with cloaks laced in ashroot. Mirella led the way through narrow tunnels until we reached the rusted door buried beneath layers of magic.
I didn’t hesitate.
I pressed my hand to the door and whispered the incantation Ilanora had once etched into her journal.
The lock melted like wax.
What lay beyond the door stole my breath.
A wide underground hall—lined with dragon bones.
Real ones.
Skulls big enough to sleep inside. Ribs curved like tunnels. They had *died here.*
And at the far end stood an altar.
Someone had been here recently. Candles still burned in unnatural flame—*black and purple*.
Blood marked the walls.
And on the altar—
A child-sized cloak.
One of the **young pages**.
Mirella moved fast, examining it.
“It’s not just shadowflame they’re conjuring,” she said tightly. “They’re using *innocents.*”
My fists clenched. “We end this tonight.”
\---
Then the darkness moved.
From behind the bones stepped a figure—cloaked, masked, and humming low in the old tongue.
A second appeared. Then a third.
Mirella whispered, “We’ve walked into a blood rite.”
I stepped forward. “I’m not afraid of your magic.”
One of the masked figures spoke, voice hollow. “You should be. Your dragons won’t save you here. Shadowflame devours all bonds.”
The three raised their hands—and the fire along the altar flared high.
Mirella tried to throw a binding ward, but one of them intercepted it mid-air and hurled it back. She staggered.
I didn’t think.
I opened the bond to Zaerion.
*Now.*
His roar shattered the silence above.
Stone cracked.
The ceiling of the chamber collapsed as he burst through—impossibly fast, impossibly fierce. He breathed holy fire across the room, scattering the figures like insects.
But something else moved beneath the bones.
A fourth figure.
Larger. Still.
A figure with *no face.*
Only shadows.
It reached toward me—
And Kyral’s cry echoed from behind.
The baby dragon soared through the rubble, her wings glowing with newborn fire. She struck the shadow figure with a bolt of pure light—too small to kill, but enough to *hurt*.
It hissed and withdrew.
“I see you now,” it rasped.
And then it vanished.
\---
We stood amid the ruin of the chamber.
Mirella was bleeding from the side, eyes wide. “That wasn’t one of them.”
“No,” I said. “That was something else.”
I looked at the bones.
“How many dragons did they kill here?” I whispered. “To feed *that*?”
She didn’t answer.
Because we both knew—whatever it was, it had been fed well.
\---
Later that night, I sat with Kyral nestled on my lap, her head tucked under my chin. Zaerion circled above. And my Alpha sat quietly on the bed beside me, his hand resting over mine.
“I could’ve lost you,” he said, voice low.
I met his eyes. “You won’t. Not while there’s fire in me.”
He brushed a strand of white hair from my face. “Then swear something.”
I arched a brow. “What?”
“When this is over... when the kingdom is safe... we leave. Even for a week. Just you and me. No crowns. No politics. Just stars and silence.”
I smiled.
“A week,” I said. “And if I’m still alive, I’ll even make you breakfast.”
“You’ll burn the eggs.”
We both laughed. It felt too soft, too precious—but it was real.
And gods, I needed something real.
\---
But across the sea, in a temple carved into black stone, someone else was watching.
He sat on a throne of bones, the shadowflame flickering around him.
He had seen the new dragon queen.
And whispered to his priests:
“She is powerful.”
“But not unbreakable.”
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