The Dragon's Fury

The air in the palace felt thick, not with magic, but with suspicion. We had been home for two days, and the sense of security I craved was nowhere to be found. Marcus had enacted his plan with brutal efficiency. The Dragon Guard, his personal elite, were everywhere, their scales shimmering beneath their light armor, their eyes twin pools of molten gold. They moved like silent phantoms, mapping every shadow, inspecting every servant. The hunt for the one who defiled my chamber was on.
I tried to focus on the research, burying myself in the library with Sophie, hunting down any mention of a "broken balance." The texts were vague, speaking only in riddles about cosmic stability, deity sacrifices, and the catastrophic silence that follows the death of a truly ancient soul. Nothing concrete enough to name the new threat.
The greater truth—that my mate and I were the catalyst—was eating me alive. Every time Marcus looked at me with that fierce, protective love, the words about Selene, about the war being our fault, threatened to burst out. I had to tell him soon. Especially now.
The small, secret life growing inside me was no longer a secret I could keep in silence. The morning sickness was subtle, easily mistaken for the lingering effects of the tailored virus, but the deep, undeniable knowing in my soul was impossible to ignore. A child. A tiny, perfect new member of our family, conceived in the eye of the storm.
I was pacing our bedroom, rubbing the faint, almost imperceptible swell of my abdomen, when the door burst open. It wasn't Marcus; it was his second-in-command, the formidable Dragon Guard Captain, Lyra.
"Princess," Lyra said, her voice strained, "we have found the breach. The traitor."

The Confession

The Captain led me not to the dungeons, but to a small, hidden armory near the east wing—a forgotten space rarely used. Marcus was already there, radiating a raw, contained fury that made the air itself vibrate. He was flanked by two guards holding a trembling, low-ranking vampire named Emrys. The scent of the man was familiar only because it was the same musky odor that had filled my room that terrible night.
"He's the one," Lyra confirmed, gesturing to Emrys. "We found residual traces of his magic used to temporarily override the master ward on your door. He was let in through a secret passage by another, but he was the one inside."
Marcus didn't look at the prisoner. He looked at me, his eyes burning with protective rage. "Tell her what you did," he demanded of the vampire.
Emrys collapsed to his knees, sweat beading on his pale forehead. "It wasn't me, Your Majesty! I was paid! I swear! I just needed the coin."
"Paid by whom?" Marcus's voice was low, dangerous.
"I... I don't know the name. A man in a dark cloak. He spoke of 'clearing the path' for the 'true successor.' He said the King's death was a mistake, and the Princess needed to be destabilized before the 'Ascension Ritual.'"
Ascension Ritual. A cold blade twisted in my gut. This was not a power vacuum. This was a planned takeover, a move for power beyond the crown.
"The rogue vampires? Were you told to stage the scene?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady.
"Yes, Princess. It was meant to make you think a foolish rival was trying to provoke you. To distract you from the larger plan," Emrys sobbed. "The man who hired me... he said to leave a message. He said that soon, a God would walk the earth."

The Ticking Clock

Marcus released a primal, guttural sound and moved to silence the traitor, but I held up a hand. The information, however terrifying, was vital.
"Where is the man with the cloak?" I asked Emrys. "Where is the ritual?"
"I don't know! He mentioned a date—the next full moon. That's all! Please, don't let the King kill me!"
Marcus turned, his face a mask of disappointment and fury. "Take him. Lock him away. I want every word he has ever spoken extracted. Every contact, every memory."
Lyra dragged the weeping vampire away. We were alone again, standing amidst forgotten weapons. Marcus stalked toward me, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me into a desperate, crushing embrace.
"It will not happen," he vowed, his breath ragged against my hair. "No God will walk here. No successor will challenge our future. I will burn this palace down and rebuild it with my own scales before I let them touch you."
His intensity was absolute, and for a terrifying, wonderful moment, I almost told him everything—the broken balance, the Moon Goddess's secret, the baby growing inside me. It was too much to keep. He deserved the truth. He needed the truth.
I pulled back slightly, my hands going to his face. "Marcus, I have to tell you something. Something important, something amazing. It changes everything."
His eyes softened, the dragon’s fury receding, replaced by the deep, familiar love that was my home. "What is it, my love?"
I opened my mouth, ready to let the wonderful secret out—a reason to fight, a reason to live beyond the war.
But before the first word could be spoken, a silent, powerful pulse of energy hit the armory. It wasn't violent, but it was suffocating. The candles around us instantly went out. The lights flickered and died. A shadow, deeper than any night, filled the room.
Then, a voice—the same ancient, cold whisper I had heard at the hospital window—filled the sudden, absolute darkness.
"Too late, little Queen. The Ascent begins now. And the first sacrifice must be blood."
The sound of shattering glass erupted from the main hall. An alarm, urgent and piercing, began to wail through the palace. Marcus’s grip tightened on me, his scales already beginning to rise beneath his shirt.
"We have to move," he hissed, the hunter overriding the lover. "Now!"
The game had just turned lethal, and it was playing out in our own halls.