The door frame cracks as his fist connects. “Mother wasted away in this underground prison she herself advocated for! The darkness consumed her while she pretended to accept our fate—andthen look at what they did to her! Don't you dare speak of Mother again.”
“Listen to reason. We've both witnessed what the humans can do, but I’ve seen more,” I say. “The clearbloods need only capture one dragon to start binding rituals. Once they drain that first one dry, they'll hunt more. The darkbloods will follow suit. You're leading our kind to?—”
“The humans will burn before they comprehend what's happening,” he snarls. “While you've been locked away, I've been building an army of true believers. All while you were busy rutting with that filthy darkblood?—”
“ENOUGH!” I roar.
Energy erupts from my palms like a thunderclap, darkness and rage coalescing into a force that shakes dust from the ancient ceiling. The wards flare blue in response, absorbing my attack. Not enough—not yet. Something writhes beneath my skin, a living shadow coiling between my organs, pressing against my ribs from within. It needs a channel, a focus point.
Anees's lips curl into a knowing smile. “The Salem girl has quite the hold on you,” he says. “Byzu noticed it first.”
“Byzu is your puppet now?” I ask, circling closer to the door. “What about Arrynth?”
“He resists, but not for long. His neutrality wanes by the day.”
“And Father? The king stands between you and this war.”
My brother's face hardens as he steps back from the door. “When our kind rules the skies again and humans remember their place, I'll return for you. You'll see our new world, brother—the world as it should be.”
“This is madness, Anees.” I press against the bars. “I've lived among them, studied their development, their tenacity. They won't surrender. The dragons won't win this war.”
His eyes flash gold in the torchlight. “Dragons don't need to win. We need only to burn. To consume.”
The latch clangs shut. My fists slam against the door until blood streaks the ancient wood, my brother's name becoming a hoarse echo in the empty corridor.
Up there, humans have forged steel that can pierce dragonhide, built weapons that rain fire from the skies. Down here, Anees has only nurtured his hatred, blind to how the surface world has outgrown our nightmares.
Dragons may breathe infernos and shatter mountains with our wings, but we are few. Humankind is legion, adaptable, ruthless when cornered. Esme is a mere sample of that.
“She's still somewhere above,” I whisper, tasting copper on my tongue. The realization twists like a blade between my ribs. I heard the disgust in my brother's voice. The promise of violence. He will hunt her, and these walls hold me captive while he does.
Something shifts beneath my skin—her power, her essence, responding to my mounting fury. “She belongs with me,” I growl.
Heat erupts from my core, bathing the cellar in crimson light. The wards flicker blue in warning, ancient magic pushing back against my rebellion. But the thought of Esme's blood spilling across dragon stone ignites something primal in me.
I stare at the ceiling, calculating weaknesses, measuring power against restraint. These walls will fall. This magic will break.
And when it does, I will find her. I will claim her. She is mine.
32
ESME
Boot heels echo down marble corridors as palace guards make their rounds—way more than usual. Commands bounce off stone walls, mingling with staff whispers that carry news of the crown prince's disappearance. My shadow cloak hugs my form as I slip from one stone dragon to another. I have to keep my distance. My magic hides my form, but I’m not confident it entirely hides my scent.
“You, there!”
Byzu's voice freezes my blood. The service stairwell beckons forty yards ahead—my escape route—but the dragon lord blocks my path. His gold armor catches torchlight as he strides forward, dark hair disheveled across his forehead. For a heartbeat, he resembles Dayn, until I register his more twisted features and wider bulk.
“Yes, my lord.” A guard's voice answers from behind me.
I press against cold stone, barely breathing as four soldiers approach Byzu, their postures rigid with anxiety.
“Any sign of him?” Byzu demands.
“No, my lord. We've searched the palace.”
His apparent concern for Dayn doesn't match my suspicions. Unless he’s been directing searches away from wherever he's hidden his brother? I remain motionless, studying the tight line of his jaw,the slight narrowing of his eyes—searching for deception in every twitch of his face.
