Happy birthday to me. Twenty-two years old, and I just committed genocide to protect my family.
Somehow, I don’t feel as guilty about it as I probably should.
The guys’original birthday plans for me were shot to shit when I went on my rampage yesterday. Guilt gnaws at me about messing up their carefully coordinated schedules, but in a sense, it’s probably better this way. At least no one can say my twenty-second birthday was boring.
When we return to the gathering grounds, the smell of smoke and blood still lingering in the air, we find out Abraxis had three duels while we were gone—and lost one. The male who won looks like he almost died, barely standing upright as healers work on him. Mom stands nearby with a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as I walk closer.
“What did I miss?” I hug my mother tightly, breathing in her familiar scent of steel and roses, and look at the male the doctors are frantically bandaging. His face is a mess of bruises and cuts.
“Abraxis got cocky. That male beat him in single combat while the ancients were gone dealing with your situation.” Mom’s voice carries approval rather than disappointment. It makes perfect sense—the males waited for my dads to leave before going after Abraxis, knowing they’d have no chance otherwise.
“So if he won, why does he look like hell?” I arch a brow and smile, looking at my mom with dawning understanding.
“I took a page out of my daughter’s playbook and fought for myself,” she says with obvious pride, and that smirk widens. “Obviously, I won.”
We both laugh—the sound drawing attention from nearby dragons who immediately look away when they see our expressions.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” I say with genuine admiration. Ziggy approaches as I continue hugging Mom and hands us both crystal glasses of red wine. The liquid catches the afternoon light like liquid rubies.
“There’s talk happening. The elders sense the power difference between the two of you,” Ziggy says quietly, and my blood runs cold despite the warm afternoon sun.
Mom and I look at each other and roll our eyes in perfect synchronization. We expected this happening eventually—it was inevitable once I reached wyrm status so young. I want to laugh at the predictability of it all, but before I have the chance, the older dragons on the council are already moving toward us with a purpose in their strides.
“I think the jig is up, Mom.” I glance at her, then look across the crowd to Keir and make the subtle hand signal for the egg carrier. He nods once and blinks out of existence with thatfamiliarpopof displaced air. We finish our wine and pass Ziggy the glasses.
Both my dads see the council moving and immediately start heading toward us, cutting through the crowd. Corvus comes up behind me and hugs me from behind, his arms wrapping around my waist and his hands resting on my hips just under my wings. “They’re up to something,” he murmurs against my ear before kissing my cheek.
“Ziggy says they sense the power difference between me and Mom. I mean, I kind of didn’t hide it when I lost my shit yesterday being attacked by three dragonesses at once.” I exhale hard, feeling the weight of what’s coming. “I have a plan, though.”
I lock eyes with Dad Thauglor across the space between us and step into his personal space, reaching up to grab his large hand and rest it against my cheek. The familiar warmth of his palm grounds me. I open our mental connection and let him see my plan in its entirety—every nuance, every calculated move.
‘Let the elders mention I’m stronger than Mom. I won’t deny it because it’s true. But I am the weapon my father will wield—his sword to strike with, his power to command. Together, we’re unstoppable.’
The moment he shares the plan with Klauth through their own bond, I see Klauth’s crimson-flecked amber eyes ignite with fierce approval. “Brilliant. It will work,” he says, winking at me as Dad releases my face.
“Oh good, you’re all here in one place,” Zepheroth—I believe that’s his name—says as he approaches with the other council members flanking him like an honor guard. “We,” he motions tothe assembled elders with a theatrical gesture, “noticed a shift in power within the Sovereign nest.”
I tilt my head and smile sweetly, looking to my mom first, then back to Zepheroth with innocent curiosity. “That’s interesting. I’m the dominant dragoness of the Blackhaven nest. Mom is the dominant dragoness of Sovereign. What shift did you notice, exactly?”
I reach into the egg carrier Keir returned with and pull out Solaris’s egg carefully. It pulses in my hands, flickering with light, almost like living flames trapped beneath the shell. I lock eyes with Zepheroth and refuse to break eye contact, letting him see the challenge there. After holding his gaze for a long moment, I carefully pass the warm egg to Keir, who slides it securely back into the carrier strapped across his chest. The orange shell settles against him with a soft pulse, and I can feel Solaris’s curiosity through our bond about what’s happening.
“When did that leadership change occur? The council was not made aware of it,” Armand practically roars, his face flushing with indignation at being kept out of the loop.
I turn my full attention on him and stand up straighter, drawing myself to my full height. “Last time I checked, the eldest dragon’s dominion outranks the council’s need for information.” A low growl escapes my lips as I feel the bone plates shift forward under my skin in my face, the white showing through. “The King and the eldest drake are both aware of the change in leadership. Hell, it was done by Thauglor Mrithun himself.”
I flare my wings wide—the span impressive and intimidating—and angle my wing claws forward in obvious threat.
They challenge us...my dragoness says with dangerous satisfaction.
Thauglor steps forward smoothly and rests his warm hand on the back of my neck, applying gentle pressure to get me to look at him. He winks at me, and I know immediately that Dad is about to handle this his way.
“How about we settle this dispute like drakes do? Single combat? Aerial combat?” That sadistic smile crosses his lips—the one that has made grown dragons flee—and his eyes shift to his dragon’s sapphire slits. The change in Dad’s stance, the coiling of latent violence, gets my dragon to rise immediately to the surface, ready to back him up in whatever carnage he’s planning.
“Great, you’re pissing off two wyrm black dragons,” Klauth says, shaking his head with exaggerated exasperation. “Well, one wyrm and one Great Wyrm dragon, to be precise.” He moves to stand in front of me protectively, and I feel myself calming slightly when he reaches his hand behind his back toward me. I take his hand, our fingers intertwining, and slowly settle down. It’s the bigger predator effect in full force—the ancient calming the younger.
“It’s clear that the Queen is no longer the dominant dragoness of the continent,” Armand states with false confidence, motioning toward my mother as if she’s standing right there. “We saw her daughter yesterday. Princess Raven is enormous—nearly her father’s size already.”
“Your point being what, exactly?” Thauglor asks with deceptive calm as he crosses his arms over his broad chest and flares his wings wider—making himself appear even larger and more threatening.
