Corvus stops Solaris and me, his hand on my arm, and when I turn to face him, he’s smiling broadly. But it’s not his usual smile—there’s something darker in it, something predatory. Something that matches the war drake lurking beneath his silver-eyed charm.
“Remember, next year is the purge.” His voice is low, meant only for us. “It’s not limited to just students.”
My mate gets a wicked gleam in his eye—a gleam I’ve rarely seen from the male who usually tries to keep me out of violence, who worries about my safety, who would wrap me in cotton and hide me away if I let him. But now, with the baby here, he knows.
We need to make things safer. Sooner rather than later.
“Excellent.” A matching smile spreads across my face, sharp and dangerous. “Only two more months until the summer break, and then we plan for junior year.”
Dragonis Academy was built to hone us into sharp weapons and fierce leaders. My parents did most of the work before I ever set foot on campus—the politics, the alliances, the careful positioning that allowed me to enter as more than just anotherstudent. It’s a finishing school for the elite among the species. The best of each kind attends, hoping to gain the skills to lead their people.
That is, if you live long enough to graduate.
Dragonis has a long-standing history of weeding out the weak. Trials and tests and carefully orchestrated dangers that separate those who deserve power from those who merely want it. It’s brutal. It’s efficient. It’s been effective for centuries.
Next year, I’m going to speed the process along.
As soon as I can figure out who is involved, Keir and my siblings who are third-years will help me hunt. We’ll move through the school like shadows, rooting out the rot, eliminating the threats. The purge isn’t just an event—it’s an opportunity.
An opportunity I intend to exploit.
As we reach the lower courtyard, the sounds of celebration wash over us. Hatchlings chirping and playing in the grass. Adults laughing and talking in small groups. The clink of glasses and the smell of roasting meat drifting from somewhere nearby.
I pass my twin my daughter, carefully transferring Nova’s warm weight into Orpheus’s waiting arms. “Nova, this is Uncle Orpheus—Mommy’s twin.” I watch as she turns her head, those mismatched eyes blinking open to look up at him.
Orpheus melts.
The transformation is instantaneous—his gold eyes going soft, his sharp features gentling, his whole body curving protectively around the small form in his arms. He looks down at Nova like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
Which, of course, she is.
“I feel it in my scales, you’re up to something.” He leans in and whispers in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. His gold eyes flick to meet mine, sharp with familiar knowing.
“You have no idea.” I wink at him and tap his forearm.
The pattern is subtle—a series of touches that would look random to anyone watching. But it’s the secret language he and I developed as children, a code born from long nights hiding from tutors and longer days getting into trouble together. I catch him up to speed in moments, conveying more through touch than I could through an hour of whispered conversation.
He arches a brow, looking at me with that familiar expression—half impressed, half concerned, entirely intrigued.
“Count me in.” He bumps his shoulder against mine, the gesture as natural as breathing. “Terror twins at it again.”
“Most definitely.”
I watch Nova settle against her uncle’s chest, her small wings twitching contentedly, her eyes drifting closed. Safe. Protected. Surrounded by family who would burn the world to keep her that way.
I have some major plotting to do.
But for now, in this moment, I let myself breathe. Let myself feel the warmth of my family around me, the solid presence of my mates at my back, the weight of my daughter’s future pressing against my heart.
Tomorrow, the planning begins.
Tonight, I hold on to what I’m fighting for.
