Page 41 of The Fifth Heir

“I bruised it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I can move my arm.”

She demonstrated by lifting it above her head.

Her face remained controlled until her elbow passed the level of her shoulder. Then her breath caught, and she lowered the arm too quickly.

I folded my arms.

“That proved nothing,” she said.

“It proved you’re in pain.”

“I already said it was bruised.”

“You said you weren’t hurt.”

“A bruise does not count.”

“It counts if you’re entering the Dragon Trials.”

“I’m not entering anything.”

“You’re wearing an heir torc.”

“Because it attached itself to me.”

“So did mine.”

“You can shift into a Fire dragon. You’ve trained for this most of your life. I cleaned the display case that held your torc.”

The words came without self-pity.

That made them harder to dismiss.

She genuinely believed the distance between us was too great to cross.

Maybe it was.

The Trials had killed heirs before. Not often, and never in recent cycles, but the records did not pretend every chosen dragon survived. Power alone offered no guarantee. An unshifted woman with no combat training would be at a greater disadvantage than anyone the academy had prepared to receive.

I had spent years learning to control fire under pressure. I had trained in human form, dragon form, and the dangerous space between them. I had scars from lessons that went wrong and memories of one lesson I would have given anything to take back.

Talia had a notebook, three hours of sleep, and a shoulder she refused to admit hurt.

The Prism had still chosen her.

“Take off the robe,” I said.

Her eyes widened.

“So I can examine your shoulder.”

“No.”

“I’m not asking you to undress.”