Cerys stood atop a battlement on one of the palace’s highest towers. It was late into the night, and the city of Dunstead was silent beneath her. The streets were mostly dark, with only a few lanterns along homes adding to the shadows. However, far below her at the entrance to the palace, torches illuminated the gates. But this wasn’t to guide people toward the palace for safety; it was to show off the heads of the men Arnav saw as traitors.

  Men like Sean Higgins… When the Drurus army returned to Dunstead, the king summoned him and many of the captains to explain their failures. And when they gave no valid excuse, Arnav had their heads removed and placed on spikes outside the palace walls.

  Cerys was forced to be present to watch him die at her father's hands. But unlike the others who had cried and begged for mercy, Sean accepted his fate and willingly placed his head upon the chopping block first. He looked at her, staring into her soul as the axe came down on his neck. Cerys had to fight back the tears and pain she felt for his death, not because she wanted to look strong in front of her father, but because she would not be allowed to mourn a traitor.

  No matter how much she loved him…

  The princess turned her gaze from the palace below toward the east. Beyond the city walls, far into the distance, was a faint, flickering light against the night sky.

  It was an encampment, but not for Drurus's soldiers.

  No… it was the enemy—Sylvaris, Riven, and Vespera. Three kingdoms headed for Dunstead, like wolves circling prey.

  In all their years of planning, Cerys never imagined that the war they started would backfire so miserably. The battlefield was supposed to be within Sylvaris’s borders, not at Dunstead’s doorstep. Her father’s banners should have been flying over Casshire by now… But they were far from those hopes and dreams.

  Where had it all gone wrong?

  She asked herself that same question every night. And each time, she found no single answer… just thousands of small mistakes that led to this disaster. Missteps, betrayals, miscalculations. Not one thing—but many.

  Most recently, it was trusting Anwen.

  Kendra had warned her daughter against it. Time and time again, she had cautioned Cerys not to put faith in the bastard princess.

  “She’s soft,” Kendra would say. “Too eager to please. And weak things always break.”

  Cerys believed her mother, but she didn’t think Anwen would break like this. Her sister had always seemed harmless—docile, even. Someone easy to use. Too timid to scheme, too desperate for their father’s approval to betray them.

  And yet, here they were…

  No Emmett. Many of the nobles who came to Drurus with him quickly withdrew their support after the prince’s very public death. That left her father scrambling to lock those lords and ladies in the dungeons, keeping them from taking their personal armies and monies over to Rhett.

  But Cerys didn’t care much about what consequences came with Emmett’s death. It was no loss for her. No amount of gold or soldiers could justify the years she would’ve spent shackled to that pitiful weakling. Her father should have looked elsewhere—formed smarter, better alliances like Rhett had.

  Yes, Arnav had allies. Most were weak—that’s why her father sought them out. He didn’t want equals; he wanted puppets.

  The only exception to this was Sylvaris—all because of Cerys’s engagement to Emmett.

  Everything—every choice, every plan, every action—could be traced back to that one decision. She had only been five when her father began searching for a husband for her. Even then, Arnav had the foresight to know Kendra would never give him a male heir. So, he had planned to make his daughter the heir by proxy through her husband. But that meant whoever they paired with Cerys needed to be weak and easily controlled. And who better than the sickly prince in the neighboring kingdom?

  But it wasn’t just a weak prince Arnav wanted. It was a good bloodline. The Virious had a long history of massive, deadly dragons. He dreamed of the lava-spewing monsters that Cerys would have with Emmett, effectively making Drurus a powerhouse in the world.

  But eventually, Arnav’s ambition outgrew the marriage. The alliance and bloodline weren’t enough. He didn’t want to share with Sylvaris—he wanted to own it.

  That’s when the real planning began.

  He started small by sending nobles from Drurus into Sylvaris. The goal was for them to get positions in Julian’s court and get close to the former king. At first, it didn’t look as if it would work. That was… until Henrik volunteered.

  The old Salas Margrave was the only Drurus noble who had gotten close to the late king. And Arnav thought he could rely on Henrik, especially since the lord had a hand in helping him rise to the Drurus throne.

  But he was wrong.

  Henrik and, to some extent, Kohen, had been the reason why everything went sideways. Whether by design or failure, they had ruined years of careful planning. And now… the enemy’s camp loomed just over the horizon.

  Cerys’s fingers clenched the edge of the stone as she leaned against the battlement. But as she stood there, the silence was disrupted by the sounds of boots approaching. She didn’t turn around to see who it was. Instead, she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

  “Your Highness?”

  The voice was high-pitched, cracking with the simple greeting. Cerys blinked and turned slowly. A young guard stood a few feet away, looking foolish in his ill-fitting armor. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen.

  Most of the seasoned guards had been sent to the front lines weeks ago. What remained in the palace were boys too young and men too old.

  “Princess?” He said, more nervous this time. “His Majesty has summoned the council to the war room. Immediately.”

  Of course he has… Cerys muttered inwardly to her dragon.

  She nodded once, stepping forward and brushing past the boy without so much as a glance. She went back into the palace, with her orange dress trailing behind her like fire. The princess looked unbothered by the state of things, but anyone who truly looked at her would see the tension in her shoulders or the tightness in her jaw.

  Cerys was anxious…nervous…terrified. Feelings she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. Not since childhood, when nightmares used to send her into her nursemaid’s arms.

  The halls were eerily empty the deeper she went into the palace. No one wanted to be at Arnav’s court, not when they knew an army was heading straight for the capital.

  When the princess arrived at the council room, she stopped just inside the door. Instantly, she could feel the hot air and see the steam seeping from her father. Torches lined the walls, and their flames danced whenever a gust of wind came in through the open windows.

  A map of Drurus was spread across the table. Markers were scattered around the city, but there were fewer pieces than yesterday. And fewer than the day before that.

  They were losing men, like blood pouring from a wound.

  Suddenly, a goblet flew across the room, hitting the wall near a commander’s head. It hit with a loud clang, crumpling like paper and falling to the ground with a thud.

  “I told you to move them!” Arnav roared. “I don’t care if that means fewer soldiers protecting the city! If we don’t flank Rhett’s forces now, then we don’t stand a chance against them!”

  Cerys lingered near the entrance of the room, watching. No one noticed her at first—not until a servant tried to slip past her with another decanter of wine, and the guard behind her cleared his throat to announce her presence.

  Arnav glanced up, meeting her gaze briefly, but said nothing to her.

  “We’d be losing half of our archers if we attempted that maneuver,” an older man said hesitantly.

  “The city would not be able to withstand an attack head-on if that happened,” another added grimly.

  “The enemy has moved faster than expected,” a third said. “Even if we do send out a company of men to flank them, our soldiers won’t make it to the valley before first light.”

  Silence followed as everyone stared nervously at Arnav. No one dared to deny the king too strongly, but it was clear none of them supported his plan. Finally, Cerys stepped forward, stopping behind her chair as she looked at her father.

  “If it’s time we need, why don’t we offer up the Sylvaris nobles down in the dungeons?” She suggested. “If we send them out at dawn, that will delay Rhett’s forces from approaching the city. At least for half a day.”

  Everyone in the room turned their attention toward the princess. A few of the men shifted uncomfortably, and some even looked at the floor. No one wanted to speak up to support her idea, at least not until the king voiced his opinion.

  Arnav didn’t speak right away. Instead, he stared at her, his eyes almost black as his dragon stirred just under the surface of his skin. His face was unreadable, so no one could tell what he was thinking.

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  Then he moved. Slowly, he turned from the table and crossed the room toward his daughter.

  “You want to hand over my prisoners like trinkets to our enemy?”

  Cerys’s chin lifted slowly so she could meet her father’s gaze. She knew that tone… the low, hissing voice that was full of venom. She knew what was coming, yet she couldn’t stop herself from voicing her opinion.

  “Better to be rid of trinkets than to sit here and do nothing while—”

  Arnav’s face twisted, and his hand went flying, slapping across the princess’s face. Her head snapped to the side, and strands of hair fell across her face. The pain was instant and quickly spread across her skin.

  But Cerys did not cry out. She did not touch her cheek or even lower her eyes.

  Instead, the princess straightened her spine before slowly turning her head back to face her father. Her lips pressed into a thin line as her hands stayed at her sides.

  They stared at each other, unmoving and unblinking. This was a silent challenge of wills between two dragons. But as king, Arnav couldn’t be the one who looked away first. It had to be Cerys. However, his daughter was just like him—strong, proud, and stubborn.

  Finally, he had no choice but to point toward the door behind her.

  “Leave,” he commanded with a growl.

  This got Cerys to finally break eye contact. She glanced toward her mother, who wasn’t even looking in their direction. Then, without another word, the princess curtsied to her father before leaving the room. She stormed her way through the palace like a child who had been denied their favorite toy.

  Her footsteps echoed through the palace corridors as she moved. Fury, shame, and bitterness raged through her body with each step she took. Her skin still burned from the slap, but it was the silence from her mother that stung worse. Cerys wanted to scream, to throw something, to breathe lava through the halls like a feral beast.

  But she didn’t. She kept walking.

  By the time she returned to the highest tower, dawn had begun to creep over the horizon. The princess stepped onto the battlement, not caring when the wind blew her hair into a disheveled mess. It was colder now than it had been just over an hour ago.

  She walked over to the tower's edge, placing her hands on the stone, which was wet with dew and cold against her skin.

  But the chill didn’t last.

  Within seconds, heat pulsed through her hands, spreading through the bricks like wildfire. Steam hissed as the dew evaporated, and then the stone beneath her fingers began to glow—at first a dull red, then a brighter molten orange. Her anger grew with each breath, and it soon became hard to contain.

  Would you like me to heal your cheek? Her dragon questioned softly. It’s already starting to bruise.

  “No. Leave it,” Cerys hissed aloud. “I don’t care.”

  That’s a lie, her dragon growled. Our father has never laid a hand on us… Not once. Don’t pretend it doesn’t bother you, because I feel your emotions.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the princess murmured, reaching up to wipe the corner of her eyes. “None of this does… Come morning, this city will be surrounded… And by nightfall, we’ll either be dead, or flying away like cowards to seek refuge elsewhere.”

  Her dragon didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say.

  There was nothing that could change what was coming. Fate had already made its choice, and now they were just waiting for it to come for them. And in the end, if death wanted her, it would find her. That much was certain.

  But she had no intention of going quietly. If she were going to fall, she’d do it with her claws out—tearing, ripping, spewing lava. She would take as many with her as she could. Rhett… his soldiers… even her sister…

  Thinking about everyone she would kill brought Cerys some peace, odd as it may seem.

  Maybe that made her childish… maybe that made her cruel…

  But what else was left?

  With a sigh, the princess’s gaze went toward the edge of the city walls. With the sun continuing to rise, dawn was giving way to the morning, and now the Drurus army was scrambling. Her father’s soldiers moved like ants around a broken mound, rushing to their posts, shouting orders, and getting into formation.

  They’re too slow, she thought. Too scattered.

  Still, they pulled it together. Archers climbed to the top of the wall, spreading out along the battlements. Anti-dragon weapons were rolled into place, some at the ground level in front of the main gate, while others sat on towers or ridges.

  Cerys’s gaze shifted eastward.

  The sunlight was blinding as it rose over the horizon, but she squinted through it, searching. Waiting…

  Then she saw it—at first, it looked like the sun itself was spitting fire. Perhaps it was a trick of the morning light. A signal flare, maybe. But as her eyes watched, a cold knot twisted in her stomach.

  No… it wasn’t sunlight.

  It was fire—fire arrows.

  Hundreds of them—probably thousands—flying through the air, hidden by the light of the rising sun. Then they fell, raining down fire upon the Drurus army. Men screamed as they scattered to avoid the arrows, but many weren’t so lucky.

  Trousers, cloaks, supply wagons—all ignited in an instant, and soon, smoke filled the air. Horses pulled away from their handlers, tearing through the crowd in a panic.

  Whatever formations the Drurus army had were shattered, replaced instead by chaos. From somewhere among the disorder, the commanders yelled out orders, screaming for the men to regroup, to raise their shields, and prepare for a second volley.

  But no more arrows came.

  The soldiers stood there, waiting for more fire to rain on them. Even Cerys found herself holding her breath, staring into the sunrise.

  Instead, all that came was the sound of a distant horn.

  And then she saw them… The enemy was marching through the sunrise, with their armor reflecting the light like a mirror. Not a few ranks or a scattered company—no. It was an army. A huge wave of steel and shields stretched north and south as far as her eyes could see.

  Cerys had heard the reports of how many soldiers the allied kingdoms had mustered. But hearing numbers and seeing them were two very different things. This wasn’t just an army—it was a flood. A force that would drown her father’s army without mercy.

  And worse still, the princess didn’t know how many dragon shifters were hidden among the ranks. She knew Rhett was out there… and that made one. But what of the others? Riven’s royal family consisted of three: The king, the queen, and the Crown Father.

  But then there was Vespera… How many sons had Kenna and Mathias spawned for their horde? Six? Seven? How many of them marched toward Dunstead?

  And was Kenna among them?

  The empress was the first ever dragon with the ability to create and control lightning. Not only that, but she was the only known dragon strong enough to break through a witch’s magic. If she was fighting, Cerys knew that her end would not be quick or pleasant—as if she expected it to. But there was just a certain amount of…uncomfortableness…that would come from dying by Kenna’s hand.

  Swallowing the dry lump in her throat, the princess turned her gaze back to her father’s army. To no one’s surprise, they looked overwhelmed as the enemy approached. The far ends of Rhett’s forces arced inward, slowly encircling Dururs’s men, trapping them.

  Once all of the men were in place, another horn sounded, signaling the start of the battle.

  From her tower, Cerys could hear the shouting of men and the clashing of swords. Bodies quickly hit the ground, and it was clear whose men they were—her father’s.

  They were outnumbered, outpaced, and outmatched. Lines shifted and collapsed. Drurus was losing… badly.

  But then came the anti-dragon weapons. Some commander, or perhaps just a man desperate enough, wheeled the large crossbows forward, loading them with the steel bolts. However, rather than shooting them at a dragon, because there were none out, they were unleashed into the enemy lines.

  The first wave slammed into Rhett’s men, tearing through rows of soldiers as if they were paper. One bolt skewered four men at once, pinning them to the ground. A few of the bolts had oil poured onto the ends, then lit on fire before being shot. What was designed to pierce dragonhide tore quickly through flesh and bone.

  The enemy lines seemed to falter, and their advance stopped. Rhett’s forces now hesitated, pulling back, unsure what to do.

  But then… a ripple went through the edge of the battlefield. A roar echoed through the air as the first dragon shifted. It had pale blue scales, with streaks of white that mimicked ice on the water.

  Cerys narrowed her eyes. She didn’t recognize the dragon—at least not by sight. But she knew by its coloring that it was from Riven. And it was either the king himself or the Crown Father.

  The dragon stretched out its wings, not to fly or attack, but to shield his forces.

  “A stupid mistake,” Cerys muttered under her breath. “Trading his own flesh for theirs…”

  The weapons fired again, aimed straight for the dragon. One bolt shot through the membrane of his wing, while two more lodged into his back, but he didn’t move from his position. Rather, he braced himself for yet another attack.

  However, as the crossbows were readied to shoot the beast again, another roar went through the air. Cerys turned her gaze to the southern part of the field, spotting another dragon—this one dark blue with golden horns and claws.

  One of Vespera’s princes.

  With a snarl that seemingly cracked through the air, the prince opened his jaws, and lightning erupted from his throat. It struck the anti-dragon weapons with a deafening boom. Stone exploded from the city walls, while dust erupted into the air. The crossbows along the ground were reduced to rubble or caught on fire. Those mounted on the walls broke apart, tumbling down onto the men below.

  Another bolt of lightning followed, then another. The eastern gates of Dunstead crumbled. Watchtowers toppled over, crushing the panicked soldiers scrambling beneath them.

  It was clear who had the winning hand in this battle, and now, there was no stopping it.

  Cerys stood unmoving as the walls around the city began to tumble and break apart. Finally, the prince ceased his attack, and the entire battlefield went silent. Even the entire city of Dunstead was quiet. But only for a moment.

  Soon, the Drurus army was yelling as they rushed through the broken gates and into the city. Panic turned the retreat into chaos as men discarded their weapons and pulled off their armor—anything to make themselves faster. The wounded were left behind, trampled by their friends or simply abandoned to the enemy.

  Cerys watched it all happen, feeling almost sick from how easily everything fell apart.

  And yet, something struck her as odd. As she looked past the wall, she had expected to see Rhett’s forces rushing forward, giving chase after her father’s men. But they didn’t.

  Instead, they all stood eerily still on the battlefield.

  Then, amidst the silence, the Vespera prince moved, climbing onto the walls like a serpent. He moved slowly, pausing every few steps to sniff the air or to examine the ruins—clearly looking for traps or threats.

  He stopped near one of the broken towers, gazing out toward the city, though Cerys couldn’t help but think he was staring directly at her.

  Then, he pulled back his head and let out a loud roar that shook the rooftops.

  “He’s calling for us,” a voice behind her said, startling the princess.

  She turned around, suddenly noticing her father standing directly behind her. She didn’t know how long he had been there, or if he had just arrived. Either way, she didn’t hear him approach.

  “The dragon wants us to come fight,” Arnav continued as he finally met his daughter’s gaze.

  Cerys didn’t respond, not at first. She stood with her arms at her sides, staring up at her father. But then, Arnav stepped closer, and without warning, he grabbed her chin. He turned her face to the side, revealing the bruise from where he had slapped her.

  “Why haven’t you healed this?” He questioned in a low growl.

  “Why bother?” She said flatly, yanking her chin from his grasp.

  “So you wanted to sulk, is that it?” He snapped. “Is that what you’re going to be doing while your mother and I go down there and fight for our kingdom? Stand up here and cry like a child?!”

  “I’m not afraid to die,” Cerys hissed as her eyes darkened.

  “What does that mean?” He demanded.

  She took a step forward, clenching her hands into fists.

  “It means,” she shouted. “That it doesn’t matter if we fight or not. We’re dead either way! Look at them! You think the three of us can stop them? You think if we shift, we’ll somehow change the outcome of this war? We are outmatched. We were dead the moment they came into our kingdom!”

  “So yes, I’ll fight,” she growled, stepping away from her father. “But not because you demand it. Not because you slapped me, and I want to vent my anger. I’ll fight because I’d rather die out there, as a dragon in the sky, than as a princess dragged through the dirt in chains.”

  Arnav opened his mouth to speak, but before he could respond, Cerys stepped onto the edge of the battlement. She looked down, feeling the wind rush past her.

  She spread her arms wide—then she jumped.

  Her body fell, plunging toward the ground. But in an instant, she shifted. Scales grew across her skin, wings snapped open, and her body rushed upward—no longer falling, but flying.

  Cerys soared into the sky, lava trailing from her open jaws, and her eyes fixed on the dragons waiting beyond the walls.