Chapter 37 Dayn
DAYN
The memory of her kiss still lingers on my lips, the taste of her still coating my tongue—cinnamon and darkness and that indefinable essence that is purely Esme.
Her scent drifts to me. They’re right on my heels. Of course they are; I’d expect nothing less from her.
“Not this time,” I whisper, and I burst through the service door at the far end of the palace’s back quarters. It is now too dangerous for her to remain here.
I thunder past startled servants and disoriented guards, everything blurring around me.
With a single, sharp inhalation, I shed my clothes.
In the center of the stone garden, my dragon form explodes into being.
Statues crumble beneath my hind claws. The city’s screams tear at the air as I stand vast and black and furious—too enormous for Draethys’s walls to hold much longer.
Below me, palace guards scramble, helpless to flank me without collapsing the ceiling. They’ve never even glimpsed the sky, let alone faced an ancient dragon like me or any of my brothers.
Amid the pandemonium, my eyes lock on the faint runes carved into the eastern wall—the ward meant to suppress blood magic. Without hesitation, I part my jaws, fire roaring up my throat with the fury of countless generations.
I incinerate the warding. The stone blackens; metal veins melt; the runes flicker and die.
“Dayn!” I hear Esme’s voice from below.
Her voice draws me like a beacon. There she stands with her sister across from the palace's eastern wing, half-hidden amid the chaos I've created.
The panicked crowd rushes past them, eyes fixed on the massive black dragon with molten gold eyes—on me—rather than two darkblood witches in their midst.
“Leave.” I growl, a sound that rumbles from me like distant thunder. I thrust the word at her mentally. A full release of her blood magic ensures she has the easiest chance of escape.
Esme's posture is defiant. That kiss was a mistake.
Each time our lips meet, the walls between us shake.
I see the evidence written in her stance, the fierce emotion around her eyes that betrays her.
What began as mutual hatred—assassin and target, witch and dragon—has transformed into something neither of us can control.
Blood bond, yes, but something more primal burns beneath.
“LEAVE!” A roar tears from my chest, shattering stone beneath my claws. The dome of Draethys trembles dangerously. I cannot maintain this form much longer without bringing the entire underground city down upon us all. A victory Anees would surely celebrate.
Brynn, at least, recognizes the danger. She drags her sister between two administrative buildings as they vanish into the tumult. Only then do I surrender my dragon form.
The transformation ripples through me—scales retracting beneath flesh, wings folding into my spine, bones compressing with sickening cracks. Moments later I kneel naked and human, chest heaving, sweat streaming down my temples as reality slowly reassembles itself around me.
Byzu's howl cuts through the chaos. “Daynthazar, you godsdamned maniac!”
I lift my gaze to see him charging toward me, armor rattling with each stride, a black cloak billowing from his fist. Dragons converge around us in a murmuring circle—some with approving nods, others with furrowed brows. The elders' disapproving glares burn into my back.
“What the hell did you do?!” He flings the cloak over my naked shoulders.
My fist connects with his jaw before I can think better of it. “You sold us out! Our family! Our kingdom!”
“The hell I did!” Blood beads at the corner of his mouth.
“I saw you plotting with Anees and Brutus Meraxis!” My second swing meets empty air as he sidesteps.
Byzu backs away, eyes narrowing. “You've got this all wrong. I wasn't conspiring with anybody.”
“Esme saw you with the Braynor boy.”
Something shifts in his expression—amusement, of all things. “I thought I caught her scent. That shadow cloak... remarkable, isn't it? Dragon energy in darkblood hands creates wonders. No wonder Anees wanted her close.”
“For whatever brotherly love remains between us, Byzu—end this.”
“I wasn't conspiring, dammit!” His voice drops. “I was... pretending.”
“Pretending?”
“Father suspected traitors in our council months ago. I played along when the Braynors approached me.”
The crowd presses closer, dozens of dragon eyes fixed on our exchange. They're my responsibility now. My subjects. The weight of that knowledge tears at something vital inside me.
“You played along,” I echo, the words hollow in my mouth.
Byzu's eyes narrow. “I only discovered Anees's involvement this morning. He's kept everything hidden. Only Brutus Meraxis and his inner circle knew he orchestrated the whole rebellion.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I've been searching everywhere for Father to warn him. I can't find him.”
“You won't,” I say, the words like ash in my mouth. “Anees killed him.”
Byzu freezes. His golden eyes widen, then dull as understanding hits. His jaw clenches, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. His hands tremble before curling into fists at his sides. A low sound escapes him, not quite a growl, not quite a moan.
I recognize his pain because it mirrors my own. That hollow ache where certainty used to live, that raw fury begging for release.
“I’m king now,” I say, my voice barely steady.
I’m king now.
And I’ve just lost my queen.
Byzu gradually regains composure, the shock fading. We slip away from the crowd, ducking past guards whose hands hover near sword hilts, avoiding the questioning glances of administrators clutching scrolls to their chests. The west wing offers us temporary sanctuary.
“Something's happening at the north entrance,” I murmur, watching dragons stream through the grand hallway toward the palace steps.
“What do you know of Arrynth?” I ask.
Byzu's golden eyes darken. “I kept him at arm's length from the conspirators. Told the Braynors I was working on him while actually warning him away.”
“You were playing double agent?”
“Trying to identify the serpent before alerting Father.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Never imagined it wore our scales.” Tears well in eyes I've only seen weep once before—when Mother's pyre burned. “We were supposed to be brothers first, Dayn. Squabbling over council seats, not... this.”
“We need to extract Arrynth before Anees shows his true nature.”
Byzu scans our surroundings, eyes tracking every movement while he offers distracted nods to passing staff.
His fingers tap against his thigh—a warrior's nervous tell. I’m no longer confident I can trust anyone, but if Byzu is willing to assist me, for now I’ll take it… whilst keeping an eye on him.
“He’ll want Esme, you know,” he says.
“Anees? Let him pine all he likes. He can’t have her.”
He quirks a half-smile. “You broke the warding, didn’t you? That’s what the dragon stunt was for.”
“She needed an even playing field for what comes next. And I had to be down here. Come on, brother. It’s not too late.”
“So what are we doing?” he asks.
“We’re calling an emergency security council,” I answer. “Colonel Rogon must know everything that’s happened. By law, with Father dead, I’m now King of Draethys. I have the authority.”
But as we reach the palace’s north side, the mood changes.
The main hall is packed, and more dragons spill down the front steps into the courtyard. Anees stands atop a black stone dais, his voice carrying above the murmurs.
“I’m afraid King Bemmar is dead,” he announces, frowning.
Brutus Meraxis stands with the other great Houses—Braynor, Rogon, Harrow—exactly the members I needed on my council. Colonel Rogon’s eyes go wide, shock and grief warring on his face.
“In my hand,” Anees continues, “I hold proof that Lord Daynthazar ordered the king’s brutal assassination.”
“What?” I whisper, stunned.
Byzu stays close at my side, scanning the crowd. I feel more dragons shifting their gaze toward us, but I can’t tear my eyes from Anees and the lies pouring from his lips.
“It was a plot to stop our father from revealing the truth,” Anees says, shaking his head in ominous sorrow. “The truth is we’re meant to reclaim the skies. King Bemmar sought peace, but he knew humans would never allow us to soar.”
“My lord,” Colonel Rogon protests, “you must be mistaken.”
Arrynth steps from behind Anees and inclines his head. “I’ve verified the letter myself,” he says quietly.
“What letter?” Byzu murmurs.
“No idea,” I reply.
“In this letter, signed by Lord Daynthazar,” Anees waves a parchment, “he hires Loren and Severen Payne—two palace guards and scholars—and promises them gold and gems for a favor. They’ve confessed: that favor was to kill King Bemmar.”
“You’ve apprehended the Payne brothers?” Colonel Rogon demands.
Anees only nods. “They’ll testify. I stand here today, with evidence and sworn testimony, to accuse Lord Daynthazar of House Draxion of patricide and regicide—capital, unforgivable crimes.”
“Gods,” Byzu swears, tugging me back from the crowd. “We have to go. Now.”
I wrench my arm free, lunging toward the dais. “I won't let him spread these lies.”
Anees's voice carries over the crowd. “It is with profound sorrow that I must accept these duties—as Lord of House Draxion and King of Draethys—as succession demands.”
“The flame of Draethys!” Arrynth's voice rings out.
The crowd's response thunders through the hall: “THE FLAME OF DRAETHYS!”
Byzu's fingers dig into my shoulder as he hauls me backward. “For gods' sake, Dayn—they'll tear you apart.” He shoves me through a service door, down narrow stairs to the staff quarters just above the basement I'd escaped earlier. “Can't you hear them? They've already chosen.”