Chapter 20 #2
I deliberately don’t tell him that my flight actually has more families than his entire continent. He would lose his mind if he knew the true extent of Blackhaven’s growth—we’re approaching sixty families now, with more requesting to join every week.
“Any hatchlings of your own? You have a male of obvious worth at your side. The hatchlings the two of you will produce will be mighty indeed.” There’s a calculating gleam in his amber eyes that I was expecting.
He’s looking to strengthen his bloodline using mine—typical political maneuvering.
Marry off a son or brother to secure powerful offspring.
“Not as of yet. I wish to be older and more established before I start a family,” I say with a practiced smile, taking a bite of the steak before me.
The flavor bursts on my tongue—perfectly seasoned and cooked medium-rare, exactly how I prefer it—and I sigh with genuine appreciation.
“My sister Lily was interested in meeting some of those fine males you spoke of at the gathering.”
I raise my brows expectantly, wondering if he’ll take the bait Mom predicted he would. She’d been certain he would pivot to Lily once I made it clear I wasn’t available.
“Is she now?” He pulls a small, leather-bound notebook out of his pocket with obvious interest, flipping through the pages.
“There are about six males that would be excellent matches for her, given your superior bloodline.” He rests the open notebook on the table, pages covered in neat handwriting listing names, ages, and bloodlines.
“Where in the line of succession is she?”
And there it is. The real question—how valuable is she politically?
I copy his motion exactly and pull a small notepad out of the hidden pocket of my dress, looking at it with feigned casualness.
I show Corvus what’s written on it—Mom’s predictions are clear as day, numbered and specific.
Him asking about the line of succession was the second question in a row that Mom foresaw with frightening accuracy.
She’d predicted his next three questions too, which are written below in her elegant script.
“She’s eighth in line currently. But if what happened to Allister happens to any of the newest births, those will be removed as well, moving Lily to seventh place,” I mention with cold detachment, observing his reaction.
His eyes sharpen with interest. An eighth-in-line princess is still valuable, but not as valuable as I am. Acceptable risk, potentially high reward.
“What happened to Alistair?” He leans forward with obvious curiosity, abandoning his food momentarily.
“Unfit to rule. Took the worst traits from the red and green dragon genetics. Soft scales, temperamental, poor judgment...” I scrunch my nose up in genuine distaste at the mention of my brother’s multiple deficiencies.
“That would be problematic indeed,” he says with a tone of calculated disinterest, though I can see him filing this information away. “So regarding your ascension—who is your biological father?”
The question sends warning bells ringing in my head. This feels like dangerous territory, like he’s probing for weaknesses or questioning my legitimacy.
It’s times like this I wish I could reach my father, I think desperately, wishing I could feel Thauglor’s reassuring presence.
I can reach his dragon, at least, my dragoness says helpfully in my head.
Share with him what’s happening here. Let him know something feels wrong. Tell him they’re asking about bloodlines and succession—it feels like they’re planning something, I instruct her, feeling slightly insane having full conversations with myself like this.
“My father is Thauglor Mrithun. I am Klauth Ragnar’s daughter by ascension,” I state clearly, rolling up my left sleeve to show him the crimson scale implanted on my forearm—Klauth’s scale, living and pulsing faintly with his life force.
The proof of my ascension is undeniable.
No one outside of my immediate bloodline needs to know that both the Ancients and Balor are my fathers biologically—that information would be far too valuable to potential enemies.
“Is Lily also Thauglor’s?” He tilts his head, and I get an uncomfortable chill racing down my spine at the intensity of his interest. Why does he care so much about parentage?
“She is his descendant through her father. Her father is Abraxis Havock, the highly decorated war drake.” As much as Abraxis annoys the hell out of me on a daily basis with his controlling behavior and political maneuvering, he has an objectively impressive military service record that commands respect across all five continents.
“A war drake, you say.” Amadeus leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers, watching us with the focus of a predator sizing up prey. “Interesting. Very interesting indeed.”
The way he says it makes my scales want to rise in warning. I reach for my wine glass as a servant appears silently to refill it, the dark red liquid catching the firelight. I lift it to my lips, preparing to take a polite sip. Then I pause before the glass touches my lips.
There’s a sedative in it—I can smell the faint chemical undertone beneath the wine’s bouquet, sharp and slightly acrid. It reminds me of the samples Mom made me memorize during my Shadowblade training. My training kicks in instantly, years of preparation crystallizing into cold clarity.
I reach out and touch Corvus’s thigh under the table with deliberate pressure, and he looks at me questioningly, his silver eyes searching mine.
He watches as I deliberately set the wine down without drinking, making the motion look natural.
I tap the stem twice with my finger in quick succession—the Shadowblade signal that something isn’t safe, that we’re in active danger.
His expression doesn’t change, but I feel his muscles tense through our bond. He understands.
“He’s quite the hero,” I continue smoothly, as if nothing has happened, smiling as I take another bite of my food.
Then I realize with sickening clarity—the wine mixed with whatever they’ve likely put in the food would knock us out completely.
The combination of sedatives would be devastating, probably enough to drop even a dragon my size.
Then it hits me harder: the food. I’ve already eaten several bites.
Fuck.
I push my plate forward deliberately and tap the edge twice, drawing Corvus’s attention to it without being obvious to our hosts. Food is drugged too, I signal. We need to leave. Now.
I stretch theatrically and fake a yawn, covering my mouth with my hand.
“Is there a place I can take a nap? I’m feeling a little tired after my long flight.
I’d like to rest before my journey home.
” When I stand, I deliberately act a little wobbly on my feet, as if the drugs are starting to take effect—which they might actually be.
I can feel a slight fuzziness creeping into my thoughts.
Let Dad know they tried to sedate us. This is an act of war. Tell him we’re escaping now, I instruct my dragoness urgently, feeling her reach out across the vast distance to Thauglor’s dragon.
A servant immediately appears—too quickly, as if they were waiting for this—to lead us down a long hallway decorated with more elaborate tapestries. We’re taken to a room with a balcony overlooking the valley far below. Perfect.
“Can you open the doors, please? I don’t like being closed in—it makes me nervous. The last thing you need is a frightened black dragoness melting the compound in a panic,” I say with deliberate emphasis, letting the threat hang in the air while making it sound like a concerned warning.
The servant nods quickly, clearly taking me seriously and probably remembering stories of what happens when black dragons panic, and flings both balcony doors wide open before practically fleeing the room. Smart man.
The moment we’re alone and I hear his footsteps fade, I drop the drowsy act entirely.
“Block the door,” I order Corvus in a harsh whisper, and he nods immediately.
The two of us move the heavy wooden dresser across the floor as quietly as possible—it scrapes slightly, making me wince—and barricade the door.
It won’t hold long against determined dragons, but it’ll buy us precious minutes.
We run to the balcony and stare into the darkening skies.
The sun is setting behind the mountains, painting everything in shades of blood orange and deep purple—beautiful and ominous.
“I’ll shift once we’re high enough in the air, then carry you until we’re out of sight of the fortress,” I explain quickly, already calculating flight paths and wind patterns.
“What’s happening? What did you see?” Corvus asks urgently as we move toward the balcony edge, the evening wind whipping at our formal clothes and making my wings catch like sails.
“The wine had a sedative additive that, when combined with whatever I suspect was in the food, would knock us unconscious within minutes. I smelled the activator in the wine—it’s an old assassin trick Mom taught me to recognize.
” I grab my mate firmly, wrapping my arms around him.
“They were going to drug us and either kill us or hold us hostage for political leverage. Either way, we’re leaving. Right now.”
I spread my wings wide, feeling the wind catch them, muscles tensing for takeoff. “Hold on tight.”
We leap together into empty air, and for a moment we’re falling, the ground rushing up.
Then my wings catch and we soar upward. Every beat of my wings burns with effort, carrying the extra weight of Corvus in my arms. The only thing I know with absolute certainty is that I need to get us out of here as fast as physically possible before they realize we’re escaping.
“How long before they check on us?” he shouts over the wind tearing at our clothes and the rushing sound of air past our ears.
“Maybe thirty minutes at most, if we’re lucky. Probably less.” I’m already climbing fast, using every thermal I can find. “I’m going to shift now—I’ll carry you in my talons until we’re far enough away. Do not let go no matter what.”
I don’t wait for his response and start shifting mid-flight, being extremely mindful of my grip on him so I don’t accidentally crush him during the transformation.
The change ripples through me—bones extending, scales emerging, wings growing to massive proportions.
For a few seconds, I’m holding him awkwardly as my body changes size and shape around him.
Every beat of my massive wings takes us higher and closer to the shoreline. My muscles scream with effort, but adrenaline pushes me forward. I can feel the drug they gave me trying to pull me toward unconsciousness, making my thoughts slightly fuzzy, but I fight it with everything I have.
Once fully shifted, I twist my long neck, bringing my horned head close to the taloned hand that holds Corvus carefully. I feel him use his silver talons to gain purchase on my scales as he climbs with practiced efficiency into position behind my horn ridge.
When I know he’s settled securely, I climb higher into the darkening sky, using my black scales to blend into the night like natural camouflage. In the distance, I hear sirens beginning to blare—a harsh, discordant sound that carries across the valley like screaming.
So much for thirty minutes.
I guess they checked on us sooner than expected, or maybe someone saw us fly off the balcony.
With a slight adjustment of my wings, I catch a strong thermal rising off the cooling land and stop flapping, gliding silently to conserve energy for the long flight ahead.
The only sounds now are the waves of the ocean far below me crashing against the cliffs and the increasingly distant blaring of the fortress sirens.
Every once in a while, I flap my wings just enough to maintain altitude, trying to remain as quiet as possible.
Stealth is more important than speed right now.
When I can no longer see the lights of the island behind us—when there’s only darkness and endless ocean in all directions—I push myself harder than I ever have before.
My wings burn. My muscles scream. The drug in my system makes everything feel slightly disconnected, like I’m flying through honey. But I push through it all.
I need to breach the western shore of our continent. Anyone who dares to follow us across that boundary will be attacked for invading our territory—an act of war that my fathers will answer with overwhelming force and centuries of accumulated fury.
Once Corvus is safe, once he’s on our soil and protected by our laws and our armies, I will return if necessary. I will wage war and defend my continent with extreme prejudice.
They tried to drug and capture the heir apparent of the Aurelian Isles. They tried to harm my mate. They violated every diplomatic protocol and sacred law of hospitality.
They’re going to learn why you don’t fuck with a wyrm black dragoness. And more importantly, they’re going to learn what happens when you threaten the daughter of two Great Wyrms who have been looking for an excuse to remind the world why they’re feared.