Calista stared quietly at her queen as she moved the hair out of Sorin’s face. Before she realized what she was doing she grabbed her hand, pulling it away from him.

  “Don’t touch him. He could not believe one bad thing about you but you’re the one that did this to him,” she stood in front of him. Maybe he was as good as dead, and maybe the castle was going to come down around them at any moment, but she knew she did not want Lyra anywhere near him.

  “That’s because my prince always looked forward, like a horse with blinders on. And we all suffered for it.”

  Maelzar scoffed. “You were always like this. No one loves blame more than Queen Lyra. As long as it’s not directed at her at least. Now, you will RELEASE ME. AND GIVE ME WHAT I’M OWED.”

  The throne room trembled at his command, cracks forming along the ancient stone floor. The sigils binding him pulsed violently, reacting to his fury. Calista felt the weight of his demand pressing against her, thickening the air like the moment before a storm.

  Lyra lifted her chin, unfazed. “You were a terrible guardian. All you did was sleep and hoard treasures. I used you to fix the mess you should have been helping with anyway.”

  Calista clenched her fists. “And you failed.”

  For the first time, Lyra hesitated. A flicker of doubt passed through her storm-colored eyes, but she quickly buried it. “No, I succeeded. How many countries thrived after I bound Mael and Sorin to Valeria? But..what happened to Sorin was a mistake. He was never meant to be a vessel. I’ve worked so long to put an end to his suffering, let me fix this.”

  Maelzar laughed darkly. “Oh, you’ve done enough. But if you want redemption, Queen, there is only one thing you can do.” His glowing eyes snapped to Calista. “Break the last seal.”

  Calista’s breath caught in her throat. She could see the final sigil now, it was inscribed into the base of Sorin’s throat. A twisted, intricate mark, pulsing like a heartbeat. Perhaps it was the only thing keeping his form whole.

  Lyra hesitated. “If we do that, there’s no telling what will happen.”

  “I know exactly what will happen,” Maelzar snarled. “I will be free. And your prince will either stand or fall. But if you do nothing, he is already lost.”

  Calista swallowed hard. She turned to Sorin, brushing her fingers along his cheek. He was cold. Too cold. But beneath the emptiness, she swore she felt something—something still fighting to hold on.

  She looked up at Lyra. “If this is all we have, then you must do it.”

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  Lyra hesitated for only a moment before she waved her hand. Sorin’s head snapped back, the glyph at the base of his throat gleaming brighter.

  The shaking in the room intensified, and the windows finally shattered. Calista barely noticed it. The knight of the sacred flame had used his cloak to protect them from the shards. His sister looked on sadly, her skin lacerated from the cuts.

  Maelzar’s voice curled around her like smoke. “This bitch made a key. That’s you, moonling. Place your hand on the sigil. Please. Please give me back my body.” For once, his tone was not mocking or sardonic.

  Calista took a deep breath and pressed her hand to the sigil. Everything became silent and still, as if time had frozen. Beside her, she could feel the temperature increase as the dragon regained corporeal form.

  The knight once again shielded her, forming a shimmering barrier that protected against the heat of the dragon's transformation.

  Then, the silence was shattered.

  A wave of force blasted outward, sending Calista stumbling back. Maelzar’s image appeared to crack down the middle, and from its depths, the dragon emerged.

  He was no longer the spectral being of before. Now, he stood in his full, terrible glory—a monstrous, draconic form that barely fit within the ruined throne room. His crimson hair had lengthened into a mane of living fire, licking at his shoulders and framing his sharp, angular face. His skin, once smooth, now bore the texture of obsidian, glowing faintly with the molten light that pulsed beneath it. His horns had grown longer, curling back like a ram’s before tapering into razor-sharp points. Golden chains still clung to his body, remnants of his imprisonment, now glowing with dying embers as they disintegrated one by one.

  His wings unfurled, massive and leathery, the membranes flickering with the same fire that coursed through his veins. His tail lashed against the stone floor, cracking it further. And his eyes—his eyes burned with a hunger centuries in the making.

  His gaze snapped to Lyra. “You,” he breathed, and then his lips curled back in a snarl. “You DARED.”

  Lyra did not wait. She pivoted sharply, her cloak billowing as she leapt backward. The room seemed to warp around her as she moved, the shadows shifting unnaturally, the light bending.

  Maelzar lunged.

  The heat of his fire roared toward her, but it never touched her. Instead, the flames twisted, coiling and dispersing as if repelled by an unseen force. Lyra’s eyes shimmered with an eerie silver light, her expression unreadable as she raised her hand. The sigil at her wrist glowed, and suddenly, she was gone—a blur of light and shadow that disappeared into the broken remains of the castle.

  Maelzar let out a furious roar, his tail smashing into the collapsing wall. “COWARD,” he bellowed, his voice shaking the very foundations of the keep.

  Then he was gone, smashing through the front wall to seek his revenge. The building was collapsing now in earnest, giant rocks and debris landing on the shimmering shield still held by the knight, covering Calista and Sorin. She collapsed again on Sorin’s lap, holding him tightly even if he couldn’t hold her.

  “Leave us,” she said sharply, determined to stay with Sorin until the end.

  “No,” the knight said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle. “Do not worry, Calista. I know just what to do. After all, I was the one who switched you and your sister.”

  End of Book 1.