Page 3 of King of Flames and Shadows

They are forced into a ragged line at the center of the village, beneath the shadow of the crooked clock tower. Some are weeping, others trembling in silence. A few struggle, only to be struck down by the butt of a spear or a mailed fist.

I watch them with disinterest as I dismount, my boots landing heavily on the packed dirt. None of these women matter. Not yet. My eyes skim over them, searching for something … different. A witch-blooded woman, said to be hidden among the villagers.

But so far, these pale, trembling creatures are not what I seek.

I stalk toward the gathered women, my cloak swirling around me like a shadow. One of them—an older woman with gray streaking her dark hair—glares at me with defiance in her eyes. I stop before her, and without a word, I strike her across the face, sending her sprawling into the dirt. She does not rise.

The others fall silent, cowed, as I stand over them.

"None of these," I mutter, the words like venom on my tongue. "She’s not here."

Darian shifts beside me, but before he can speak, a sound pierces the air—a distant, primal scream, raw with rage. It echoes from the edge of the village, uphill, from the forest beyond, carried on the wind like a curse.

I turn sharply, my eyes narrowing.

Two soldiers emerge from the trees, dragging a woman between them. She thrashes wildly in their grip, her dark hair whipping across her face, her pale skin flushed with exertion. They struggle to contain her, their faces grim with effort, and she fights them as though possessed, her movements fierce and wild.

And then I see her clearly.

Slender and pale, with dark hair that spills in a tangled cascade over her shoulders, her skin glows with an otherworldly light in the smoky dawn. She is beautiful, yes, but there is something more—something raw and untamed in the way she moves, in the defiance burning in her storm-gray eyes.

My breath stills in my chest as I watch her, and in that moment, I know.

Her.

The soldiers drag her toward the square, forcing her to her knees beside the other women. I approach, boots loud on the cobblestones in the silence. Around us, fire crackles. It all seems to dull. She glares up at me, her chest heaving, her eyes aflame with fury. There’s no fear in them, only a hatred so sharp I can almost feel it bite into my skin.

I take another step toward her, my pulse quickening. The noise of the village is gone, the chaos around me blurring into the background. All I see is her.

The woman I’ve been searching for.

She snarls something under her breath, too low to hear, her gaze never wavering from mine. I smile—a slow, cruel twist of my lips.

This one will not break easily. But she will break. And when she does, my legacy will be born from her.

I glance at Darian, my voice low and satisfied. "Bind her well. She’s the one."

The commander nods sharply, gesturing to the soldiers. They move quickly, roughly tightening the ropes around her wrists, though she continues to struggle, cursing them, spitting at their feet.

I turn away, the sound of her fury like music in my ears, and look out over the village that we will leave in ruins, my mouth curling into a smile of cold, malicious satisfaction.

This time, I will not fail.

The bloodline will continue. And the kingdom will be quelled beneath it.

Chapter 2 - Calliope

After my third attempt at running, a searing pain explodes in my back.

I stumble, the world tilting, and then I’m on the ground, ankles still tied, the air knocked from my lungs. A heavy boot slams down on my arm, pinning me to the dirt.

I scream, thrashing wildly, but strong hands clamp around my wrists, yanking them behind my back. Rope bites into my skin. I choke on a sob as they drag me back to my knees. In the distance, I can see the Dragon King’s back as he moves away from the fray, high above it all, no longer paying me any regard at all.

In his eyes was a darkness I didn’t think could exist in real life. I thought it was only in fairytales, the stories my grandmother used to tell.

“Got her,” a soldier grunts near my ear, hauling me upright. His face swims in and out of focus, a blur of hard lines and sneering contempt.

The commander on horseback rides forward, his gaze sweeping over me with a cold, assessing look.

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