Page 73 of King of Flames and Shadows

Ulric's voice carries even over the chaos of battle, taunting and familiar. He wheels above me, backlit by flames that paint his silver scales in shades of blood.

"Face me," he calls, voice distorted with his transformation. "Or are you still the coward who cried and cowered while our family bled to death in this very castle?"

Fury clouds my vision. I surge upward, all thought of defense forgotten as I slam into him with the force of a battering ram. We tumble through the air, claws raking, teeth snapping at throats. His tail whips around, trying to crack my spine, but I twist away, raking my claws down his flank.

We separate, circling in the air. Below us, Millrath burns, the lake reflecting our battle like a mirror of black glass. Dragons clash all around us, green fire mixing with red, lighting the clouds from beneath. The sound of combat rises from the streets—steel on steel, screams and orders, the thunder of feet on stone.

"You left me," Ulric snarls, diving in for another attack. "After they died, you abandoned me to your war, your vengeance, your precious throne—"

I meet his charge head-on, our bodies colliding with enough force to shake snow from the peaks.

"I protected you!" The words come out in a roar. "Everything I did was to keep you safe!"

"Liar!"

His jaws snap shut inches from my throat. I twist away, but his claws catch my wing, tearing through the membrane. Pain lances through me as we spiral together, locked in combat, falling toward the castle's highest tower.

The impact sends us both crashing onto the roof in a tangle of wings and scales. Stone cracks beneath us, and I feelthe transformation take me as we roll apart—scales melting to skin, claws to fingers. Ulric changes too, and we scatter across the stone, scrambling to our feet to face each other as men once more, breath steaming in the cold air.

Blood runs down my arm where his claws caught me, but I barely feel it. All I can see is Calliope falling, falling, falling …

"You look troubled, brother." Ulric's voice drips with false concern as he circles me, drawing a long knife from his belt. The blade gleams in the firelight above. "Missing something?”

I launch myself at him with a snarl, but he sidesteps, years of resentment making him quick. It’s like we’re children again, fighting in the halls. Absurdly, I recall pulling his hair in the library when he stole the book I was reading. His knife flashes, opening a line of fire across my ribs. I catch his wrist before he can strike again, using my superior strength to force him back toward the roof's edge.

"What have you been planning, Ulric?" I demand through gritted teeth. "All these years in the shadows, what game have you been playing? You want my throne—you know you can’t take it. You know I’ll kill you. You know I’ll win.”

He laughs, the sound sharp as breaking glass. "Game? Oh no, brother. This is justice."

His foot hooks behind my knee. I stumble, and suddenly we're grappling at the roof's edge, the knife between us catching the reflected dragonfire from below. Ulric is smaller than me, but fury makes him strong. The blade inches closer to my throat.

"Justice?" I spit the word like poison. "You’re no revolutionary, don’t make me laugh. You ally with our enemies, betray your own blood—”

"My own blood?" The knife presses against my skin, drawing a thin line of heat. "Where was my blood when I needed it? When you left me to rot in the outer cities while you played at being king?"

"I was protecting our legacy!"

"You were protecting yourself!" His eyes blaze with a hatred that steals my breath. "Everything was always about you. The throne, the power, the glory—while I had nothing. Scraps from my brother's table."

Memory floods back unbidden: Ulric as a boy, watching me train with our father. The look in his eyes—not hatred then, but hunger. A desire to belong.

I must have hesitated, because suddenly his knife is gone from my throat and buried in my shoulder instead. Pain explodes through me as he twists the blade.

"I've waited years for this," he hisses, his face inches from mine. "The lords are coming, brother. By morning, they'll dance on your grave."

The pain centers me, focuses my rage. I grab his throat with my good hand, feeling scales ripple beneath my fingers as the change takes me again. "Then let them come."

We transform together, the roof crumbling beneath our expanding forms. His silver scales flash as he launches skyward, and I follow, my injured wing screaming in protest. We clash again in the smoke-filled air, our combat more vicious now, more personal.

His teeth find my neck, but I throw him off, raking my claws down his chest. Blood rains from our wounds, steam rising where it hits the snow-covered peaks. We're evenly matched—too evenly. Each blow landed is returned, each advantage temporary.

Finally, I see my opening. As he rears back for another strike, I slam into him from below, using my greater weight to drive him down. We crash through one of the castle's towers, stone exploding around us as we fall. At the last moment, I pin him against the rubble, my jaws at his throat.

One bite. That's all it would take.

But I hesitate.

Ulric’s scales glint beneath me, blood streaking from fresh wounds where my claws have torn through him. He struggles, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps, his silver eyes blazing with hatred and something that looks dangerously close to satisfaction. My teeth hover over his throat, a heartbeat from tearing his life away and silencing his treachery forever.

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