Page 58 of King of Flames and Shadows

At the break of dawn, I stand on the battlements, the wind whipping my cloak and my hair as I watch the four soldiers approach across the moat to my castle, seeking an audience with me. I have been anticipating their arrival since last night, when I was warned to expect them. They walk with the arrogant swagger of those who believe they hold the winning hand. Fools, all of them. They have no idea what I am capable of, what depths of fury they have awakened within me.

Across the squally black lake, my city curls upon itself, resisting the insistent battering of the wind.

As they draw closer, I see the emblems on the soldiers’ armor—the rose of House Bellrose, the crow of House Draven, the lion of House Morwen, and the serpent of House Vos. A united front, then.

They reach me and do not bow, do not even incline their heads. My rage is boundless. Their leader, the Bellrose soldier, speaks, voice as brittle and sharp as cracked glass.

I listen, hands clasped behind my back, absorbing the words: treason. War. Calliope, heresy, abomination, weakness. The words stir something dark and ancient in me, a bone-deep rage so fierce it nearly blinds me.

“Who is responsible for this charge?”

My voice echoes over the waters on either side of the moat, icy and precise, each syllable a promise of vengeance.

The spokesman, with his chest puffed up as though he’s suddenly a man worth noticing, stands taller, if only barely.

“Our lord, Ulric of House Szallitás, commander of the United Houses,” he announces, daring to meet my gaze witha thin, nervous smile. “Together, the rightful Draconic Houses stand as one, pledging themselves to the protection of the realm. You—both of you—have poisoned the throne. No longer shall it be permitted.”

The words fall like stones in an empty room. I can feel the fire clawing its way up from the hollows of my chest, each beat of my heart fueling its rage. They mean to take her from me—to take Millrath, my city, my throne, my kingdom. I force myself to breathe, holding back the torrent of fury. There will be time to unleash it, to bathe in it.

I raise my hand, and my guards step forward.

“Escort these soldiers beyond the city walls,” I command, the words cutting clean through the air, cold and unyielding. “Let them greet the beasts at the foothills of our picturesque mountains.”

The soldiers glance at each other, eyes widening in the stark realization that they’ll be left to die out there, to be torn apart by the very creatures they’ve come to fear. I don’t wait to watch them break; the guards will see to them. I turn and leave the hall as their curses and shouts echo behind me, each step reverberating with a satisfaction I haven’t felt in years.

But the satisfaction is short-lived, smothered by something darker—an old fear, a memory wrapped in pain. I can feel it twisting in my mind, a serpent curling around old wounds, forcing them open.

Betrayal has roots in Millrath. My family’s history is written in it, in blood and bone.

Now, I watch as history repeats itself.

It was a night like any other. I was still a boy, hardly on the cusp of manhood—I was in my chambers, poring over mapsand treaties, trying to make sense of the tangled web of alliances and rivalries that made up the political landscape of Kaldoria. My father had been grooming me for the throne since I was old enough to walk, and I was determined to prove myself worthy of the crown that would one day sit upon my head. Ulric was still a young child, our sister younger still. I did not see them often, but I recall loving them dearly, the kind of childish love that did not survive within me.

The first sign that something was amiss was the sound of shouting from the courtyard below. I rose from my desk, frowning, and crossed to the window. What I saw made my blood run cold.

Soldiers and mages, dozens of them, poured through the gates like a dark tide. They wore the colors of the other houses, the houses my own parents had gone to great lengths to form close bonds with, and they moved with the deadly purpose of men on a mission. The mages' robes billowed behind them, their staffs already glowing with deadly intent. I will never forget the colour of their magic against the sky.

I didn't hesitate. I snatched up my sword and ran for the door, my heart pounding in my chest. I had to get to my family, to warn them, to protect them.

But by the time I reached the throne room, it was already over. The floor was slick with blood, the bodies of my father's guards littering the ground, some of them still smoking, all of them still bleeding.

There, in the center of the carnage, were my parents and my sister. My mother lay crumpled at the foot of the throne, her once-beautiful face frozen in a final expression of horror, her skin shredded apart by the dark spells that had torn through her. My father sprawled beside her, his hand still curled around thehilt of his sword, as if even in death he refused to surrender. His crown was broken above his bloodied head, shattered by either blade and spell; I could not tell.

And Elara ... sweet, innocent Elara, barely more than a babe. The mages had shown no mercy, their magic ripping through her small form alongside the soldiers' blades. Her tiny body bore the wounds of sorcery. Her eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, her blood pooling on the marble like a macabre painting.

Ulric staggered into the underchamber behind me. I recall the sound of his scream. I don't remember much of what happened next. I know I howled, a sound of pure, animalistic rage and grief that tore from my throat like a living thing. I could not yet transform into my dragon form, still too young. I know I charged the soldiers and mages, my sword flashing in the torchlight as I cut them down one by one. I know I fought like a man possessed, driven by a fury that burned hotter than any dragon's flame.

But in the end, it wasn't enough. They were too many, and I was just one boy, one prince with a broken heart and a shattered world.

They took me prisoner, dragged me before their leaders like a trophy. I spat in their faces, cursed them with every breath, swore that I would make them pay for what they had done.

And pay they did.

It took me years, but I bided my time. Even as my brother vanished, cloyed by drink and the promise of forgetting what we had seen, I watched and I waited, gathering allies and resources, plotting my revenge with a cold, ruthless precision that would have made my father proud.

And when the time was right, with Darian at my side, I struck.

I killed them all, every last one of the traitors who had dared to betray my family. I took back the throne that was rightfully mine, and I made sure that the whole of Kaldoria knew the price of crossing House Szallitás.

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