Page 85 of Beneath Scales and Shadows
Sora tilted her face up, meeting his burning gaze. “Only if you make the same promise.”
A rumble of reluctant amusement vibrated through his chest. One taloned hand slid to her side, fingers tracing the embedded scale with reverent precision while his other hand found the mark at her neck, the union of their blood still fresh and sensitive to his touch.
The touch lit a fire beneath her skin, a surge of warmth that answered something deep and wordless between them. His maw claimed hers, the unyielding scales brushing her lips in a way that felt impossibly perfect. There was nothing gentle in the kiss—only possession, fierce claim, and fury at the separation looming between them.
When he finally pulled away, Sora felt the absence like physical pain.
“Return to me,” he demanded, the command layered with alpha authority and personal desperation in equal measure. “Or I will tear this kingdom stone from stone to find you. I’d burn it all to ash if that’s what it takes.”
“I will.” She pressed her forehead against his chest, inhaling his scent one last time. “Wait for the signal before your attack.”
Prince Markth approached, his expression carefully neutral despite witnessing the intimacy between dragon and human. “We should move. The changing of the guard happens at dawn, and we need to reach the eastern passage before then.”
Sora nodded, stepping back from Ignis’s embrace. Her dragon rider armor felt heavier than before, the scales woven into leather pressing against her skin like a reminder of what—of whom she fought for.
Ignis’s gaze held hers for one final moment before he melted into the shadows, his ruby scales disappearing into the forest’s darkness. She sensed him withdraw, a subtle shift like a tide pulling back—but still there, steady in the distance, never fully gone. The tether between them stretched but didn’t break, a constant presence in the back of her mind.
Their connection pulsed like a silent compass, always pointing her toward him—hopefully, no matter the distance.
She turned to the six masked dragons accompanying her, their human forms so perfect they might have passed for native Celestorians. Only the unnatural stillness of their movements and the predatory awareness in their eyes betrayed their true nature.
“Remember,” she said, meeting each gaze in turn, “we’re retrieving Coal and any other captives. Nothing else matters.”
Prince Markth led them through the underbrush, moving with the confidence of someone who’d spent years memorizing escape routes. The looming silhouette of Celestoria Castle grew larger with each step, its white marble towers turning pink with the first hints of approaching dawn.
“This way,” he whispered, veering toward a section of outer wall half-hidden by climbing ivy. “The servants’ tunnels connect to the eastern dungeon through old aqueducts. The passage hasn’t been used in generations—my grandfather ordered them sealed, but my sister had them reopened for... special deliveries.”
Sora’s stomach clenched at his implication. More omegas, transported in secret for harvesting.
A loose stone revealed a narrow passage that smelled of damp earth and decay. Markth produced a small crystal from his pocket, its internal light glowing just bright enough to illuminate the tunnel without revealing their presence to guards above.
“Stay close,” he instructed, ducking into the opening. “And be silent. Sound carries strangely through these old passages.”
Sora followed, the disguised dragons filing in behind her. The tunnel narrowed until her shoulders brushed against rough-hewn stone on either side. Chains hung from the walls at irregular intervals, some rusted with age, others disturbingly bright and new.
Through their blood bond, she sent a wordless reassurance to Ignis, feeling his simmering anxiety like a storm on the horizon. His presence grounded her, even as the walls seemed to close in.
After what felt like hours of crawling through increasing darkness, Markth stopped. “We’re beneath the eastern wing now,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. “The prison cells are directly above us. Coal should be in the isolation chamber at the far end.”
One of the disguised dragons—Blaze, she recognized by the copper sheen of his eyes—touched her shoulder. “I smell blood,” he murmured. “Fresh. And something worse.”
Prince Markth nodded grimly. “The shadow alchemists work through the night. The essence extraction never stops.”
Rising fury threatened to overwhelm Sora’s caution. She drew a steadying breath, centering herself on the quiet rhythm of Ignis—an invisible pull, steady and sure, thrumming beneath her skin. “How do we reach the isolation chamber?”
“There’s a maintenance shaft.” Markth pointed to a rusted grate set into the ceiling. “It leads to a guard post, then the corridor. I can create a distraction—most of the guards know me. They won’t question my presence.”
Sora exchanged glances with Blaze. The plan carried enormous risk, but they’d already committed. “Do it.”
The prince climbed up first, pushing the grate aside with practiced ease. The disguised dragons followed, their movements fluid and silent despite their armored forms. Sora went last, pulling herself into a narrow stone corridor lit by sputtering torches.
“Wait here,” Markth whispered, smoothing his borrowed clothes. “Count to one hundred, then follow the left passage to the end.”
He straightened his spine, assuming the regal bearing of a prince, and strode toward the guard post with confident steps. Within moments, they heard his voice—commanding, imperious, exactly what one would expect from royalty.
“What is the meaning of this? I demanded regular reports on the prisoner’s condition! My sister will hear of your incompetence.”
The guards’ responses were muffled, but Sora caught the unmistakable sound of men scrambling to attention. Boots shuffled against stone as they followed the prince away from their post.
