Page 89 of Beneath Scales and Shadows
The woman inside stared at her with vacant eyes, too drugged to comprehend freedom. Sora disconnected the monitoring equipment, murmuring reassurances as she helped the woman to her feet.
“Can you understand me?” she asked, supporting the woman’s weight. “We need to move quickly.”
No response. The woman’s legs buckled, muscles atrophied from confinement. Liberating all these prisoners alone was impossible—they were too weak to move, let alone escape.
Sora pushed the images toward him—clear, urgent flashes of what she’d found, carried on the thread that tethered the bond between them. His response came as a wave of fury so potent it made her dizzy—followed by grim determination. More dragons would come. They would save them all.
A bell tolled somewhere above—not the alarm from before, but a different pattern. Warning of intruders within the lower levels.
She’d been discovered.
Sora lowered the woman back onto the platform, promising to return. She moved quickly toward the exit, mind racing. She needed to reach the rendezvous point before guards cut off her escape.
The corridor beyond the breeding chamber teemed with black-armored guards, their weapons drawn. Not the standard castle guard—these wore the distinctive insignia of the royal alchemists’ personal security force.
She retreated, seeking another path. The breeding chamber had multiple entrances, surely—
An arrow whistled past her shoulder, embedding itself in the stone wall with a dull thud. She spun, finding three guards blocking her previous route, crossbows aimed at her heart.
“Surrender,” the lead guard commanded, his voice muffled behind his helmet. “The princess wants you alive.”
Sora’s hand fell to her side, fingers brushing the ruby scale embedded there. A tight pull coiled in her chest—Ignis’s concern sharpening with each passing second. Seven minutes gone. She’d promised ten.
“I surrender,” she called, raising her hands slowly. “Don’t harm the prisoners.”
The guards approached cautiously, binding her wrists with metal cuffs engraved with the same suppression wards she’d seen throughout the castle. The metal burned against her silver scales, not painfully but with uncomfortable pressure.
They marched her upward through different passages than she’d descended, bypassing the laboratory level entirely. Higher and higher they climbed, until they emerged into a grand corridor lined with tapestries depicting Celestoria’s storied history—carefully edited to omit any peaceful coexistence with dragonkind.
Wooden doors stretched high above her, thick and weathered, their dark surface carved with the intricate lines of the royal crest. The weight of history pressed from every etched symbol, their sheer size casting a shadow that swallowed the entryway whole.
The throne room.
Dread pooled in her stomach as the guards forced her forward.
The doors swung open silently, revealing a cavernous space dominated by four ornate thrones on a raised dais. Early morning light streamed through stained glass windows, casting multicolored patterns across marble floors.
All four royal family members sat in their respective seats. King Ralph, his expression coldly imperious despite the chaos engulfing his castle. Queen Marcille, her beautiful face a mask of disdain. Princess Jewels, eyes glittering with triumph as she leaned forward expectantly.
And Prince Markth, his face ashen with guilt, gaze fixed on some point beyond Sora’s shoulder as if he couldn’t bear to look at her directly.
The guards threw her to the floor before the dais. Pain radiated through her knees and palms as she caught herself on the unyielding marble.
“So,” King Ralph’s voice echoed through the cavernous space, “the dragon’s whore returns to us.”
Sora lifted her chin, refusing to show fear. “I came for what was stolen.”
“Stolen?” Queen Marcille laughed, the sound brittle as breaking glass. “The spy was a traitor to his own kind, infiltrating our castle with malicious intent.”
“His kind?” Sora challenged, rising to her knees. “Coal is a delta dragon. Your people are the ones who’ve betrayed your heritage—harvesting omegas for their essence, breeding them like cattle.”
Princess Jewels descended from her throne, circling Sora with predatory interest. “Look at these scales,” she murmured, trailing cold fingers along Sora’s cheek. “Silver, like Queen Vaelora’s were. I wonder how they’ll look when I peel them from your flesh one by one.”
She uncoiled a whip from her belt, the leather straps embedded with metal barbs designed to tear flesh from bone. “Shall we find out how many lashes it takes before your dragon king feels your pain through whatever primitive bond you share?”
Markth shifted in his throne, guilt etched in every line of his face. His hands turned upward in a subtle gesture—apology, helplessness. He was too afraid—too much of a coward to help her… not when they were outnumbered.
Princess Jewels flicked her wrist, the spiked whip cracking against the marble floor inches from Sora’s knees. “I wonder how you’ll scream,” she mused, eyes bright with cruel anticipation. “How many lashes before those pretty silver scales come away in strips?”
