CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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The Iron shackles bite deep into Prince Orden's and Prince Mordered's wrists. It is an ancient metal forged with dragonfire and blessed with binding runes.
Their fae magic lies dormant, chained by the very essence of their enemies. The silvery glow that once danced beneath their skin has faded to nothing, leaving them as powerless as mortals before the Dragon King.
The hall goes deadly silent, it seems every dragon soldier stops breathing, conscious of their King's rage. The air turns thick and heavy, like smoke before a fire explodes.
"I never wanted to mix my blood with a beast's blood. I couldn't touch a filthy thing like her. I killed her, so what? Was she someone special to you?" Prince Orden's spits, breaking the eerie silence, his smug smile dies when Amendiel drives the knife straight into his eye.
Orden's scream of agony tears through the air.
