The royal council chamber exploded into shouts.
Accusations. Protests. Threats.
Words like treason, forbidden, and abomination flew through the air like daggers. But Valen stood still, eyes burning, body still humming with the fire of his declaration.
He held Isolde's hand tighter.
She didn't flinch.
"My blood is royal," one councilor snarled. "How can you shame the throne with this—this girl?"
"She's not just a girl," Valen said coldly. "She's the fire the gods sent to wake me up. And I will not stand by while the council decides whom I may love."
"You're dragonborn," hissed another. "She's mortal. She won't even survive a century—"
"Then I will make her immortal," Valen snapped, voice like thunder. "I will burn every library and summon every mage in the realm if I must. But she will not die while I still breathe."
The room fell silent.
Because they believed him.
Everyone had heard the stories of the Dragon Prince's fury. Of how his fire could melt through stone, summon storms, reduce entire armies to ash.
If he wanted to defy fate itself, he might very well do it.
And yet, among all the outrage, there was one voice that hadn't spoken.
Queen Regent Elira.
His aunt.
The woman who had ruled during his childhood. The most feared strategist in the court.
She rose slowly from her seat, her gaze sharp as a blade as it landed on Isolde.
"This girl…" Elira began, circling the dais, "is clever. She stood here in front of dragons and did not tremble. That alone earns my respect."
Valen narrowed his eyes. "Say what you came to say, Elira."
She stopped in front of Isolde. "But strength alone is not enough. What does she bring to our kingdom? Why should we risk bloodlines and balance for her?"
Isolde's spine went rigid, but her voice was steady. "You speak of bloodlines as though they matter more than peace. I was a pawn, yes—but I've lived among kings. I know what they fear. What they want. I can be more than Valen's mate. I can be your weapon."
A hushed silence fell.
Then Elira's mouth curved.
"Perhaps you do have teeth, girl."
Later that evening, back in Valen's chambers, Isolde sat on the edge of his bed, eyes glazed with thought. The day's events had left her buzzing.
"They hate me," she whispered.
Valen stood behind her, fingers gently threading through her hair.
"They fear you," he corrected. "And that is more useful."
She looked up. "What if they try to kill me?"
His expression darkened. "Then I burn every last one of them."
She managed a laugh, but it faded quickly. "You can't protect me from everything, Valen. If this continues… there will be war."
He walked around to face her, kneeling before her. "Then we'll fight it. Together. You're not a pawn anymore, Isolde. You're the mate of a dragon. And dragons don't run from fire."
She stared at him.
And in that moment, she believed it.
But far beyond the palace walls, in the black mountains of the East, something stirred.
A hooded figure stood atop a cliff, watching the stars align in unfamiliar ways. A dark flame crackled in his palm, his eyes glowing like molten silver.
"The prince has chosen," he murmured.
Beside him, a monstrous winged beast let out a low growl.
"Then so shall we."
The first true enemy had awakened.
And he was coming for the dragon… and the girl who had dared to tame him.