The palace buzzed with tension, every hall whispering of Rosa's ultimatum. Guards doubled their patrols, smiths worked through the night forging spears, and the air reeked of smoke from the training grounds.
Daya walked silently, her tray of bread and water trembling in her hands. She felt the eyes on her wherever she went—guards who muttered about her, nobles who sneered, even maids who used to smile at her now turned cold.
She had become a curse in their eyes.
Her steps faltered as she reached the prince's chamber. The guards opened the doors at his command, and she stepped inside.
Vanda stood by the tall windows, his back to her, a crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders. Beyond him, the training yards blazed with torchlight where his soldiers drilled in perfect rows.
"You look troubled," he said without turning.
Her lips parted. "I am troubled, my lord."
At that, he turned, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. He strode toward her, the firelight carving his face into sharp, fearsome beauty. "Say what you mean."
Her fingers tightened around the tray. "This is happening because of me. Rosa only threatens you because of me. Your council is right—I am not worth the lives of thousands."
His jaw flexed. For a moment, silence pressed heavy between them. Then, with sudden force, he swept the tray from her hands. Bread and water crashed to the floor, spilling across the stones.
Daya flinched, staring at the shattered remains.
Vanda loomed over her, his voice a low growl. "Do not ever speak of your worth as if it were nothing. You are under my protection. That is reason enough."
Her eyes burned, not with fear but with something far more dangerous. "Why, my lord? Why me?"
The fire in his gaze softened, only slightly. "Because you remind me there is still something in this world worth protecting."
Her breath caught, and for a moment, the storm outside faded. But before she could speak, the doors banged open.
A soldier stumbled in, panting. "My prince—Rosa's men! They've crossed the border. The villages burn!"
Vanda's expression hardened. He grabbed his sword from the wall, fire racing along its blade.
"Ready the army," he commanded. "Tonight, we march."
The war had begun, and the Dragon Prince was riding into fire.