Part 1
The Dragon Kingdom wakes beneath a pale, restless dawn.
Mist curls along the blackstone walls, carrying the scent of last night's rain and something sharper—an edge of smoke that does not belong.
Daya feels it the moment she steps onto the balcony of her small chamber.
The air tastes wrong.
It prickles against her skin like a silent warning.
Below, the palace courtyard stirs to life. Guards exchange shifts, their armor clinking in the chill. Market carts rumble in from the outer gates. Nothing seems unusual, yet her heart beats too fast, as if it already knows danger waits.
She presses a hand to her chest.
It isn't just nerves. Since the battle she has been able to sense…something. Perhaps living so close to a dragon has sharpened her instincts.
A soft knock breaks her thoughts.
"Enter," she calls.
The door opens and Vanda strides in, a storm contained in a man's frame. His golden eyes are bright even in the dim morning light. He wears no crown, only a simple black tunic, yet authority clings to him like heat.
"You feel it," he says without preamble.
Daya blinks. "Feel what?"
"The shift." He moves to the balcony beside her, gaze sweeping the mist. "My scouts report strangers at the city gates—traders claiming to bring rare herbs and silks. But their movements…" He narrows his eyes. "Too careful. Too quiet."
A chill runs down her spine. "Do you think—"
"Yes." He cuts her off, voice low. "Rosa."
The name coils in the air like a curse.
Daya remembers the princess's cold smile, the promise of revenge whispered across burning fields. Rosa would not forget, and she would not forgive.
Vanda turns toward her, a fierce glow behind his eyes. "You do not leave the inner palace today. Guards will be posted at every entrance. No arguments."
"I'm not arguing," Daya says, though her voice shakes. "But you can't be everywhere. If she's already inside—"
"She is not," he snaps, then softens the edge of his tone. "I will not allow her near you."
The heat of his certainty steadies her, yet fear still lingers like a shadow she cannot shake.
From the courtyard below comes the creak of opening gates and the murmur of new arrivals. Daya peers over the railing. A line of travelers enters—colorful wagons draped in blue and crimson cloth. Among them walks a figure in a healer's cloak, hood drawn low.
The stranger's gait is graceful, too graceful for a weary merchant.
Her breath catches. "Vanda…"
He follows her gaze, eyes narrowing to molten slits.
Vanda's golden eyes sharpen. "I see her," he murmurs.
The hooded figure moves with effortless poise through the gate inspection. Guards barely glance at the traveling papers she offers. One smiles, almost dazed, and waves her through.
"Enchantments," Vanda says under his breath. His jaw tightens. "She cloaks herself in subtle magic. Clever."
Daya grips the balcony rail until her knuckles whiten. "If she's already inside—"
"She will not reach you," he says again, but his voice carries the edge of a growl. He turns to a waiting guard in the corridor. "Double the inner patrols. Quietly. No alarm that could scatter her."
The guard bows and disappears at a run.
Vanda's attention returns to the courtyard. "Rosa is here for one purpose," he says. "To hurt me through you. Remember that."
Daya swallows hard. "Then let me help. I can watch, listen—"
"No." His gaze pins her in place, hot as a dragon's breath. "You stay alive. That is your only task."
Before she can protest, he strides out, cloak snapping behind him like a banner of night.
---
Hours drag by.
The palace hums with muffled tension. Courtiers whisper in corners, unaware of the silent hunt stalking the halls. Daya remains in her chamber, pacing, every creak of the floor a jolt of fear.
Twilight bleeds across the sky when the first sign comes.
A faint scent—sweet, like crushed violets—slips beneath her door. Daya freezes. That fragrance is wrong for the dragon palace, where air usually smells of stone and smoke.
The latch clicks.
"Who's there?" she calls, heart hammering.
No answer.
The door swings inward.
A woman glides inside, her healer's cloak falling away to reveal a gown of deep crimson silk. Moonlight spills over a face both beautiful and cruel. Emerald eyes gleam with quiet amusement.
"Hello, little maid," Rosa says, her voice smooth as poisoned honey. "You've caused quite the storm."
Daya backs away until she meets the cold wall. "You shouldn't be here."
"Oh, but I should." Rosa tilts her head, a predator savoring the moment. "Vanda thinks he can hide his weakness, but you—" She smiles, sharp as a blade. "You are the weakness."
Before Daya can cry out, Rosa flicks her fingers. A shimmer of magic seals the door with a soft hiss. The air thickens, tasting of iron.
"Don't bother screaming," Rosa whispers, stepping closer. "No one will hear."
---
Far across the palace, Vanda feels it—a sudden flare of foreign magic slicing through his wards. His head snaps toward the eastern wing.
"Daya."
Golden light floods his eyes. The dragon within him roars awake.
He bolts through the corridors, guards scattering as a pulse of raw power shakes the walls.
Hold on, he thinks, the beast inside already stretching its wings.