The palace's council chamber smelled of damp stone and old arguments. Light filtered through high stained-glass windows, painting the floor in fractured colors that did nothing to brighten the mood. Vanda stood at the center of the room, arms crossed, eyes a molten gold that made the guards along the walls shift uneasily.
He was waiting for King Osric's summons, but the tyrant had not appeared. Instead, silence pressed like a weight. Every minute that passed stoked the dragon in his blood, and the air around him shimmered with heat.
A soft rustle drew his attention to the side door. Daya slipped in, her simple dress a calm contrast to the grim chamber. She carried a bundle of fresh linens and a small flask of water, as if she had simply wandered in by chance. Yet the determination in her eyes told him she was here with purpose.
"You shouldn't be in this room," he said, voice low but edged with concern. "The king's spies would gladly report that you consort with a dragon."
"I'm already known as the maid who follows the dragon prince," she replied with a faint smile. "Another rumor won't kill me."
Despite himself, Vanda's lips twitched. "You are far too fearless."
"Or maybe I know you won't let harm come to me," she said, stepping closer until the warmth of his presence wrapped around her like a living cloak.
Vanda exhaled, letting the tension ease slightly. "The council delays to test my patience. Osric wants me to show weakness."
"Then don't give him the satisfaction," Daya answered. She set the flask on a table and met his gaze steadily. "You have strength that frightens him. Not just your dragon power—your sense of justice."
Her words struck deeper than she could know. Few people ever looked past his strength to the choices behind it.
He lowered his voice. "You see more than most. But if I reveal what I am today, there is no turning back. When I shift…there will be no hiding."
"I'm not afraid." Daya's tone was simple, absolute.
He stepped closer, until only a breath separated them. "You should be. The dragon is not gentle. When I change, I am flame and scale and thunder. I could burn this palace to its foundations."
"Then burn the lies," she said. "Not the people."
The dragon inside him stirred at her defiance, but not with anger—with recognition. Slowly he reached out, brushing his fingers across her cheek. "You trust me with your life?"
"I already have," she whispered.
Something ancient moved through him then, older than the crown he wore by birthright. He drew a long breath and felt the dragon rise within, not as a beast but as an oath.
"I swear," he said, the words carrying a resonance that made the stained glass tremble, "by blood, by flame, and by the name of my ancestors, I will protect you. No king, no army, no darkness will touch you while I live."
The air thickened, shimmering with heat as faint golden sparks danced around his hands. Daya did not flinch. Instead she placed her palm over his, steady and warm, sealing the vow in a silence that felt sacred.
"You have my trust," she said simply.
For a moment the chamber seemed to breathe with them, the world narrowing to the quiet rhythm of shared resolve. Then heavy doors swung open with a clang.
A herald stepped inside, his face pale with the heat that radiated from Vanda. "His Majesty will see you now," the man stammered.
Vanda straightened, letting the dragon's glow fade to a contained ember. "Stay behind me," he murmured to Daya.
She nodded, unafraid.
Together they crossed the threshold into the grand audience hall. Torches flared as if sensing the power in their approach. King Osric sat on a high throne of black iron, flanked by nervous guards. His eyes flicked from Vanda to Daya, and a thin smile curved his lips.
"So the mighty prince brings a servant to a royal audience," Osric sneered. "How quaint."
Vanda's voice was calm but carried the weight of storm and flame. "I bring the truth, Osric. And I will speak it, whether you cower or listen."
The king's smirk faltered as the temperature in the room began to rise. A faint shimmer of golden scales crept across Vanda's hands, catching the torchlight.
Whispers rustled through the court like dry leaves in a sudden wind.
Osric's eyes widened, but Vanda held his gaze, unblinking. "Your cruelty ends today," he said, every syllable a promise.
Behind him, Daya stood tall, her presence a steady heartbeat in the gathering storm. The dragon prince had made his oath, and nothing in Arven—king or kingdom—could unmake it.