Oliver gave a faint nod, the ghost of a satisfied smile flickering across his weathered face. “Good. Then let’s begin.”

  A few steps away, Darius leaned slightly toward Malachite, “Malachite,” he murmured quietly, “keep a close eye on Elise.”

  Malachite blinked, glancing up at him with a faint frown. “You think she’ll try something?”

  Darius’s jaw tightened slightly, his sharp gaze cutting briefly toward Elise the way she stood with that faint, cold smirk, arms crossed loosely but eyes glinting with quiet calculation.

  “She’s ambitious,” Darius murmured. “And she’s been bitter long before Imogen arrived. That makes her dangerous. She won’t challenge openly `but if she finds an opening, she won’t hesitate to use it.”

  Malachite squared her shoulders, her playful energy fading slightly as her brown eyes hardened with determination. “You want me to stick to Imogen like a shadow, then?”

  Darius gave a sharp, approving nod. “Your job is not just to assist her. or to make her smile.” His voice dropped lower, rough, cold, deadly serious. “Your job is to protect her. With your life, if it comes to that.”

  Malachite sucked in a breath, her playful grin flickering just slightly at the edges. For the briefest heartbeat, something flickered behind her big brown eyes, something faintly stung. But she caught herself fast, straightening with a fierce grin and thumping her fist to her chest. “You can count on me, Your Majesty.”

  Axel, standing just behind Darius, shifted uncomfortably.

  He’d been beside Darius a long time, long enough to know that cold, ruthless tone wasn’t meant to wound, only to command. But still… it stung. He saw the way Malachite’s grin tightened just a little too hard, the quick flicker of emotion she swallowed back before flashing her usual bright smile.

  Darius, as usual, didn’t seem to notice his piercing gaze was already flicking back to Imogen, locked on her small, bracing figure in the training ring.

  Let them all test her, Darius thought darkly, but they’ll go through me if they dare truly threaten her.

  Axel exhaled quietly through his nose, giving Malachite a sidelong glance. She caught it, shot him a small, crooked grin but the gleam in her eyes was just a little too bright.

  With a faint frown, Axel crossed his arms, watching silently. Reminding himself that he needs to confirm she knows she is not as replaceable as he made that sound.

  The warriors gathered tightly around the ring, the air buzzing with tension.

  Imogen stood in the center, her hands flexing nervously at her sides, her heartbeat thudding hard in her chest. She could still feel Darius’s gaze on her steady, burning, grounding her and Malachite’s watchful presence just behind, a warm little shield she hadn’t known she’d come to rely on so fast.

  Elder Oliver stepped forward, his lined face sharp and unreadable. “Listen carefully, girl,” he said, his voice clear and carrying across the silent grounds. “This is your first test.”

  Imogen’s eyes lifted sharply to his.

  “You will face three warriors,” Oliver continued, sweeping a slow hand across the crowd. “One after the next. No blades, no lethal strikes. They will come at you to test your endurance, your adaptability, your control.” His eyes narrowed faintly. “Not your raw power.”

  Imogen’s pulse jumped and she realized suddenly that yes, she had magic, she had strength but she barely understood it. And this wasn’t just about blasting someone backward with golden light.

  This was about control. Oliver turned, his sharp eyes raking over the crowd. “Elise,” he said smoothly, “you’re last.”

  Elise arched her brow, “As you wish, Elder.”

  Imogen swallowed hard, her shoulders tensing.

  “First,” Oliver called, his hand lifting slightly, “Jorn.”

  A tall, broad-shouldered dragon kin with dark horns and thick arms cracked his knuckles as he stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. He gave Imogen a small, friendly grin but his heavy boots thudded with purpose as he crossed into the ring.

  Malachite leaned in just faintly from the edge, her voice a quick whisper. “Don’t worry, Imogen. Jorn’s all muscle, no speed. Keep moving.”

  Imogen gave a shaky laugh, her heart pounding.

  “Easy for you to say…”

  Oliver raised his hand between them.

  “Ready.”

  Jorn stepped into the ring, his heavy boots crunching in the dirt, his wide grin easy but focused. He rolled his thick shoulders, his dark horns gleaming faintly under the morning sun.

  Imogen’s heart pounded wildly in her chest, her fingers curling slightly as she took a shaky breath.

  She wasn’t sure she was ready.

  Control, not raw power, she reminded herself, her eyes flicking briefly toward Darius — who watched, silent and still, his sharp golden gaze locked on her with a fierce, unwavering intensity.

  Oliver raised his hand.

  “Begin.”

  Jorn lunged but the moment his foot hit the ground, something inside Imogen pulsed.

  It wasn’t panic or even a defensive surge of magic. It was… a note.

  Quiet at first, like a flicker in the back of her mind, a whisper of a song she hadn’t meant to release but it slipped free anyway, tumbling out on a pulse of gold.

  The air shifted.

  The warriors around the ring froze. Jorn’s movement faltered, his body hesitating mid-stride as his eyes widened slightly, his chest lifting like he was suddenly pulling in breath for the first time in years.

  Imogen’s magic sang softly across the space, golden light threading faintly through the air, not in a violent burst but in a quiet, shimmering wave.

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  The melody wasn’t just in the ring.It spread.

  Like a breeze brushing the edge of a sleeping village, stirring dust and old stones, slipping under doorways, curling through open windows.

  Heads turned. Hands stilled. Mothers froze mid-step, cradling children against their chests. Old warriors straightened slowly, lifting their scarred faces to the faint golden shimmer in the air.

  The magic poured from Imogen like a living current, weaving through every dragon kin heart it touched. Not sharp. Not violent. Not a weapon.

  It was light.

  It was breath.

  It was hope.

  Darius’s eyes widened as villagers began appearing at the edges of the training grounds some still gripping tools or baskets, some barefoot, some wide-eyed with awe, others with trembling hands pressed to their chests.

  Axel sucked in a sharp breath, his usual easy grin flickering into something shaken. “Gods,” he murmured, watching the crowd grow. “They can feel her.”

  Malachite stood frozen just behind Imogen, her brown eyes glassy, a shaky smile breaking across her face as she watched the people she’d grown up with drawn like moths to a flame. “I’ve never seen anything like this…”

  Imogen herself was swaying faintly, the soft pink gown glowing gently around her, her black hair stirring in an invisible wind. She didn’t even realize the golden light spilling from her skin, the way her aura sang softly through the air like a long-forgotten lullaby.

  She saw Jorn drop to one knee before her and then others began to follow. Not in challenge. Not in submission.

  Recognition.

  Darius’s chest tightened as his people, one by one, lowered their heads, fists pressed to hearts, their faces alight with something they hadn’t known they were starving for connection, magic, her.

  Darius stepped forward slowly, his blue-black armor gleaming, his tall figure cutting through the shimmering air, his eyes locked on his queen.

  She’s not just power, She is healing. And for the first time in generations, the village the battered, scattered remnants of dragon kin felt the slow, trembling rise of something they hadn’t dared name aloud.

  At the edge of the ring, Elder Oliver stood still, his lined hands folded quietly before him. His sharp eyes, always so cold, so precise, were locked on Imogen with a rare, flickering trace of something deeper.

  Wonder.

  He let out a slow breath, his gaze darkening faintly with the weight of realization.

  She was raw. Untrained. Untamed. And yet, here she stood reaching his people, not with a sword or brute power, but with the old magic that had long been thought buried.

  He turned his eyes toward Darius, standing a few paces away, gaze locked fiercely on his mate, his shoulders squared, his entire body held taut as if he would tear down the world if anyone dared interrupt this moment.

  Oliver’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He had trained kings before. He had served under queens. But this? This was something beyond bloodlines and titles.

  This was the revival of an entire people. And it is happening now.

  Slowly, quietly, the old elder inclined his head the faintest nod of respect, of reverence not just to Imogen, but to the bond unfolding between her and Darius.

  The Dragon King and the Dragon Singer The storm and the song, bound at last.

  The golden glow slowly faded, the shimmering threads of magic receding gently back into Imogen’s skin like the tide slipping away from shore.

  But Imogen remained standing.

  Her chest heaved slightly with each breath, her heart thudding hard from the effort, but her knees stayed firm, her shoulders straight. Her fingers, though faintly trembling, relaxed slowly at her sides.

  She looked up and for the first time, she truly saw them.

  Villagers lining the edges of the training grounds, warriors frozen in reverent silence, elders bowing their heads or gazing at her not as a fragile outsider but as their queen who brought hope.

  Imogen felt a rush of warmth fill her chest, her lips parting in a soft, breathless smile. She turned slowly, eyes sweeping across the circle, meeting gaze after gaze.

  A young dragon kin child peeked from behind her mother’s skirts, eyes wide and shining. An old warrior thumped his fist proudly against his chest. Even Elise, arms crossed, watched with narrowed eyes not quite smiling, but no longer smirking either.

  Malachite wiped at her face with the edge of her sleeve, beaming fiercely from the side. “Damn, Imogen,” she breathed. “You’re stunning right now.”

  Axel gave a low, almost reverent whistle. “Didn’t even flinch,” he murmured, shaking his head in faint amazement.

  Darius’s golden gaze stayed locked on her his hands curling faintly at his sides as if fighting the urge to storm forward and pull her into his arms. But he didn’t move. He let her have this moment.

  Elder Oliver’s lined face softened just a little, his sharp eyes flicking over her steadily.

  “She stands,” he murmured softly, half to himself, half to those listening nearby. “And she smiles.”

  Imogen drew in one long, grounding breath, her chest lifting, her spine straightening.

  She smiled.

  Because she was still standing. Because for the first time, she saw what was waiting for her. The people, a future, a place she was meant to claim.

  She smiled because she knew… This was only the beginning.

  Imogen drew in a long breath, feeling the warmth of it fill her chest. The air was still. Every face in the crowd the warriors, the elders, the villagers, the young and old alike watched her in expectant silence.

  Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, her heart still pounding. She had never made a speech before. She had never stood before a crowd like this, feeling every eye on her, feeling their hearts leaning toward her, waiting.

  But the fear that had once paralyzed her… wasn’t there.

  Instead, there was a quiet, glowing certainty not that she knew exactly what to say, or exactly how to lead, but that she belonged here, right now. That she was meant to stand in this place.

  Slowly, Imogen took a step forward.

  The gathered crowd held its collective breath.

  She lifted her chin, her eyes sweeping over them, her voice soft but clear. “I didn’t ask for this,” she began. “I didn’t grow up knowing I was one of you. I didn’t train for this day, or these battles.”

  Murmurs rippled faintly at the edges but they quieted quickly, drawn back into her soft, steady tone. “But I am one of you,” Imogen continued, her smile small but real, her voice gaining quiet strength. “I am a Dragon Singer and I am your queen.”

  Malachite gave a fierce little grin from the side, her eyes shining. Axel folded his arms, his head tilting slightly with a faint, impressed smirk.

  Imogen’s voice lifted just a little, a warm golden edge curling around her words. “I don’t promise to be perfect. I don’t promise that I’ll have all the answers, or that I won’t make mistakes. But I do promise you this-”

  She drew herself up, her shoulders straightening, her eyes gleaming softly as the sunlight caught the faint shimmer of her aura. “I will stand with you. I will fight for you. And we will reclaim what was lost.”

  A low, rumbling cheer rippled faintly through the gathered crowd cautious at first, then building, swelling. Fists thumped to chests. Voices lifted.

  Darius stood still at the edge, his gaze locked on her, something fierce and deep and proud gleaming behind his sharp eyes.

  Imogen smiled wider, her heart thundering.

  For the first time, she wasn’t just standing in front of them. She was standing with them.

  And they felt it.