The swell of cheers slowly softened, fading into murmurs of respect and quiet nods.

  One by one, the villagers stepped forward, a warrior bowing his head, a mother clasping Imogen’s hand gently for a moment, a young child slipping a small wildflower into her palm before darting away shyly.

  Imogen smiled softly through it all, her heart full and tight, her chest lifting with the quiet weight of what had just passed between her and these people.

  Darius watched from the edge, his arms folded, his gaze sharp but calm. He made no move to interrupt, letting his queen have this moment, knowing how important it was for her to stand on her own.

  After a few more respectful bows and quiet words, the crowd began to thin. Villagers drifted back to their work, warriors returned to training, and the steady hum of daily life slowly returned to the village.

  Malachite clapped a hand gently on Imogen’s shoulder, grinning wide. “You were amazing, Imogen.” Then she winked. “Now, don’t let Oliver break you too hard, yeah?”

  Imogen let out a soft laugh but her smile faltered slightly as Elder Oliver approached, his sharp eyes assessing her quietly.

  “Come,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We begin shaping your control now, while your aura is still awake.”

  Imogen blinked, a little surprised. “Right now?”

  Oliver’s straight face didn't falter, “Magic waits for no one, girl. Sit.”

  He led her to a quiet corner of the training grounds near the edge of a cliff with a waterfall, guiding her through her first meditation stances teaching her how to steady her breathing, how to ground her focus, and how to feel the magic without drowning in it.

  Across the field, Darius lingered a moment longer, his eyes fixed on her.

  Then one of the elders approached a tall, wiry man with graying horns and a deep, weathered voice. “My king,” he murmured, inclining his head. “The council awaits. We must plan the next move, especially if Arthur survived the last battle.”

  Darius’s jaw tightened faintly at the name, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Understood,” he said quietly.

  With one last glance toward Imogen, who sat cross-legged on the grass, golden magic faintly flickering under her skin as Oliver adjusted her hands and murmured instructions, Darius turned sharply and followed the elder away.

  They had wars to plan, she had her power to master and both knew before long, their paths would collide again.

  Imogen sat cross-legged on the cool grass, her hands resting loosely on her knees as Elder Oliver circled around her slowly, his sharp eyes watching every flicker of golden light that stirred faintly under her skin.

  “Focus,” he murmured calmly. “Breathe deeper. Not from your chest from your center.”

  Imogen exhaled hard, frowning. “I am breathing.”

  Oliver gave a faint, dry snort. “No, you’re sighing there’s a difference.”

  Her shoulders tensed slightly, frustration bubbling under her skin. She clenched her hands into fists, forcing them to relax again. The magic inside her sparked faintly, restless and slippery, always just out of her grasp. Why can’t she just hold still?

  Oliver crouched nearby, his old, lined face calm but firm. “You can’t command magic by force. You’re not a soldier on a battlefield. You’re a singer, let it rise through you, not against you.”

  Imogen closed her eyes tightly, trying really trying but all she felt was her heart pounding, her thoughts racing, the ache of exhaustion crawling up her spine.

  Minutes passed. Then…

  A quiet shuffle.

  When she opened her eyes again, Elder Oliver was gone.

  Imogen blinked, looking around in surprise and found Malachite plopping herself down on the grass across from her, arms draped casually over her knees, her massive shield and hammer propped beside her like oversized toys.

  “Where did…?” Imogen asked softly, glancing around.

  Malachite grinned. “He said you needed to practice sitting still without an audience and let’s be honest, no one’s scarier than Oliver when he wants you to focus.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin in her hands. “So… how’s the whole ‘breathe and glow’ thing going?”

  Imogen let out a breathless laugh, slumping slightly. “I think I’m worse at this than I am at swinging a sword.”

  Malachite’s smile widened, warm and easy. “Well, you’ve got me now. I’m great at sitting still for about five minutes, max.”

  Imogen let out a tired laugh, her shoulders relaxing just a little. For the first time since the magic had burst free of her, she felt… a little less alone.

  Imogen let out a tired sigh, flopping backward into the grass and covering her face with her hands. “This is hopeless,” she groaned, her voice muffled. “I can’t sit still, I can’t hold the magic, I can't even meditate without feeling like I’m about to jump out of my skin.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Malachite let out a soft snort, flopping onto her back beside her, arms stretched out. “Join the club,” she said cheerfully. “I nearly set the barracks roof on fire the first time I tried to meditate.”

  Imogen peeked out from between her fingers. “…You?”

  Malachite grinned sideways at her. “Yup. I was, like, twelve. My horns were just starting to curl properly, and my dad, the village smith, figured I needed discipline. So he put me through elder-led magic training. First lesson? Focus.” She wiggled her fingers dramatically.

  “I focused so hard I shot a little arc of magic straight through the candle I was supposed to be calming my mind around. Took out the whole shelf behind it.”

  Imogen laughed softly, her hands dropping away from her face. “Seriously?”

  Malachite laughed too, her shoulders shaking. “Seriously. The Elders were not impressed. My dad had to reinforce the forge roof after that.” She stretched her legs, her brown eyes twinkling as she turned her head to look at Imogen.

  “So, yeah you’re already doing better than I did.”

  Imogen let out a long breath, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, Mal.”

  Malachite grinned, thumping a fist lightly to her chest. “Hey, that’s what your personal knight’s here for. Support, jokes, and occasionally hitting people with a very large hammer.”

  Imogen laughed, the tension in her chest easing just a little more. She turned her face to the sky, watching the pale clouds drift lazily overhead.

  For the first time that day, she didn’t feel like she was failing. She just felt like a girl sitting in the grass with a friend and that was enough to keep her steady, at least for a little while longer.

  The warm, peaceful quiet stretched between Imogen and Malachite as they lay in the grass, laughing softly under the drifting clouds.

  A rustle drew their attention from the calm. A flicker of shadow at the edge of the training grounds.

  Malachite’s easy grin faltered for a heartbeat, her brown eyes narrowing slightly as she propped herself up on one elbow.

  “Hold up,” she murmured under her breath, her playful tone dropping. “Do you see that?”

  Imogen sat up slowly, blinking. “What?” Following her gaze.

  Suddenly, figures stepped out from behind the trees.

  Four dragon kin lean, armored, their sharp eyes fixed on Imogen with cold precision. They moved in practiced formation, their weapons drawn, their expressions hard and humorless.

  Imogen’s breath hitched. “Who is that?” she whispered, her heart slamming against her ribs.

  Malachite was already on her feet, rolling her shoulders, her hand reaching back to unclip her enormous shield and hammer from her back.

  “Elise’s people,” she said tightly, her grin sharp and fierce now. “Told you she was the type to pull a dirty trick.”

  The tallest of the group stepped forward, his blade glinting faintly.

  “Our orders are simple,” he said flatly, his voice sharp. “Test the queen. See if she’s really worthy.” His eyes flicked coldly to Malachite. “Step aside, little hammer girl.”

  Malachite let out a low laugh, spinning her hammer once in her hand as she lifted her shield, planting it firmly between Imogen and the attackers.

  “First of all,” she said brightly, her grin widening, “that’s Lady Hammer Girl to you.”

  She shifted her stance, her short, stocky form braced like an unshakable wall. “Second of all.” Her brown eyes flashed with fierce determination. “You’ll get to Imogen over my dead body.”

  Imogen felt her throat tighten as she scrambled to her feet, heart pounding, magic flickering faintly at her fingertips — but Malachite shot her a quick, sharp look. “Stay behind me, Imogen,” she said firmly. “You’re still drained, let me handle this.”

  The four attackers tightened their formation, blades raised.

  Malachite thumped her shield once against the ground, her grin turning downright feral. “Come on, boys.” She twirled her massive hammer, the runes along its head beginning to glow faintly. “Let’s dance.”

  The first attacker lunged.

  Malachite moved like a boulder launched from a catapult.

  Her massive shield slammed forward with bone-rattling force, knocking the tall dragon kin clean off his feet and sending him crashing to the ground. Before the second attacker could close in, Mal spun, her hammer swinging in a smooth, brutal arc that clipped the edge of the next opponent’s weapon, wrenching it sideways with a sharp crack of impact.

  “Not today!” Malachite barked, her voice fierce, grin wide, eyes blazing.

  Imogen stood frozen just behind her, hands trembling at her sides watching in awe as Malachite, shorter and stockier than all of them, held the line.

  The third attacker came in fast, a dagger flashing toward Malachite’s ribs but Mal twisted sharply, slamming her shield down like a wall, catching the blade with a burst of sparks. With a grunt, she drove her knee upward into the attacker’s chest, knocking the breath from his lungs.

  “Mal!” Imogen gasped, wide-eyed.

  Malachite didn’t look back. She planted her feet, shield raised, hammer glowing faintly with runic light. “I told you, Imogen!” she yelled, her voice fierce and wild. “You’re my queen. And no one’s getting through me!”

  The last attacker hesitated, glancing uncertainly at his fallen companions but Malachite let out a sharp, dangerous laugh, brandishing her hammer with a glint of wild joy.

  “Come on, then! You wanna test her worth?” Her grin flashed sharp and daring. “Test mine first!”

  The final attacker lunged and Mal met him head-on, shield first, hammer crashing down a heartbeat later with a roar of impact that echoed across the training grounds.

  When the dust settled, all four attackers were down groaning, but alive.

  Malachite stood tall in the center, her chest heaving, her hammer resting heavily over her shoulder, her big brown eyes blazing fiercely.

  Imogen rushed to her side, her magic flickering faintly at her fingertips. “Mal… are you okay?” she breathed, eyes wide, reaching out.

  Malachite gave her a wild, breathless grin. “Me?” she panted, eyes sparkling. “Oh, I’m fine, queenie.” She winked. “They’re the ones who’ll need the healer.”

  Malachite barely had time to catch her breath, her hammer heavy over her shoulder, when a sudden hush fell across the space.

  The air grew unnaturally cold. Imogen’s breath caught in her throat as a shadow fell over them, and she slowly turned.

  Elise stood at the edge of the trees, her silver hair whipping in the sudden, icy wind. But it wasn’t just Elise anymore.

  Her body shimmered, half-shifted sleek silver dragon scales crawled along her arms, her fingers tipped in sharp claws, her elegant face partly sharpened into a reptilian snarl, eyes glowing a fierce, unnatural blue.

  “Elise,” Imogen breathed, her chest tightening.

  Elise’s lips curled back in a snarl. “Well,” she purred coldly, voice laced with raw power, “let’s see how you handle a real test.”