Darius stood near the war table, deep in conversation with the council. The Elders spoke in clipped, grim tones border patrols, missing scouts, signs of General Arthur’s forces regrouping. Strategy. Numbers.

  Then, he froze.

  A sharp, blinding jolt tore through his chest, seizing the air from his lungs.

  His hand shot out, slamming against the table, splintering the thick wood beneath his fingers.

  Axel, who’d been standing just behind him, immediately stiffened. The easy grin he always wore vanished.

  “Darius?” he asked, voice low and tense.

  Darius didn’t respond.

  His eyes had gone dark, his jaw locked tight, breath shallow, the mate bond screaming through him. It wasn’t just fear. It was Imogen’s fear. Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

  He staggered back a step, wings twitching as they threatened to burst free, claws flexing at his sides. His eyes glowed, wild and unblinking.

  “Darius, talk to me,” Axel said sharply now, already moving closer. “What is it?”

  But he didn’t need an answer.

  Just then outside a shout. Then another. Louder. And then came the unmistakable sound of the alarm horns

  People yelling. Screaming. A rising, desperate noise. Darius’s head snapped toward the sound, muscles going rigid.

  Axel’s eyes widened. “You don’t think?”

  Darius bared his teeth, a low, guttural growl ripping from his throat as every part of him coiled tight with rage.

  He ran.

  Wings twitching to unfurl, claws scraping stone, the Dragon King bolted through the war hall. The council’s voices faded behind him. All that mattered now was the pounding of his heart and the violent scream of the mate bond tearing through his chest.

  Imogen.

  He tore through the trees like a shadow, his black armor glinting in the last light of day, breath ragged, eyes blazing.

  Axel sprinted close behind, broad shoulders heaving, panic flooding his expression.

  “Darius!” he called out. “What is it? What did you-”

  But Darius didn’t respond.

  He felt her bond seizing in his chest. Not just fear. Terror.

  He broke through the final wall of brush and froze.

  The cliffside was torn apart.

  Rocks shattered. Dirt churned like a battlefield. Deep gouges raked through the earth like something or someone had been driven off the edge.

  Darius dropped to a crouch, his eyes sweeping the area with feral precision.

  And there the first hit. Blood, dark and still wet. Streaked across jagged stone.

  Eyes sweeping across the field he spots it, Malachite’s shield massive, cracked, half-buried in the dirt, still faintly trembling from the force of whatever hit it.

  Not far from it, four armored men lay groaning, barely conscious. Their bodies were battered, scorched, bruised, some with fresh gashes. One man clutched his ribs, another was sprawled unmoving, his sword snapped in half beside him.

  And the air was cold.

  Long, jagged ice shards clung to its surface, the once-solid metal cracked and dented as if it had taken a blast of pure frozen power head-on.

  Darius’s throat worked tightly, his sharp claws scraping at the earth as a low, guttural growl built deep in his chest.

  “Elise,” he hissed, voice rough and breaking. “She came herself.”

  Axel burst through the trees behind him, skidding to a halt and froze.

  His eyes locked onto the dented shield, the jagged bits of ice, and the faint glint of Malachite’s hammer lying nearby smeared dark, cracked at the handle, abandoned.

  “What the hell…” Axel whispered, his chest tightening. “What happened here?”

  Behind them, a villager burst forward breathless, wild-eyed, mud splattered across his boots like he’d run the whole way.

  “I saw it!” he gasped. “I saw Malachite and she grabbed the queen! She threw her arms around her and jumped. She jumped off the cliff to shield her!”

  People around them froze, stunned.

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  But the man kept going, voice rising with urgency. “There were four dragon kin soldiers who came out of the woods, weapons drawn! Malachite fought them off all four! But then…” he swallowed hard, face paling, “Elise appeared.”

  Axel’s head snapped toward him, the name like a slap.

  “She hit Malachite with some kind of ice magic and blasted her straight off her feet,” the man stammered. “Then she walked right up to the queen and pushed her off the cliff!”

  He took a shaking breath, like the memory alone chilled his bones.

  “And before Malachite could get up… she just dove after her. Like she didn’t even think. She jumped. After the queen.”

  Axel’s stomach dropped. His throat tightened like a vice. His gaze snapped toward the edge of the crowd

  And there, half-swallowed in shadow, stood a broad-shouldered figure.

  The smith.

  Malachite’s father. The man who raised her. Taught her to fight. Forged her hammer with hands scarred from war.

  He stood frozen, fists clenched, his weathered face pale wide brown eyes locked on the bloodied rocks, the shattered shield, the yawning emptiness beyond the ledge.

  For the briefest breath, Axel’s heart twisted.

  She’s more than a soldier, he thought. She’s someone’s daughter.

  But Darius didn’t pause, he moved. With a furious, guttural snarl, the Dragon King shifted.

  Scales surged across his skin, obsidian-black and glinting with blue fire. His spine cracked, horns twisting into jagged crowns. Claws tore through leather and bone as his massive dragon form emerged, vast, furious, unstoppable.

  His wings flared wide, blotting out the stars.

  With a roar that shattered the sky, Darius launched himself off the cliff, his body slicing into the cold night air like a blade. The sound thundered across the trees not just rage, but panic. A king answering a bond screaming for him in the dark.

  Axel stood frozen, chest heaving, fists clenched.

  For a heartbeat, all he could do was stare at the black dragon disappearing into the ravine below, wings sweeping with terrifying speed, chasing after the only thing in the world that truly mattered.

  But Axel turned sharply, and crossed the distance in quick strides.

  “Smith,” he said, breathless but urgent. “Tell me what I need to know. She jumped half-shifted, she was protecting the queen, but-”

  “She’s a damn drake!” the smith snarled, his voice raw with fury. He turned to Axel, teeth bared, his voice cracking with rage. “She can’t fly! She doesn’t have wings she’s stone and fire and muscle, not some sky-dancing dragon!”

  Axel’s stomach dropped. His eyes widened, all breath stolen from his chest.

  “…She’s a drake?”

  The smith shoved a hand through his graying hair, pacing like a caged beast.

  “I told her this would happen,” he spat. “I told her! All this nonsense with the queen, with the king, thinking she could play hero like the rest of them!”

  “She saved Imogen,” Axel cut in, voice sharp now. “She didn’t play the hero she was one.”

  The smith whirled on him, eyes blazing.

  “And now she’s dead because of it?!”

  Axel stood firm, but his gut twisted hard.

  “No,” he said, quieter now. “She’s not dead. Not Malachite.”

  The smith turned back to the cliff, breathing hard.

  Axel followed his gaze, his own fists clenching.

  “She’s a drake,” he whispered again, processing. “No wings…”

  Axel clenched his jaw, shoving a hand through his tousled brown hair, his mind racing.

  He glanced over the edge again, as if he could will his eyes to pierce the shadows below.

  “Where did they land?” he demanded, voice low but tight. “What’s below there?”

  The smith didn’t answer at first.

  His broad shoulders were tense, his face hard as stone but his eyes flicked toward Axel, cold and grim.

  “Serpent territory,” he said at last, the words like a curse.

  Axel’s stomach sank. “You’re sure?”

  “There’s a ravine down there. Deep. It feeds into the old rivers, the ones that run under the mountain. You fall wrong, you get swept straight into the dark. And if the rocks don’t kill you…” He exhaled harshly, dragging a hand over his face. “The things that live down there will.”

  Axel’s fists clenched at his sides.

  “Gods,” he muttered. “She’s hurt. Half-shifted. And now she’s stuck in a death trap?”

  The smith gave a dark, bitter laugh.

  “She was born in a death trap. The whole world’s been trying to kill her since the day she was born.”

  He turned toward Axel fully now,

  “You want to find her?” he growled. “Then get moving. Because if the serpents smell blood-” he jerked his chin toward the shattered shield and bloodstained cliff, “they’ve already started hunting.”

  Axel went rigid. His heart slammed hard, like a war drum in his chest. “…You’re joking.”

  The smith didn’t flinch. He just shook his head slowly, his weathered face pale beneath the fading light.“There’s a network of caverns down there,” he said grimly. “Old hunting grounds. Forgotten by most but not by the serpents.”

  Axel’s breath caught.

  The smith’s jaw clenched. “They nest deep. In the dark. You don’t wander down there unless you’ve got a death wish or a damn good reason.”

  He looked Axel dead in the eye.

  “And if she’s alive…” His voice dropped, raw and heavy. “She’s in their domain now.”

  Axel sucked in a sharp breath, his fists clenching as the smith’s grim words settled like stone in his gut.

  “Serpent territory,” he muttered, jaw tight. “Of course it is.”

  He turned sharply, his green eyes locking onto the nearest dragon kin warriors.

  “All of you gear up, shift if you can. Claws out. We’re going down now.”

  The group didn’t hesitate. Some had already begun to half-shift, their bodies rippling with draconic power horns extending, claws forming, muscles bracing for the climb into the unknown.

  Axel’s gaze flicked back toward the smith.

  The old man stood frozen, his hands trembling faintly at his sides, the blood on the cliff reflecting in his wide, haunted eyes.

  “She’s strong,” Axel said quietly, the usual cocky edge in his voice gone. “Stronger than any of us gave her credit for. We’ll get them back.”

  The smith gave a jerky nod, his throat working around the words he couldn’t say. “Bring her home,” he rasped.

  “Don’t worry." he said, rolling his shoulders as he cracked his knuckles, a faint shimmer of green scales flickering across his skin. His fangs bared with the beginning of a shift, glinting in the fading light. “We’ve got two stubborn, reckless women to save.”