The small, quiet room seemed to hum with unspoken meaning. Outside, the last light of evening faded into dusk, and the village settled into the fragile, hopeful peace of a people who knew their world was about to change. Inside the elder’s house, the air was thick with tension. The walls muting the sounds of the village outside. Elder Oliver folded his hands behind his back, his sharp eyes flicking between Imogen and Darius, but lingering longest on Imogen.

  She stood stiffly, arms crossed, trying to hide the tremble in her hands.

  Oliver’s voice came, quiet but cutting. “You’re afraid.”

  Imogen sucked in a shaky breath. “I… I think anyone would be in my place.”

  Oliver’s lips tightened faintly. “Perhaps. But you are not anyone, child.” His gaze sharpened. “You are the last Dragon Singer. You are the fated mate of the Dragon King. You carry Lady Cordelia’s blood in your veins and the strength of a father you never knew.”

  Imogen’s throat closed up, panic and guilt flashing in her chest.

  “And yet,” Oliver continued coldly, “you stand here, trembling, doubting, clinging to weakness.”

  Imogen’s heart thudded painfully, her mouth opening to protest.

  Oliver cut her off sharply. “If you are too afraid to rise to what you are, if you cannot snap out of this weak, useless mindset then you are unworthy of the crown, unworthy of the Dragon King, and unworthy of the blood that runs through your veins.”

  Imogen’s breath hitched like she’d been slapped.

  Behind her, Darius’s body tensed, a low, rumbling growl rising from deep in his chest, a flash of protective fury at his mate’s sudden spike of pain. His eyes narrowed sharply on Oliver, his jaw tight, though he stayed silent for now.

  Oliver’s gaze flicked briefly to Darius, acknowledging the growl with a small, measured nod but his sharp focus stayed on Imogen.

  “You think being queen is about being rescued, child?” Oliver’s voice hardened. “You think you can stand at his side and carry that title while drowning in fear? You will break him. You will break all of us if you stay weak.”

  Imogen’s vision blurred, her fists clenched so tight they ached.

  Oliver took a step forward, his eyes like steel. “You have two choices, girl. Step up or walk away. There is no middle ground. No time left for self-pity or hesitation.” His voice dropped lower, heavy with finality. “If you are not ready to fight, then leave. Go now, before you cost us the last hope we have.”

  The room went deathly still.

  Darius’s hand shot out, wrapping firmly not roughly, but fiercely around Imogen’s wrist, his eyes flicking down to meet hers. His voice, when it came, was low and rough with quiet intensity. “Look at me.”

  Imogen dragged her teary gaze up, breath shaking, heart pounding in her chest.

  “You don’t have to prove yourself to him,” Darius murmured softly, but his eyes gleamed fiercely. “You only have to decide who you want to be.”

  Imogen’s throat worked, a small sob catching at the back of her mouth but slowly, her fists loosened, her shoulders pulling back, even as tears stung her eyes.

  Elder Oliver watched silently, his sharp gaze unrelenting but for the first time, there was the faintest flicker of approval hidden in his eyes. Imogen’s chest heaved, her breath ragged as Oliver’s cold words echoed in her ears: unworthy of the crown, unworthy of the blood in your veins.

  Something in her cracked but this time, not from breaking.

  It was from the spark of something sharp, something angry, rising up beneath the fear.

  Imogen took in a shaky breath, blinking hard, wiping at her face roughly with the heel of her hand. She turned to Oliver, her voice still shaking but stronger than before.

  “I didn’t ask to be anyone’s queen,” she said, her voice low. “I didn’t ask to be born into this.” She took a step forward, fists clenched at her sides. “But you’re wrong if you think I’m going to walk away just because you tell me I’m too weak.”

  Oliver’s eyes sharpened, like a knife being tested.

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  Imogen sucked in another breath, lifting her chin even though her knees felt ready to buckle.

  “I may not know what I’m doing,” she ground out, “but I’m still here.”

  A tense silence fell. Then, to her shock, Oliver gave a short, sharp nod. “Good.”

  He raised one hand, and with a sudden flick of his fingers, a pulse of magic shot across the room. It slammed into a thick, carved wooden chair behind her, shattering it into splinters.

  Imogen let out a startled yelp, staggering back.

  Darius immediately shifted forward, his body instinctively shielding her but Oliver’s voice cut sharply through the room. “No, Darius. Let her.”

  Darius’s jaw worked, his eyes flashing but slowly, he stepped aside, though the faint growl in his throat rumbled low, vibrating the air.

  Oliver’s sharp gaze fixed on Imogen. “Show me what’s in you, girl,” he said coldly. “Show me you’re not just a frightened child hiding behind a king’s shadow.”

  Imogen’s pulse pounded in her ears. She could feel the wild, erratic hum under her skin, the flicker of something, the strain, the pull but she didn’t know how to grasp it, how to shape it, how to make it do anything but tremble inside her like an untamed storm.

  “I… I don’t-”

  Another flick of Oliver’s fingers and this time, a glowing thread of magic whipped past her face, close enough to slice a shallow cut along her cheek.

  Imogen gasped, stumbling back, hand flying to her skin.

  Darius’s growl deepened, his claws half-shifting at his sides but again, Oliver’s voice snapped out, cold and sharp “Let. Her.”

  Imogen’s chest heaved. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  You’re stronger than you think.

  Darius’s voice echoed in her head, fierce and quiet. Imogen’s breath came in ragged gasps as the golden flicker danced across her trembling fingers. She stared down at her hands, wide-eyed, her pulse hammering in her throat. The magic sparked erratically, wild, untamed, pulsing hot beneath her skin just beyond her reach.

  “Good,” Elder Oliver murmured, his eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey. “But not enough.”

  Before she could react, Oliver lifted his hand and with a sharp snap of his fingers, a glowing cube of light slammed down around them, thick and shimmering, humming with ancient wards.

  Imogen whirled, panic lurching in her chest as the barrier rose between her and Darius.

  “Darius!” she cried, slamming her hands against the glowing wall.

  Darius was already there, his palm striking the surface hard, a deep, guttural growl rumbling from his chest. “What are you doing, old man?” His icy eyes flared dangerously, claws half-extending, his body tense and ready to tear through. “That’s enough. She’s shown you strength, she’s shown you she has power.”

  Inside the cube, Imogen pressed back, heart thudding so hard she thought it might rupture.

  Oliver’s cold voice sliced through the air. “Not enough.”

  Without warning, a savage blast of magic slammed into Imogen’s shoulder, hard enough to crack bone, to send her flying back against the barrier with a sickening thud.

  She let out a sharp, strangled cry, pain splintering through her, white-hot, blinding.

  “Oliver!” Darius roared, his fists pounding the barrier, his fangs bared, claws fully unsheathed now. His eyes burned molten ice. “Enough!”

  But Oliver’s hand flicked again and a jagged whip of energy lashed across Imogen’s arm, slicing through skin, drawing a thin line of blood. She collapsed to her knees, gasping, shaking, tears streaking her face as her muscles screamed in agony.

  “She must face it herself!” Oliver barked, his voice hard as steel. “She must break before she can rise!”

  Darius’s growl deepened, a low, deadly rumble that shook the floor beneath him, but he stayed just outside the shimmering wall, his body shuddering with the effort to hold himself back.

  Inside, Imogen clutched at her arm, breath hitching, her vision swimming.

  I can’t…

  You’re stronger than you think.

  Darius’s voice echoed inside her head, not a command or a demand, but a lifeline. A promise.

  Imogen’s hands curled into fists against the cold floor. Blood dripped down her arm, splattering faintly against the glowing surface beneath her.

  Her breath hitched as she grit her teeth.

  SNAP.

  The raw, coiled power under her skin erupted.

  Golden light exploded outward, searing through the cube, her scream swallowed in a blast of raw, blinding energy. The walls trembled, cracked, groaned under the surge and then shattered outward with a deafening blast, hurling Oliver back several feet, slamming him hard against the far wall.

  Darius surged forward instantly, catching himself just in time as the barrier fell, his eyes wide locking onto her.

  Imogen panted on the ground, her body trembling violently, golden energy still crackling along her arms. Her hair whipped wildly, the very air around her vibrating with the force of her unleashed power. Blood smeared her skin, her fingers, her clothes.

  “Imogen!” Darius dropped to his knees beside her, his hands cupping her face, his voice raw and urgent. “Imogen, can you hear me? Look at me, come back to me.”

  She gasped faintly, her wide, dazed eyes blinking up at him. “I… I did it…”

  Darius let out a shaky, ragged breath, pressing his forehead gently to hers, his arms wrapping fiercely around her shaking body. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “You did.”

  Behind them, Elder Oliver slowly dragged himself upright, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. His sharp eyes gleamed faintly with approval, despite the brutal scene. “There she is,” he murmured darkly. “Now the real work begins.”