The grand ballroom of Drakmyr Peaks pulsed with low music and gilded whispers. Crimson and gold banners draped from the arched ceilings, swaying gently in the draft that swept through the castle's heart. Light fractured from crystal chandeliers into prismatic shards that danced across polished marble floors, their reflections flickering like ghosts on the walls of the ancient hall. The scent of myrrh and smoke mingled with the faint tang of steel—a reminder that this kingdom was built on war, not peace.
Beyond the towering glass windows, the peaks of Drakmyr glowed under a deep violet sky, the twin moons casting a haunting luminescence on the city below. The kingdom lay sprawled in a tapestry of onyx rooftops and golden-lit streets, a realm hardened by fire and violence.
Inside, nobles in silks and soldiers in darkened armor drifted across the ballroom like predators in a gilded cage. They moved to the haunting strains of a single violin—a melody sharp as a dagger's edge, rising and falling in slow, deliberate crescendos. The notes curled around whispered deals and secret grudges, binding the gathering in a tense, silent accord.
Yet none dared step near the Dragon King… except one the assassin, a queen who entered like a storm wrapped in silk and crystal.
Lyra moved like smoke—draped in garnet velvet, a gown slit high enough to whisper danger. At her side, Calen prowled in silent guard while Savi and Flick melted into the crowd. This wasn't a mission. It was a statement.
The Virellan Guard had arrived.
At the heart of the dance, Kael turned—and the moment their eyes locked, the room fell away.
Their first steps were a war disguised as a waltz. His hand pressed firm against her waist, hers gripped his shoulder like a dare. They circled, the orchestra a soft hum beneath the thunder of everything unsaid.
"You made quite the entrance," Kael murmured, his voice a low burn against her skin.
"I make a habit of it," Lyra replied, tone sharp enough to cut, "Careful, Your Majesty. Daggers don't ask permission before they sink deep." Lyra added while glaring at Kael.
Kael leaned in, their faces a breath apart. "That depends on who's holding the dagger."
Her breath caught.
The world narrowed to the burn of his stare and the impossible heat of his presence. His hand at her waist wasn't a grip—it was a brand, and every turn of their dance pressed her against a storm she wasn't sure she wanted to escape.
"You always did like playing with fire," Kael murmured, his thumb brushing against her laced glove—a featherlight touch that sent a ripple straight down her spine.
"And you," she countered, voice low and edged with something darker, "always liked tempting fate."
He gave a quiet laugh, dark and rough, the kind of sound that could shatter the fragile truce they spun between them.
"For fate to be tempted… it has to be real."
They circled again—her pulse thrumming, his gaze dragging across her face like a caress. Every glance felt deliberate. Every breath, a silent dare.
"You're dangerous," she whispered.
Kael's mouth curved, slow and wicked. "And you're beautiful when you're furious."
The air between them tightened, sharper than steel. She hated how part of her wanted to lean into the heat.
Hated that she could feel the echo of that boy in the man before her…
A flicker—an ember of memory—stirred deep inside her chest.
The cracked wing. The ember eyes. The boy gasped for breath on a battlefield of frost and ash.
Her steps faltered, the world snapping back into brutal focus.
It couldn't be.
She stared at him, truly stared, her melos-sense prickling against her skin. Beneath the tailored armor, beneath the smirk and steel… there it was. That same fire. That same wounded, reckless spark that had burned even as he'd bled out in the snow.
"You…" The word escaped before she could catch it.
Kael's brow lifted slightly. "Me?"
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
The realization hit like a blade between them.
The Dragon King. The boy. The one she'd saved.
He wasn't her enemy. He never had been.
A storm warred inside her chest—relief, rage, something far more dangerous tangled between them like a thread pulled too tight.
She tore her gaze away, pulse roaring in her ears. The plan. The mission. The dagger Savi had hidden at her hip.
It was a trap she'd set with her own hands… for a man she'd already saved once.
No.
Not tonight. Not like this.
Her grip on his shoulder softened. The icy steel of intent melted into something far more fragile—and far more terrifying.
"You're him," she whispered, low enough only he could hear.
Kael's eyes darkened, a flicker of surprise—then understanding. He didn't deny it. Didn't look away.
"You never asked my name," he said quietly. "But I knew yours."
A single breath passed between them—sharp, searing.
She closed her eyes for half a heartbeat, shutting out the crowd, the mission… everything except the fire between them.
When she opened them again, her choice was made.
"The mission's off," she whispered through her teeth as they spun past Flick in the crowd.
Flick gave a faint, questioning nod.
"Tell Calen—now," she hissed.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as Kael's hand slid from her waist, a fraction slower than it should have.
He leaned in once more, voice a dark rasp against her ear. "You calling off the kill?"
"I'm calling off the kill," she answered, her voice steady—but gods, her legs were trembling. From his strong large hands that gripped her lower back causing an unholy sensation to go through her body
Kael exhaled a slow breath, the tension thick as a blade between them.
"And if I told you I wasn't afraid of dying tonight?" he murmured.
She met his gaze, a smirk curling her lips—one that matched the fire igniting in his eyes.
"Then you'd be a fool… but a handsome one."
They stopped on the final turn of the dance, the orchestra swelling around them. Kael's hand slid away, slow as a caress.
The crowd erupted into applause—unaware that they'd just witnessed a duel with no blades drawn, a war with no blood spilled.
But Lyra knew.
So did Kael.
As she stepped away, her heart hammered like a drumbeat of some old, half-forgotten song.
And Kael's gaze followed her—heat, challenge, and something dangerously close to longing simmering in his molten eyes.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.