Elara POV
I can't stop my hands from shaking as I walk through the palace halls.
The Dragon King's impossible jobs echo in my head. Learn a new language in one week. Don't insult the beast shifters. Survive dinner with generals who eat people.
I'm going to die here.
A servant—a girl with scales on her neck and kind eyes—leads me through halls that seem to go on forever. She hasn't said a word since we left the King's study. Maybe she knows I'm a fake. Maybe everyone knows.
"Here are your chambers, Your Highness," she finally says, stopping at a massive door carved with dragons.
My rooms. Like I'm someone important.
She pushes open the door, and I forget how to breathe.
This isn't a room. It's bigger than the full servants' quarters back home. Bigger than anywhere I've ever lived. The bed could fit five people, wrapped in sheets that shimmer like moonlight. Tapestries hang on the walls showing dragons in flight. And there's a balcony—an real balcony—with doors that open to the night sky.
"Your bath is ready, Your Highness," the helper says. "And your clothing has been stocked. If you need anything, pull this cord and I'll come instantly."
I nod because I don't trust my words.
She leaves, closing the door softly behind her.
I stand there for a long moment, just looking.
Back home, I slept on a thin mat in a room I shared with three other workers. We had one tiny window and a bucket for washing. In winter, we froze. In summer, we baked.
This room has a stove already lit. Soft mats on the floor. And through an opening, I can see steam rising from what must be the bath.
I walk toward it like I'm in a dream.
The dressing room is marble and gold. The tub is huge, filled with hot water that smells like flowers I don't recognize. Clean towels are stacked close. Real soap—not the harsh stuff maids use—sits in a crystal dish.
I touch the water with one finger. It's great. Warm but not too hot.
Tears blur my view.
I've never had my own bath before. Never had hot water that wasn't someone else's leftovers. Never had soap that didn't burn my skin.
"Stop it," I say to myself. "Stop crying."
But I can't help it. Because this room, this wealth, this impossible beautiful space—it's not really mine.
I'm a fake. A phony. A servant girl in a princess's clothes.
When the Dragon King learns the truth—and he will—all of this disappears. I'll be lucky if he just sends me home. More likely, he'll do exactly what he promised: return me in pieces.
I wipe my eyes and start taking off the elaborate dress they put me in for the wedding. My fingers fumble with the buttons. I'm not used to fancy clothes. Back home, I helped Princess Seraphina dress. I never thought about how hard it is to dress yourself in something this involved.
Finally, I get it off and sink into the bath.
The hot water feels like heaven. I close my eyes and let myself have this one moment. This one beautiful moment where I can pretend I belong here.
But the moment stops too quickly.
I need to study. I need to learn the dragon language. I need to figure out what Queen Blackwell's mystery letters said. I need to live.
I wash quickly, dry off, and find a simple nightgown in the closet. Even the nightgown is nicer than my best dress back home.
The dragon language books are waiting on a desk by the window. I light more candles and open the first book.
The marks look like scratches and curves. Nothing like real letters. How am I supposed to learn this in a week?
"You have to," I tell myself. "Or Mother dies."
That thought steadies me. I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing it for her.
I start copying the symbols, trying to remember their shapes. Hours pass. The candles burn lower. My hand cramps from writing, but I don't stop.
I'm working on my fourth page of notes when I hear something.
A scratch. Soft. Coming from the balcony.
I freeze, pen halfway to paper.
There it is again. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
My heart starts pounding. I stand slowly, quietly, and move toward the balcony doors. They're still open, letting in cool night air.
I peek outside.
Nothing. Just darkness and stars.
I'm about to turn back when I see it—a shadow moving along the palace wall. Something big. Something with wings.
My breath catches.
A dragon? But the Dragon King is in his study. And his generals wouldn't be climbing walls, would they?
The shade drops onto my balcony with barely a sound.
I stumble backward, my hand grabbing for something—anything—to use as a weapon. My fingers close around a light.
The figure straightens up. Moonlight catches golden hair. A beautiful face twisted with rage.
Princess Seraphina.
The real princess.
"Hello, little bastard," she says, her voice dripping with poison. "Surprised to see me?"
My mouth goes dry. "How did you—the guards—"
"Escape?" She laughs, stepping through my balcony doors like she owns the place. Which, officially, she thinks she does. "Duke Ashford has friends everywhere. Even in the Dragon King's house."
She's wearing a servant's dress, dirt on her face, but her eyes burn with hate.
"I'm here to make you a deal," she says.
"What deal?" I back up until I hit the desk.
"You confess tomorrow. In front of everyone. You tell them you're a liar, a fake, a lying bastard who stole my place." She smiles, and it's frightening. "And in exchange, I'll let your mother live."
My blood turns to ice. "You're lying. Duke Ashford has her—"
"And he'll kill her the moment I send word." She pulls out a small knife from her sleeve. "Unless you do exactly what I say. You confess, you humiliate yourself, and you beg for forgiveness. Then maybe—maybe—I'll be generous enough to spare that pathetic woman who birthed you."
"The Dragon King will kill me if I confess."
"Probably." She examines the knife. "But at least your mother lives. Isn't that what you wanted? Isn't that why you agreed to this?"
She's right. This is exactly what I feared. Exactly why I'm here.
But something inside me rebels. The same something that made me lift my chin in the Dragon King's study. The same something that made me say I won't fail.
"No," I whisper.
Her eyes flash. "What did you say?"
"No. " Louder this time. "I'm not admitting. I'm not running. And you're not going to hurt my mother."
"You stupid little—" She rushes forward, dagger raised.
I throw the candlestick. It hits her shoulder, and she yelps, dropping the knife.
I run for the door, screaming. "Guards! GUARDS!"
But Seraphina is faster. She hits me from behind, and we crash to the floor. Her hand clamps over my mouth.
"Shut up," she hisses in my ear. "Shut up or I'll kill you right now and make it look like suicide."
I bite her hand. Hard.
She screams and lets go. I scurry away, still yelling for help.
The door bursts open.
But it's not guards.
It's the Dragon King, his eyes blazing amber, smoke actually rising from his skin.
Behind him, I see something that makes my heart stop.
Three more people step into the room. They're wearing southern outfits. But their faces—their faces are wrong. Too pale. Too perfect. And their eyes glow red.
"Not humans," Seraphina breathes beside me, her voice suddenly scared. "Those aren't my people. What are they?"
The Dragon King's voice is a growl. "Demons."
The animals smile, showing too many teeth.
"Hello, Dragon King," one says. "We've come for your bride. The real one."
Its red eyes lock onto me.
"And we're not leaving without her."