The night after the reception felt heavier than the stone of the Ebon Citadel. Isolde lay in the massive, crimson-draped bed, unable to sleep. She kept seeing the flash of ash on Lord Casimir's shoulder, a black speck of dust that felt louder than a thousand Dragon horns. Draven was here. The prison had a breach.
Fear was a cold, sharp thing in her gut. Draven being inside the walls didn't mean freedom... it meant immediate, lethal danger. If Damon or Nyx found the Dragon Prince here, the political outcome would be instant war, and Isolde would be the first casualty.
They would use her death to justify the invasion of Draconus.
She listened to the silence of the Obsidian Suite. It was too quiet. The guards outside her door... the royal Vampire guards with their cold silver eyes...bwere always silent, but tonight, the silence felt deeper, broken only by the thin, metallic sound of the wind moving through the decorative slits in the stone.
She had already checked the hearth. Her mother's ivory box, hidden beneath the stone, was still there. It was the only secret she had left.
The sound came not from the door, but from the massive, dark wardrobe across the room. It was a soft, dull scrape of stone against stone, the sound of a heavy block being moved slowly and with immense effort.
Isolde sat up, her heart slamming against her ribs. She was alone, wearing only a thin silk nightgown. She reached for the ornamental silver dagger the Vampire Queen had left on her vanity.... a meaningless gift, but metal nonetheless.
The scrape stopped. The deep shadow near the base of the wardrobe seemed to shift, and a section of the wall... a stone panel Isolde had mistaken for a carved column... slid back, revealing a gap of absolute darkness.
Draven emerged.
He didn't move like the stable hand, Kael. He moved with the raw, compact grace of a predator that had just shed its skin. He was dressed in the same rough, dark clothing, but his eyes were wide, focused, and burning with a deep, furious amber. He had smeared dark grease across his exposed skin to cut down on any pale reflection, making the crude scar on his cheek look like a raw wound.
He stood up to his full, brutal height, and the chamber, vast as it was, immediately felt too small. The sheer power radiating off him... the raw, physical heat of the Fire Dragon was an electric shock in the freezing room.
Isolde gripped the dagger, her knuckles white. "How did you get here?" she whispered, the sound cracking in the stillness.
Draven ignored the dagger. He walked toward her in three silent strides, moving with a controlled violence that made her breath stop. He smelled of damp earth, horse leather, and the unique, sharp scent of his own volcanic strength.
He stopped at the foot of the bed, towering over her. "Silence. They will hear if you make a sound," he ordered, his voice no longer the peasant's slur, but a deep, guttural sound that shook the cold air.
"If they find you, they will kill us both," Isolde stated, keeping her voice low but steady.
Draven leaned down, resting his massive, rough hands on the thick, wooden posts of the bed. His gaze... that intense, molten amber... held her captive. "They won't find me. Not yet. I came here for one reason... to see the price they paid for their silence. To see the human they think will keep my people quiet."
"You saw me at the vows," Isolde shot back.
"I saw Damon's property," Draven corrected, his voice laced with venom. "I need to see the woman who will either be my ally or the reason my kingdom burns. Look at me, Princess."
Isolde did look. She looked at the raw, untamed fury in his eyes, the suppressed violence in his shoulders, and the deep, personal hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with vengeance.
"I am neither your ally nor your enemy, Dragon," Isolde replied, her own voice hardening with the memory of her humiliations. "I am their captive. And you are a fool to risk everything for a moment of crude vengeance."
Draven's lips twisted into a cruel imitation of a smile. "Crude? Damon took something from me that night. My mother. They lured her to the border and butchered her to send a message. And the man who delivered the final wound was a high-ranking officer serving the Prince's command. I look at you, Damon's wife, and I see the exact cost of their arrogance."
The sudden, brutal truth of his mother's death and his hatred hit Isolde hard. This was not a simple political disagreement. This was a blood feud centered on the very ground they stood on.
"And what do you want from me?" Isolde asked, lowering the dagger slightly. The fight was not against him, she realized... the fight was alongside him, whether she wanted it or not.
"You are the key to this ice palace," Draven said, his eyes scanning the room quickly.
"You move in the light, I move in the shadows. I need information. What is Damon planning? Where are the weaknesses in his defense? And more importantly... I need to know the truth about the armory shipments on the north side."
Isolde hesitated. She had nothing to offer him, except what Silvana had told her, and the vague, unsettling power the Queen had awakened.
"I know nothing of armories," Isolde admitted. "I only know that Damon's sister, Nyx, is a plotter who sees me as a rival, and his younger sister, Silvana, is terrified and easily used."
Draven's eyes narrowed at the mention of the names. "Nyx is poison. Silvana is irrelevant."
"Silvana is a necessary ally," Isolde countered, defending her own small, fragile plan. "She is meant to be a spy for Nyx, but she is fascinated by you. She told me of your mother's death, Dragon. She is lonely and conflicted. I can use her to learn the court's gossip."
Draven regarded her for a long moment, seeing the calculation behind her storm-blue eyes. He saw the resilience, the sharp mind, and the absolute unwillingness to break. She is a woman of fire, he thought, not an easy possession.
"Fine. Use the child," Draven grunted, accepting the risk. He pushed off the bedpost, moving closer until his body heat was a scorching presence just inches from her skin. "But your immediate purpose is this... I will give you a sign. You will tell me where Damon is. He moves too unpredictably. I need a clear window to strike at his command structure and destroy his control."
His shadow fell over her, large and encompassing. She felt a shiver, not of cold, but of the raw, undeniable danger he represented. He was a force of nature, and she was caught in his storm.
"What if I refuse?" Isolde asked, pushing her fear down.
Draven leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, intimate growl that promised violence. "You will not refuse. Because you hate him as much as I do. He took your choice. He took my mother. We have a shared enemy, Princess, and a shared vow... to see the Vampire Prince of the Night burn."
He reached out and, with a terrifying slowness, brushed his thumb across her cheek, leaving behind a trace of the black ash from his disguise. It was a seal, a mark of their dangerous, hidden vow.
"The next time you see that ash, you will know I am close," Draven whispered, his intense amber gaze holding hers for one last, searing moment. "Prepare yourself, Isolde. The silence is about to end."
He pulled back, moving with the same devastating speed to the hidden panel. He slid the stone back, and vanished into the darkness as silently as he arrived.
Isolde sat motionless in the center of the bed, the cold air rushing back into the room. Her hands were trembling. She had been face-to-face with the war, and it had branded her. She brought her hand up and touched the spot where his rough thumb had marked her. The black ash was there. Draven was here. The real game had begun.