The sound of the crumbling iron from the armory vault was a cannon shot echoing through the dead silence of the Citadel. Draven didn't waste a second. He gripped the heavy, obsidian weight of the Scepter of Night, the cold, dark metal a shocking contrast to his superheated skin.
He moved through the maintenance tunnels with brutal urgency, relying on the sheer force of his Dragon strength to tear through small obstacles and ignore the pain of his strained muscles. He was moving toward the Obsidian Suite now, towards Isolde, knowing that every tick of the clock brought Damon closer to his location.
When Draven finally reached the narrow tunnel entrance behind the wardrobe, he was panting, his powerful chest heaving, his dark leather clothes scorched and torn. He pushed the heavy panel open just enough to see Isolde waiting.
She looked small and terrified, but utterly focused. She was dressed in dark traveling clothes, a thick cloak obscuring the shape of her body. In her hand, she clutched a small, crumpled piece of cloth the Iron-Leaf Rue.
"You have it," Isolde whispered, relief and terror warring in her voice.
"I have the crown," Draven corrected, his voice raspy. "Now, where is the key? Nyx is already here, isn't she?"
As if summoned by his voice, the main doors of the suite opened without a knock.
Nyx entered, her expression one of cold, calculating triumph. She was alone, her Silver eyes sharp and fixed on the wardrobe. She wore a simple, tailored gown of deep blue, ready for a coup, not a court reception.
"The Dragon keeps his promises," Nyx said, her voice smooth and dangerous. She ignored Isolde and addressed the shadow in the wall directly. "Display the prize, Draven. And be quick. My brother's rage is already in the air."
Draven slid the Scepter out, resting the obsidian staff on the floor of the room. The massive, dark diamond on the scepter's head seemed to drink the meager candlelight, radiating a terrible, ancient power that made the air feel thin.
"The Scepter for the route," Draven demanded, his focus entirely on the Princess. "The key first. I don't trust a Vampire."
"And I don't trust a Dragon," Nyx countered, a thin, amused smile curving her lips. Her Silver eyes did not waver. "The key is only useful if you know the destination, Draven. I hold both."
She reached into her sleeve and produced a small, simple piece of dark, carved Ebon Wood. It wasn't a metallic key it was a magical cipher, intricately carved with a single, complex rune.
"This is the key to the Moon Gate," Nyx explained, holding the wooden piece up. "It is a ceremonial exit, rarely used, located in the deep south wing, disguised as a statue pedestal. It leads to the outer walls, far from the cavalry. You must cross the main court to get there."
"Too exposed," Draven spat, his eyes blazing with frustration. The main court was vast, open, and perfect for Damon to utilize his terrifying Vampire speed.
"It is the only route that hasn't been sealed," Nyx replied, shrugging. "Take the route, or face my brother, who is now less than thirty minutes away and knows you are injured."
Isolde, clutching the Iron-Leaf Rue, stepped forward, placing herself between Nyx and the shadowed wall. "The Scepter first, or the deal is off, Nyx. You get the power, we get the freedom. That was the transaction."
"A beautiful defiance, Isolde," Nyx mused, her Silver eyes briefly flashing toward the crumpled herb in Isolde's hand. She clearly saw the Rue. "And a clever defense. I accept the risk. You are a clever woman, wife of my brother."
Nyx walked to the center of the room and placed the Ebon Wood key on a small table. Then, with a flicker of impatience, she advanced on the wardrobe, her hand outstretched.
"The Scepter, Draven."
Draven hesitated, his instincts screaming betrayal. But he looked at Isolde her eyes pleading, her expression firm. He had to trust her plan, born of desperation and cold calculation.
With a grunt of disgust, he slowly pushed the Scepter out further, letting Nyx take the end of the obsidian staff. As soon as her hand closed around the cold metal, a profound change came over her. Her Silver eyes flared with absolute power, and her whole body straightened, radiating lethal authority. She was Queen-elect, and she knew it.
She pulled the Scepter fully into the room, her eyes fixed on the magnificent dark diamond.
"The payment is rendered," Draven said, his voice low and threatening. "Now, the key."
Nyx didn't look at him. She was staring at the Scepter, her face consumed by ambition. "It will take you twenty minutes to reach the Moon Gate. The walls are already manned. I have done my part. Now, run, little Dragon, run."
She turned, her back to them, moving quickly toward the main door, the Scepter of Night clutched tightly in her hand. The coup was in motion.
Draven, his eyes blazing with fury at the clear dismissal, lunged from the tunnel, moving with the heavy but powerful speed of a Dragon fighter. He snatched the Ebon Wood key from the table.
"Come!" Draven roared, grabbing Isolde's wrist.
Before they could even reach the main doors, the air in the room violently fractured.
A sudden, intense blast of freezing, absolute air slammed into them. The power was so immense, it felt like being hit by an invisible, solid wall.
Damon was back.
He stood in the doorway, blocking Nyx's exit. His Crimson Blood-Red eyes were not merely intense they were burning, incandescent orbs of absolute power, fully engaged and terrifying. He had discarded his rain soaked coat, and his body radiated controlled, lethal fury.
He was not just fast he was a phantom. Before Nyx could even register his presence, Damon moved with a Vampire speed that made Draven's power seem slow and clunky. He snatched the Scepter of Night right out of Nyx's grasp.
Nyx let out a choked gasp of pure shock.
"Damon!"
Damon didn't spare a glance for his sister. His attention was focused entirely on the two figures near the wardrobe.. Isolde and Draven.
Damon looked at Draven, taking in the Dragon's wounds, the stolen key, and the triumphant, reckless defiance in his eyes.
"The arrogance of the Dragon," Damon murmured, his voice laced with venom. He replaced the Scepter on its pedestal in the corner and moved not running, but flickering toward them.
Damon was upon them in less than a heartbeat. Draven reacted instinctively, channeling his thermal power and throwing his massive, wounded body in front of Isolde, shielding her with his raw, brute strength.
Damon's attack was a lightning fast blur of muscle and magic. He didn't use a blast he used his speed advantage, striking with the razor edge of his hand. The blow landed on Draven's armored forearm, a sharp, concussive force that shattered the air and sent Draven staggering back into the wardrobe, the Dragon Prince momentarily stunned.
"You took my sister's eyes and my father's general," Damon hissed, his incandescent Crimson Red eyes locking onto Isolde. "And now you steal my property. You are a plague."
Damon turned his full, terrifying mental force on Isolde. He intended to break her instantly, to extract the truth, and to render her inert.
Isolde raised her hand, clutching the Iron-Leaf Rue tightly. The sharp scent of the herb flared into her consciousness, and she pushed her nascent Witch power forward a defiant, chaotic wave of mental static against his dominating probe.
The effect was instantaneous and shocking. Damon's mental attack slammed against the Rue's resistance, the raw power of the Pureblood hitting a wall of psychic noise. Damon hissed, physically recoiling a step, his perfect composure finally breaking.
"The Warlock's herb," Damon whispered, his eyes narrowing in cold realization. "You are more than a pawn, wife. You are a threat."
This was Draven's chance. He surged from the broken wardrobe, roaring, channeling his thermal power. "We are done with your games, Vampire!"
He unleashed a wide burst of molten gold heat, not at Damon, but at the main door, sealing Nyx's escape and creating a necessary barrier.
"The Moon Gate! Now!" Draven yelled, grabbing Isolde's hand. He ran, not with the blur of the Vampire, but with the heavy, ground-shaking momentum of a charging beast, dragging Isolde with him.
Damon stood in the center of the room, still holding the Scepter, his face contorted in disbelief and rage. His eyes burned with the fury of a dethroned King. He watched them flee, then quickly calculated the pursuit.
"You will not leave my Citadel alive," Damon stated, his voice a low, final promise. "The price of freedom is paid in blood."