FANGS OF THE THRONE

The Prophecy of Flames and Shadows

Seraphine had always known she was different, but what she felt now was something deeper, something ancient. Her body was betraying her in ways she couldn't quite understand—warmth unfurling like tendrils in her chest, dreams that scorched her mind with their vividness, and a soft throb in her lower stomach that pulsed in time with a heartbeat not her own. She could ignore the whispers her body begged to speak, but she couldn’t erase the feeling gnawing at her—the sense that fate had already written her story.

Today, she was going to the King's chambers.

His gaze always found her first, searing with an intensity that never left her. While she resented the idea of belonging to anyone, of being bound by someone else's will, she could never deny the power in the way he looked at her—as though she weren’t prey, nor prize, but prophecy itself.

Halfway down the long corridor, Seraphine felt a chill crawl over her skin, a sensation that prickled her spine like an omen. She hadn’t noticed the figure stepping from the shadows until the scent hit her—a blend of lavender and burning sage. She turned sharply, only to be met by the imposing figure of the Queen.

Celeste stood tall, her crimson silk robes flowing like liquid fire around her form. Her silver hair was braided intricately, a cascade of coils that shimmered with power. Her sharp eyes, always calculating, fixed on Seraphine.

"We haven’t spoken since you arrived," Celeste's voice was smooth but cold, laced with a commanding tone.

“My Queen,” Seraphine bowed slightly, though the title felt foreign on her tongue.

“Don’t call me that,” Celeste interrupted. “You will be queen soon enough. But before that happens, it’s time you understand what you truly are.”

Seraphine’s brow furrowed, confusion clouding her thoughts. “What am I?”

“You are not a pawn," Celeste said, her gaze piercing into Seraphine’s very soul, reading her thoughts with ease. "You are special. Don’t you feel it? The threads of fate are tightening around you."

Seraphine scoffed, though a part of her hesitated. "What are you talking about?"

"You will carry a child that holds the blood of all three Clangs—Star, Moon, and Sun. Such a union has never been seen in our history." Celeste’s voice dropped to a reverent whisper, as if speaking of a sacred truth. "You will give birth to an era."

Seraphine blinked in disbelief. “An era… or a war.”

"That depends on which side you choose to stand on," Celeste said softly, her eyes narrowing as she took a step closer, her voice filled with quiet menace. "Now, go. Fulfill your duties to my son."

Seraphine watched as the Queen walked away, the weight of her words settling heavily on her chest. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, a swirl of dread and something else—something like anticipation. Maybe… just maybe, it wouldn’t be so terrible to belong to him. To be his. But even as the thought crossed her mind, another shadow stirred within her.

And deep down, beneath the rising tension in her chest, Seraphine whispered to herself, I just wish he wasn’t the father of my child.

A Dragon's Sign

That evening, Seraphine’s paced in her private chambers, frustration bubbling within her. Her body burned—literally. She couldn’t ignore it anymore. Heat radiated from her skin, a feverish glow that left her feeling both alive and consumed. She stared into the mirror, her eyes shimmering like molten gold, wild and untamed. When she looked down at her stomach, a soft, ember-like glow pulsed beneath her gown.

The signs were unmistakable. A Dragon’s child.

The ancient tales were clear on this matter. Dragons used magic to detect when they had fathered a child—an undeniable connection between parent and progeny. The silken thread of heat that swirled through her veins. The fire pooling under her skin, rising whenever her emotions flared. The Mark of Origin—faint, but glowing golden under the moonlight.

The Rune of Flame.

Seraphine’s breath hitched as she stared at the faint golden flame symbol near her navel. She could feel it—the weight of the prophecy pulling her in two.

She was carrying the heir of the Dragon King.

A scream built in her throat, raw and bitter. She wanted to claw at her skin, rip away this connection, this burden. She wanted to erase it. She wanted to purge the child from her body, to deny the future that had been forced upon her.

Her hand reached for the dagger on the table, the cold metal slick beneath her trembling fingers. She could do it. She could end this now. She could rid herself of the fire that burned within her.

But before she could act, the door creaked open.

Her mother, Lady Vyreth, stepped inside, her calm presence filling the room like a soothing balm. Her eyes immediately landed on the dagger, then on the glowing mark on Seraphine’s belly.

"Don’t," Lady Vyreth’s voice was gentle, yet firm. "You cannot."

Seraphine’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the dagger’s hilt. "It’s his," she whispered, the words tasting like ash.

Lady Vyreth stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "I know."

Seraphine’s lip trembled as she stared at the mark on her belly, her heart heavy with the weight of her decision. "I can’t keep it…"

"You will," her mother’s voice was steel wrapped in velvet. "You don’t have the luxury of choice here, Seraphine. That child is ours, not his. You understand?"

Seraphine’s lip quivered, tears threatening to fall. "But I don’t want to be used."

"You’re not being used," Lady Vyreth said, her voice softening. "You’re leading this game now. This is how we win."

Her mother knelt before her, placing a gentle hand on Seraphine’s stomach, her eyes gleaming with something that wasn’t maternal love—it was ambition. "This child is the key. The key to everything we’ve fought for. Darien and Coran won’t see it coming. They’ll celebrate your loyalty, they’ll believe in your submission. And while they revel in their false triumph, we will set the trap."

Seraphine nodded, her heart aching, but she couldn’t bring herself to argue. Her mother was right. This was the only way.

The Announcement

The following morning, the Grand Court was filled with a murmur of gossip, excitement, and trepidation. Nobles from the three Clangs, delegates from the lesser houses—all had gathered in the Great Hall. Whispers of war, betrayal, and prophecy swirled in the air like thick smoke.

Seraphine stood at the threshold of the hall, her back straight, her posture regal. Her gown shimmered like starlight, a trail of silver thread braided into her hair, capturing the light in delicate strands. She walked forward, her gaze unflinching as she crossed the floor toward the King. She was alone, but she felt the weight of the court’s eyes on her every step.

The King turned to her as she approached, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Seraphine", he called, his voice laced with a curious edge.

"My lord," Seraphine replied, her voice firm. She reached for her belly, drawing everyone’s attention.

"I come bearing news," she announced, her voice carrying through the hushed hall.

The King’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

Seraphine’s gaze locked with his. "I am with child," she said, her voice unwavering. "Your child. The future heir to the throne."

The room fell into stunned silence.

"You’ve given me an heir," the King said slowly, a smile creeping across his face. "Then we must celebrate." He turned to the court, his voice loud and commanding. "We will host a masquerade. A feast to honor the new life forming in our midst. Invite every Clang. Every noble. Let the world know the future is secure!"

But before the court could erupt into cheers, Seraphine raised her hand.

"I have one condition," she said, her tone resolute.

The King raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Speak it."

Seraphine’s voice rang clear, cutting through the tension in the room. "I will not have my child called a bastard," she said, eyes cold as ice. "There will be a wedding. A royal one. Let the mask hide my face, not my child’s name."

The King’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment, studying her. Then, finally, he bowed his head in agreement.

"Anything you want," he said, his voice dripping with promise.

Seraphine’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. "And I will choose my wedding dress," she added, her gaze unyielding.

The King nodded. "Of course."

He turned to the court. "Prepare the masks. Prepare the halls. For the Dragon Bride has spoken."

Later That Night

Seraphine stood at the window of her chamber, her fingers tracing the cool glass as she watched the moonlight dance over the land. She whispered to herself, "He said 'anything you want.'" Her heart pulsed with anticipation.

The door creaked open behind her, and her mother entered, carrying a scroll.

"I’ve made the first list of guests," Lady Vyreth said, unfurling the parchment with a gleam in her eye. "And spies."

Seraphine nodded, a fierce fire rising within her. "Let the dance begin."

Lady Vyreth’s smile was slow and deliberate. "And what will you wear, my daughter?"

Seraphine turned back to the window, imagining the fabric of shadows and fire, woven together with whispers of promises and threats.

"I’ll wear a dress that makes queens weep," she said, her voice cold and calculated. "And one my enemies won't forget".