Chapter 9
881 Words
“Kneel.”
The command came low and calm, but it carried the weight of fire and fury.
Xyra stood in the center of the Drakarion's grand hall, the volcanic stone floor warm beneath her bare feet. The golden-red banners of Draganthar hung from the towering obsidian pillars, flickering under the glow of enchanted braziers. The air smelled of spice and molten metal.
She refused to bow.
Her shoulders ached from the rough grip of the Vyrmguard who had dragged her here. Her body still bore the marks of battle, the pain of rejection, the silent grief of everything she had lost.
But her pride was still hers. She lifted her chin, meeting Vaeren’s gaze with the same fire that burned within her.
“I am not yours.”
The words cut through the heavy silence.
A murmur swept through the gathered court, Drakenlords, warlords, generals. Seraya stood to Vaeren’s right, her red hair gleaming like fire, her lips curled in disdain.
Vaeren, seated upon the throne of obsidian and gold, simply watched her.
He had not shifted. Not yet. But Xyra could feel the raw power in the air, thick and suffocating. A test.
That’s what this was. Would she break? Would she kneel?
Her wolf snarled inside her, resisting, even as something deeper, something primal, stirred at the force of his presence.
Vaeren leaned forward, his golden eyes glinting. “Not mine?” he repeated, his voice deceptively soft.
“No,” she spat, her nails digging into her palms. “I was never meant for you.”
The silence was suffocating. Then, a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.
His fingers tapped against the armrest of his throne. “Then let us remind you of where you stand.”
The floor trembled. One of the Vyrmguard stepped forward, his golden armor shifting, warping. His body twisted, expanding, bones reshaping.
Xyra had seen wolves shift. She had seen the brutal transformation of her kind.
And also saw Dragons shifted but not to full glory, But this—This was something else.
The soldier’s body rippled with molten energy, his flesh giving way to crimson scales, his limbs elongating, wings unfurling. His eyes glowed with fire, his breath steaming the air as he towered above her.
A half-dragon. The others followed.
One by one, the Vyrmguard shifted, their forms splitting into different beasts. Some grew monstrous and broad, wingless behemoths meant for war. Ashenborn, the land titans. Others became winged creatures of terror, flames licking at their fangs.
And yet, Vaeren remained still. He did not shift.
Xyra’s breath came fast. She had never seen a Drakenlord take their true form, not even in battle. And she had the feeling that when Vaeren did, it would be nothing like the others.
Her heartbeat pounded as she turned in a slow circle, surrounded.
The dragons’ golden eyes bore into her, waiting, watching.
Submit, their presence demanded. Kneel. She clenched her jaw. Never.
The queen sat on the balcony above, draped in flowing black and gold, her sharp gaze unreadable.
“This is foolishness,” she finally said, her voice like cold wind against embers. “She is not fit for our prince. She is not of our kind.”
Xyra felt the weight of those words settle over her like chains.
She was an outsider. A werewolf in a kingdom of dragons.
She didn’t belong here.
Seraya stepped forward, her red gown swaying as she approached. “She is weak,” she said, her lips curling into a smirk. “Let me take her place, as it was always meant to be.”
Xyra met her gaze, unflinching.
Seraya was beautiful. Tall, elegant, a perfect match for a Drakenlord. She belonged here.
And Xyra?
She had no place at all. She should have felt shame. But all she felt was rage. Her hands trembled, but not with fear. With fury.
Vaeren finally rose from his throne. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he descended toward her.
The dragons parted for him,The heat in the room intensified, the very air trembling at his approach.
He stopped inches from her, his presence suffocating. He lifted a single hand.
A test. A final command.
“Kneel,” he said again, quiet, unrelenting.
Xyra’s pulse thundered in her ears.
The bond between them burned, a living thing. It wanted her to submit.
Her wolf howled in protest.
Her pride screamed louder.
She lifted her gaze, her violet eyes burning into his gold.
And she stayed standing. A muscle in Vaeren’s jaw twitched. The court held its breath.Then—His lips curled into something dark. Something dangerous.
“You will, in time,” he murmured.
A flick of his hand.
“Take her to the east wing,” he ordered. “She stays in the royal chambers.”
Shock rippled through the court.
Even Seraya stiffened. “You can’t—”
“She is my fated,” Vaeren said simply. “That is all that matters.”
Xyra’s stomach twisted. The guards stepped forward. She had not won. She had only bought herself more time.
And as they led her through the gilded halls of the Drakarion, past the golden-armored warriors and firelit corridors, she knew one thing.
This was not over, Not even close.
- Writer
