Are you sure about this? Anwen’s dragon questioned.

  The princess sat quietly on a bench just outside of Emmett’s room. She stared down at the book in her lap, waiting for Jude to arrive.

  Ever since she had overheard Cerys talking about their father’s plans—to kill Kohen and his entire family—her mind hadn’t stopped spinning. All yesterday, she had thought about how much darker her life would become without her husband. The only thing Anwen could think of doing, the only path worth considering, was to die along with him.

  At the very least, she could finally escape being nothing more than a pawn for others to use.

  However, any attempt at self-harm would be discovered and stopped—she knew that too well. Even if no one interacted with her, Anwen was always being watched. If she wanted to die, she’d need someone else to kill her. Someone like Cerys… or perhaps even the queen. All she had to do was provoke them enough—cross the wrong line, say the wrong thing, and fail to obey. It didn’t matter how painful the death would be—whether they chose lava, blade, or something else.

  The pain would be brief, but the peace afterward would last forever.

  I’m just… ready for it to be over, she admitted with a heavy sigh. I’m tired of being used. Of living only to earn a scrap of praise. Kohen was the only reason I kept going. And if he’s not going to live… why should I?

  Her dragon was quiet for a minute before responding.

  I can’t say I disagree with you. But maybe—if they don’t burn our bodies—we’ll find Kohen in the next life. Maybe then, we can finally be happy.

  Yes… Anwen thought with a small smile. Maybe we could have the life we’ve always dreamed of—a quiet one… with children.

  I just wish we could see—

  “Ah, good. You’re here.”

  A voice broke through her thoughts, and Anwen blinked as she looked up. Jude stood in front of her, holding a tray of supplies in his hands. The princess stood to her feet, careful not to drop the book as she took the tray from the healer.

  “Let’s go,” Jude said, exhaling slowly before opening the door to Emmett’s room. He stepped inside, lifting a hand to his nose. “Ugh. Smells like something died in here.”

  Anwen followed, quietly setting the tray on the small table by the desk.

  “I did some reading last night,” she started as she lifted the book to show the man. “There’s research on muscle stimulations—massaging the limbs of patients who’ve been bedridden. It helps with circulation and even encourages muscle growth. I thought maybe… it could help Emmett.”

  “So what, we spend hours in here rubbing down a half-dead prince?” Jude frowned, eyeing her warily. “No thanks. I don’t care if he walks again. I just want him awake enough to sit up and talk.”

  Anwen tilted her head slightly, offering a sheepish smile.

  “Then… why don’t I do it? You’re one of the best healers in this kingdom. Surely this kind of therapy is beneath your level.”

  “Careful, your nose is turning brown,” he scoffed, arching a brow at her. He wasn’t falling for the compliment.

  “Oh? I was just repeating what Cerys said at lunch yesterday,” Anwen replied casually as she turned her attention to the tray, unloading the supplies.

  “Wait—” Jude froze mid-step, eyes wide. “Princess Cerys said I was one of the best healers?”

  “Oh, yes,” Anwen nodded. “She said something about mentioning your idea to our father.”

  “The king is going to know?” He practically collapsed against the wall as his knees weakened—not from fear but excitement.

  “That’s what she said,” Anwen answered smoothly.

  Jude stared at the floor, stunned.

  “So he’ll know it was my idea?” He muttered to himself, stroking his chin like he was already imagining the praise.

  Anwen tilted her head, pretending as if she couldn’t hear him.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh, nothing,” the healer said quickly, waving a hand to dismiss her question. “But—uh—what were you saying earlier? About massaging the prince?”

  “I was saying I could take care of it myself,” she stated, offering him a fake smile as she looked over at him. “You don’t have to stay, especially if all I’m doing is giving him tea and helping with muscle therapy. And besides, you probably don’t need to be here unless we change the dosages. I can write up my notes and bring them to you when I’m done.”

  “You’ll bring those notes straight to me? Not to the princess?” Jude eyed her carefully.

  “Of course. And I’ll return your supplies, too.”

  He hesitated for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin. Then, his pride got the better of him, and his face lit up with satisfaction.

  “Alright,” he agreed with a pleased nod. “I’ll leave you to babysit the sack of bones. Come find me this afternoon in the healing hall.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Anwen exhaled heavily as her body sagged slightly.

  That worked better than I had expected, she murmured inwardly.

  Well, he is a narcissist, her dragon replied dryly. What did you expect to happen when you stroked his ego?

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Fair,” Anwen whispered aloud, shaking her head as she turned her focus to the basket beside her.

  Inside, there were freshly gathered Virith leaves. When steeped into a tea, they served as a stimulant—popular among men who needed assistance with potency in the bedroom. However, for Emmett’s case, it helped improve blood circulation and elevate his heart rate.

  The initial plan was to ease him into it slowly—one leaf for a few days, then two, then three, gradually building up his tolerance.

  But Anwen didn’t have the time to wait for that to happen.

  Without hesitation, she grabbed five leaves and dropped them into the steaming kettle.

  Then, she extended her hand over the teacup. Dragon scales formed across her palms, and a white powder fell from her skin like snow.

  To the untrained eye, it would look like the usual suppressant Emmett had been taking for over a year. But this wasn’t that… not even close.

  In fact, it was the complete opposite.

  The powder was a rare secretion of hers, one that she had only ever produced for her father—a strength-enhancing drug designed to push a dragon to its limits. It was dangerous in large doses. Even fatal if misused.

  Once the leaves had steeped for several minutes, Anwen poured the tea into a waiting cup, watching as the white powder swirled and vanished. Her hands trembled slightly as she stirred, swallowing hard as she forced down the growing lump in her throat.

  This was it.

  Her plan was reckless—borderline suicidal—but that was the point. If she could pull Blaise from his dormant state, then maybe Emmett would have the strength to flee. To escape the palace, fly east, and return home.

  By setting Emmett free, Arnav would lose a key piece in his campaign to claim Sylvaris. The prince’s value wasn’t just in his body but in his name and legacy. Anwen wasn’t sure how much her betrayal would set them back, but she knew it had to be significant. After all, they were keeping him alive for a reason.

  Well… she would keep him alive. She would do exactly what they asked—just not in the way they expected.

  With the dragon-strengthening drug and the overdose of Virith leaves, Emmett’s body would respond. His recovery would seem nothing short of a miracle. But it wouldn’t last long. Once Blaise awoke and they escaped, the effects would begin to wear off. The tea was only a temporary fix. At best, it would give him a day or two of strength.

  At least he’ll be back home to die in peace, her dragon murmured in their shared mind.

  It’s the least we could do for him, Anwen whispered back.

  She let out a deep exhale before picking up the cup. Carefully, she walked to the bed, leaning over the prince. She reached out, moving some of the hair away from his forehead before gently cupping his cheek.

  “Emmett,” she whispered. “Wake up. It’s time for your medicine.”

  The prince stirred, but his body was sluggish and slow to respond. His eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. Anwen tapped his cheek lightly, coaxing him out of the haze.

  “There you are,” she said softly. “Time to drink up.”

  His glazed eyes looked up at her. Like a creature trained to obey, he opened his mouth, and Anwen tilted the cup to pour the tea. She gave him time to swallow, never rushing, even though her heart raced within her chest.

  Once the cup was empty, she set it aside and lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. She took his hand in both of hers and placed it gently in her lap.

  The lie about massaging him would buy her the time she needed. The princess needed to monitor his body’s response, to see if the tea was taking effect. She hoped that she’d notice a difference within a matter of minutes and that within a few hours, Blaise would awaken.

  But there was no guarantee of that happening. What if it took days? Anwen would lose everything she was trying to achieve. Jude would notice the differences in the prince and begin asking questions. And if anyone suspected Blaise was stirring, they’d force her to undo it…

  The hours passed by agonizingly slow. Anwen sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, keeping Emmett’s right hand in her lap. She checked his pulse every few minutes, trying to tell if it was stronger than before. Her eyes occasionally looked from his chest to his arms, looking for any sign of a scale. At one point, when she checked his eyes, the princess thought she saw a hint of blue flashing across the hazel.

  However, Anwen couldn’t tell if she was imagining things out of hope, or if something was actually happening with Emmett.

  She stood and paced the room, running a hand over her braided hair. Light from the afternoon sun was coming in through the high window, and with it came dread. Jude would be expecting her at the healing hall soon. Anwen had promised to bring her notes and return his supplies. If she didn’t show up…

  Her gaze went to the door as her heart started to race. There were guards outside in the corridor, but none directly beside Emmett’s room. So, she could risk buying herself more time—just a little. Anwen dragged the desk and chair across the floor, shoving them up against the door. When she was done, she held her breath, listening for footsteps. Thankfully, though, it seemed that the guards hadn’t heard her.

  The princess turned back to the bed, where Emmett remained.

  “Please,” she whispered, stepping closer to him. “Blaise… please wake up.”

  She reached out, shaking Emmett’s shoulders gently at first, then with more urgency.

  “Come on,” she hissed. “I need you. Emmett needs you. You have to get up. You have to go.”

  But still, there was nothing.

  “Please!” She cried, shaking him harder. “You don’t have time—I don’t have time. They’ll come, and when they do—”

  A low growl rumbled softly through Emmett’s chest, cutting her off. Anwen froze, staring at him with wide eyes. Then—suddenly—the prince sat upright, gasping like he had been pulled from the bottom of the ocean. His eyes opened, but they weren’t hazel. Instead, they were blue, dark like the sea.

  “Blaise?” Anwen whispered, stepping away from the bed.

  Emmett doubled over, groaning—no, growling—as his body convulsed. He fell from the bed with a heavy thud. A scream echoed through the room as the first scales grew across his back and shoulders, tearing the skin. The shift was violent and fast, and his body wasn’t ready for the transformation.

  “Blaise—” Anwen gasped, backing toward the wall. “Blaise, you have to go! Get Emmett out of here!”

  The prince’s body twisted, and bones snapped as wings forced their way free. He yelled in pain, but the sound no longer sounded human.

  Then came the pounding on the door.

  “What’s going on in there?!” A guard shouted from the corridor.

  “Open this door!” Another man demanded as his fists slammed against the wood. “Now!”

  “Hurry!” Anwen cried out to Blaise. “They’re coming—please, please shift!”

  Blaise let out a deafening roar as his dragon form finally forced its way out. The room could no longer contain him. Stone cracked beneath him, and the walls buckled as his growing body slammed against them. This section of the palace had been built outward, not into the mountain, so the structure was weak against the growing dragon.

  Anwen fell to the floor, shielding her head as chunks of debris rained down from the ceiling. Through the dust and chaos, Blaise—who now stood fully formed—turned his head toward the princess.

  Anwen met his gaze, but didn’t speak or beg for her life. She simply bowed her head as she knelt in the rubble. Dying by another dragon, one who wasn’t her sister or father, seemed like a blessing—a welcomed one at that.

  But Blaise didn’t attack her.

  Instead, the dragon lowered his head, sniffing her once before turning away. He pushed his body through the shattered wall, stepping out onto the ledge. The wind rushed through the gap, lifting his wings as they stretched out within the room.

  Behind the princess, the door splintered and cracked as the guards slammed against it.

  “Stop that dragon!” One of them shouted, most likely to the other guards in the corridor.

  Blaise roared, shaking the walls of the palace around him. Then he jumped outward, landing on his feet in the gardens below.

  The door to the corridor finally gave way as the guards flooded the room. They stopped abruptly when they noticed the gaping hole in the wall—until one of them pointed toward the princess on the floor.

  “There!” He shouted. “Seize her! Now!”

  Another guard rushed forward, grabbing Anwen by the arms and yanking her up. She didn’t resist, but instead let the man drag her away, all while her gaze remained glued to the sky.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, waiting for Blaise to take to the skies. But then, as she was pulled out into the corridor, the princess heard the flapping of wings. Within seconds, a dragon flew upwards, heading to the east.

  Anwen let out a sigh of relief, smiling as she was led down toward the dungeons.