Smoke rose up from the city of Dunstead, where rubble and debris filled the streets. From the palace, Rhett looked down at everything below, watching as the people and some of the soldiers searched the wreckage for survivors.

  Already, his mind was racing with the logistics of what needed to be done—how to get food, water, shelter, and medical aid to the city. Rebuilding would take time and resources that Drurus probably didn’t have. However, the destruction of Dunstead was small compared to the biggest issue.

  The kingdom of Drurus was now without a king or ruler of any kind.

  For now, he, Riven, and Vespera could hold things together. They had more than enough authority to stabilize the kingdom in the short term. But their temporary leadership wouldn’t be enough. Drurus needed someone to wear the crown—someone who would remain here to lead the people.

  Then Rhett remembered Arnav—or rather, what was left of him. He was dead in his dragon form, lying broken in the streets. And with him was the king’s ring. The one tied specifically to the kingdom of Drurus.

  Rhett turned, about to order one of the soldiers to retrieve it, when the palace doors swung open. A group of servants and guards spilled out, blinking as they shielded their eyes from the blinding sun. None had weapons in their hands. Some didn’t even have on shoes.

  Walden’s soldiers rushed toward them with their swords drawn, but the people quickly fell to their knees without needing to be told. They stared at Rhett and Jesup, watching the scales ripple across their wounds. They feared the foreign dragon shifters, unsure what punishment might await them. Several of them were crying, with a few servant girls openly sobbing.

  Walden stepped closer, weapon in hand, looking over the people—specifically, the guards. They were either relatively young or quite old-looking; not the typical array of men guarding the king or his palace.

  “This one is barely old enough to be off his mother’s breast,” he said, gesturing to a skinny boy, no older than sixteen. “Why in Eena’s name was he guarding the king? What kind of coward has a child to defend his throne?”

  “Every other man who could hold a sword was sent to die with the rest of his army,” Rhett scowled, looking over the group. “These are the ones who were left behind.”

  And the young king knew they weren’t a threat. These were just the discarded, overlooked peasants who worked here. But the palace was large, and Rhett didn’t trust that there weren’t others hiding in there, waiting to strike.

  “Send some of your men in,” Rhett told Walden quietly. “Secure the palace. We’ll wait out here.”

  Walden nodded before whistling for his soldiers. They split up without needing to be told, half going into the palace, followed quickly by Walden.

  Jesup walked over to a cracked wall, leaning heavily against it as one arm pressed tightly against his side. He clenched his jaw, and though he didn’t openly complain, a low hiss of pain did slip out.

  Rhett heard the sound and he walked over slowly, narrowing his eyes when he saw the blood seeping between Jesup’s fingers. The young king tilted his head as he looked at the wound.

  “You should get that looked at,” he stated firmly. “At least the very least, let the healers bandage you up.”

  “What about you?” Jesup countered, raising a brow as he nodded toward Rhett’s chest. “If anyone needs to see a healer, it’s you.”

  Rhett glanced down at the thick, ugly burn going down the left side of his body. He ran his fingers over the wound, brushing against some of Silas’s dark green scales. But the lava did more than just ruin his skin—it had scorched through the flesh, down to the nerves. Every time he took a breath, it sent a wave of heat through his body, feeling like lava was washing over him again.

  “Later,” he said quietly in a clipped tone.

  Jesup opened his mouth to argue, but something caught his attention—movement in the sky. He looked up and narrowed his eyes until he realized it was a dragon, flying directly toward them.

  Nearby, the servants and palace guards started to panic. Some of them screamed in fear, dropping flat to the ground and covering their heads, while others scrambled to hide behind chunks of stone.

  Jesup stepped forward, throwing up his hands.

  “Silence!” He commanded. “It’s not an enemy! It’s my brother.”

  This helped to quiet everyone down, but only slightly. They still flinched when the dragon landed in the courtyard, and trembled when it transformed into a man.

  Ashur ran toward Jesup and Rhett, not caring that he was naked as the day he was born. But when he could see the extent of their injuries, he suddenly stopped.

  “By the gods,” he muttered, staring between the two men, though his gaze lingered on Rhett’s blistered chest. “Zayn wasn’t exaggerating when he told me you looked like you swam in lava.”

  “How is the army outside the walls?” Rhett questioned, ignoring the young prince’s statement.

  “Fine. Mostly,” Ashur blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt change in subject. “A few have bruises or burns, nothing fatal. You guys kept the fighting above the city for the most part.”

  “Good,” Rhett nodded, turning his attention back to the palace. He looked around at the windows for a moment before speaking again. “Has anyone sent word to Tristan?”

  “Not yet,” Ashur shook his head. “Do you want me to fly to him? I could also go back to Jux and let Amara know that it’s over.”

  “No,” Rhett answered immediately. “We wait until Walden says the palace is secured and Anwen has been located. I’ll send you out once the last of Arnav’s horde is dead.”

  As if summoned by the thought, the lord of Ruggeweyn returned to the courtyard. He went straight to Rhett, looking at him with a grim expression.

  “You need to come with me,” Walden stated.

  Rhett straightened from where he had been leaning, pushing away from the wall.

  “Why? What is it?”

  “My men caught two people trying to sneak out of the dungeons,” Walden explained, motioning with his head. “You’ll want to come see them.”

  Rhett raised an eyebrow before glancing at Jesup and Ashur. The princes shrugged, but they were just as curious. The three dragon shifters followed Walden deep into the palace, where, within the stone of the Blackened Mountains, the dungeons had been carved out.

  As they entered the main corridor of cells, Rhett looked around at the imprisoned nobles—all of whom he recognized. These were men and women from Sylvaris, though they all left with Emmett, bending the knee to Drurus. Now they sat behind bars, stripped of their rank and dignity. But it was not he who put them here. Arnav must have locked them away, fearful of them running back to Sylvaris like cowards.

  But Rhett stopped abruptly in front of one particular cell.

  Reece…

  The Earl of Walford sat slumped in the corner, with filth coating every inch of his clothes. His boots were caked with mud and shit, while a bucket of piss sat in the corner. Reece glanced up momentarily, but quickly dropped his gaze when he realized who stood in front of his cell.

  Rhett stood still, clenching his fists at his sides. His chest burned, but it wasn’t from the wound. The man before him helped bring about his brother’s death. He had watched, perhaps even smiled, as Emmett slowly died.

  But Walden stepped up beside Rhett, nudging him gently.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “He’s not who I brought you down here to see,” he said, gesturing toward the far end of the hall. “They’re in the last room.”

  Rhett didn’t move at first. He kept his gaze on Reece, already envisioning how he would end the earl’s life.

  He’ll still be in that cell once we’re ready to kill him, Silas hissed in the back of their mind.

  Without a word, Rhett turned and followed Walden further down the corridor. At the end of the hallway was a thick wooden door. The Ruggeweyn lord stopped in front of it and looked over his shoulder at Rhett. Then slowly, he pushed the door open.

  The room was dark, lit up by only a single torch on the wall. But as Rhett’s eyes adjusted, he saw them—two people kneeling on the floor.

  Anwen and Kohen…

  Rhett held his breath, and all thoughts of Reece vanished in an instant.

  Their hands were tied in front of them, and rope was wrapped tightly around the rest of their bodies. Kohen still wore pieces of dented armor, looking as if he had just runaway from the battle.

  Anwen, however, was nearly unrecognizable. She wore tattered rags, and her hair was tangled and caked with dirt and blood. Her face was hollow, and she looked like a ghost of her former self.

  “My men caught them trying to sneak out through some sewer tunnels,” Walden said as they walked into the room.

  “Why were they trying to leave through the sewers?” Ashur questioned with a confused expression. “They could have gone out through any other place in the palace.”

  “Because Anwen was already in the dungeons,” Rhett murmured, staring at the princess. “But the question is… why?”

  Kohen looked up from where he knelt, staring at Rhett with a desperate expression.

  “Let her go and I’ll tell you everything. Please. Don’t hurt her. Just kill me instead.”

  “No!” Anwen cried out, struggling against the rope. “No! If he dies, then so do I!”

  “Anwen! Stop—”

  “Silence!” Rhett’s roar thundered through the room, shaking dust loose from the ceiling. The torch tumbled from its bracket, and everything went still. Even Jesup and Ashur stiffened at the sound of his voice.

  The king narrowed his eyes as he took a step forward.

  “Now…” he continued with a low growl. “I asked a question. Why was Anwen in the dungeons?”

  Kohen didn’t flinch, but his shoulders trembled slightly as tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He bowed his head for a moment before meeting Rhett’s gaze again.

  “I said I’d tell you everything,” he repeated. “But only if you swear not to kill her. Please, Rhett. I know I’ve wronged you… But Anwen… she’s innocent. And my wife. She doesn’t deserve to die for what I’ve done.”

  Rhett stared at him, though there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He had no idea that his former friend was married, let alone to a dragon shifter. But he didn’t care to ask about the marriage—it mattered little compared to everything else.

  Finally, when Kohen realized that Rhett wouldn’t agree to anything, he dropped his head.

  “She woke Blaise,” he said quietly. “Purposefully. That’s why she was imprisoned.”

  Rhett turned his attention to Anwen, who simply stared at Kohen with tear-filled eyes.

  “Why would you do that?” Rhett demanded angrily. “It was you who was responsible for making my brother the way he was in the first place!”

  “No, that was me,” Kohen interjected quickly. “Yes, Anwen made the poison, but it was never meant to kill Emmett. But… when your father locked him up without allowing anyone access to the prince, my uncle and I got desperate. And… we made a terrible decision.”

  “What decision?” Rhett questioned coldly.

  “When we were finally able to sneak into Emmett’s chambers, he had gone five days without the suppressant,” Kohen explained in a whisper. “So we panicked and gave him five doses. All at once.”

  “You overdosed him,” Jesup frowned as he clenched his fists.

  “Yes,” Kohen nodded. “That’s exactly what we did. And that’s what broke him—what started his slow march to death. It was our fault—Henrik’s and mine. Not Anwen’s.”

  “That still doesn’t absolve her of her crimes!” Walden snapped. “She created the very thing that destroyed the prince!”

  “She created it because she was told to,” Kohen argued, lifting his head. “By Arnav. By Cerys. If she had denied them, they would have made her life more hellish than it already was.”

  Rhett raised a hand, silencing them both. He didn’t take his eyes off Kohen.

  “What else have you done?” He questioned. “What else are you responsible for?”

  “I’m responsible for Myles and Willie killing Amara,” Kohen said as he stared at the floor. But when Rhett was silent, he glanced up. “She’s dead, isn’t she? I know you flew back to Sylvaris suddenly and were gone for several days. That was because of me…”

  Rhett stood motionless, his expression unreadable. He had known. Myles had confessed that much already. But hearing the truth from Kohen—his former friend, his brother-in-arms—shattered something deep inside him.

  Then, without warning, Rhett’s hand gripped around Kohen’s throat, lifting him off the ground.

  “You didn’t kill Amara,” Rhett hissed. “She survived.”

  He paused, tightening his grip as his eyes flashed burnt orange.

  “No… what you did,” he continued as his voice blended with Silas’s. “What you’re responsible for is the death of my unborn sons—two dragon princes who would have been strong and fierce. You destroyed them before they had the chance to live. You took away Amara’s ability to bear children. You stole our future!”

  Rhett tossed him aside like a rag doll. Kohen landed hard, choking and gasping for air.

  “Kohen…” Anwen whispered, looking at her husband in disbelief—not because Rhett had attacked him, but because of what Kohen had done. He had two babies killed… They had spent years trying for a child, so to hear that he was responsible for the death of two, it stunned her.

  But her shock was short-lived.

  Rhett stormed across the room, slamming his foot into Kohen’s ribs, cracking the bone. Kohen cried out, curling in on himself.

  Then came another kick. And another.

  “Please stop!” Anwen sobbed, fighting against the ropes. “Please, I’m begging you!”

  Rhett growled as he turned to face her, but he didn’t move in her direction. Instead, he went to Walden, snatching his sword from its sheath.

  “No! No!” Anwen screamed as Rhett approached Kohen again. “Kohen! Look at me, please! I love you!”

  She wept uncontrollably as she watched Rhett raise the blade, but before it could fall, Ashur moved toward her. Calmly, quietly, he stepped in front of Anwen, pulling her to her feet.

  “What are you doing?” Jesup questioned in a hushed whisper.

  “She doesn’t need to see this,” Ashur stated firmly. “It doesn’t matter that Kohen deserves to die, but it isn’t right to kill him in front of her.”

  Ashur dragged Anwen from the room, even as she kicked and screamed for her husband. Jesup closed the door behind them.

  Inside, the first stab from the sword didn’t kill Kohen—it wasn’t meant to. Rhett sent it into his side, causing the man to scream in pain. The young king slashed again and again. Each attack only drawing blood to punish, not to kill.

  Only when Kohen’s cries weakened and turned into struggling breaths did Rhett finally end it. With one swing of the sword, he severed the man’s head from his body.

  Rhett stood there, panting. Blood pooled beneath Kohen, but just like with Myles and Willie, Rhett felt nothing. No satisfaction. No justice. No closure. There was just the hollow emptiness that would never be filled.

  He turned and walked back to Walden, pressing the bloodied sword into the lord’s hands without a word. Then he exited the chamber.

  In the corridor, just beyond the doorway, Rhett spotted Ashur standing beside Anwen. The princess was crying silently into her hands, and her shoulders trembled with each breath. Rhett had meant to pass her without sparing her a glance, but something held him back. He stopped directly in front of her.

  “I don’t want to hear your reasons for bringing Blaise back,” he muttered, looking ahead. “But for doing it… I’ll allow you to bury Kohen beneath your unity trees. Assuming you have one.”

  Anwen looked up, staring at him with a broken expression.

  “Kill me, too,” she choked out. “I beg of you.”

  With a surge of strength from her dragon, she tore through the ropes on her wrists and grabbed Rhett’s arm.

  “Please… let me die with him. I’ll do anything.”

  But Rhett pulled away coldly and continued walking.

  “I’ll show you where they burned your father’s body!” She shouted suddenly. Rhett halted, then slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder.

  “If I show you where… will you kill me?”

  He inhaled deeply, and the muscles in his jaws tightened. For a few seconds, he said nothing. Then, at last, he moved to the side and gestured for her to lead the way.

  Anwen hesitated, as if unsure he truly meant it. Then she stepped forward, slowly moving past him. Rhett, Ashur, and eventually Jesup, followed her silently.

  They walked out to the palace gardens, winding through the paths and around the crumbled stone. At the southern edge, Anwen pushed open an old wooden gate. Beyond it was a narrow mountain path, which curved upward into the Blackened Mountains. The trail was steep, but no one complained as they went.

  Finally, they reached a wide hole in the ground, looking like a crater punched into the mountainside.

  Rhett stepped to the edge. Inside were the charred remains of a person and a dragon. The dragon—Blaise—was partially buried beneath cooled, hardened lava. His head was missing, but the rest of his scorched body remained.

  Next to him lay the blackened, broken corpse of Julian. His head was gone too, and his body was twisted and contorted beyond recognition. Still, Rhett could tell, he could feel it in his soul, that this was his father.

  The young king walked down into the crater. He crouched beside Julian and gently reached for his father’s hand. The moment his fingers touched it, the hand crumbled to ash, scattering in the breeze.

  “Take Princess Anwen to her chambers,” he finally said. “And place guards at her door.”

  Ashur stepped forward, moving to take her arm.

  “Wait!” She cried out, pulling away from the prince. “But you promised!”

  “When you’re done, go to Tristan,” Rhett continued, not paying any attention to the princess. “Tell him everything that’s happened. Then fly to Jux and arrange for Amara to be brought here by boat. Once she’s en route, send one of your brothers to inform your parents.”

  Ashur nodded without hesitation, grabbing roughly onto Anwen. But the princess resisted, crying as she turned to look at Rhett.

  “Punish me! Kill me for what I’ve done! I beg of you—let my soul move on with Kohen’s!”

  Rhett stood up slowly, locking his orange gaze onto hers.

  “Enough!” He growled, the sound echoing across the crater. “You want punishment? Fine.”

  He took a step forward, his tone growing colder with each word he spoke.

  “Anwen, Princess of Drurus, I hereby sentence you to house arrest for the remainder of your natural life. Whomever we place upon Drurus’s throne shall serve as your warden. He will ensure you are well-fed, safe, and healthy—so you may live a long life.”

  “No!” She wailed, falling to her knees. “You can’t do that!”

  “I can,” Rhett said. “And I will.”

  With that, he turned back to the burnt remains of his brother and father, watching as the wind blew the ash around him like snow.