Anwen sat at a small desk in a dark room, surrounded by the smell of burning incense. A few lanterns were placed on the walls, but they did little to illuminate the parchments in front of the princess.

  Across the room, under the only window, was Prince Emmett. He laid unconscious on a narrow bed, utterly still. If one didn’t notice the movement in his chest, they would think he was dead. Beside him, a middle-aged man leaned over his body, muttering observations as he poked and prodded the prince.

  “The color in his cheeks has improved slightly,” the man said, peeling back one of Emmett’s eyelids. “Pupils continue to respond to light.”

  Anwen nodded, scribbling the words neatly onto the parchment in front of her.

  “What was the dosage of the stimulant you administered?” The man questioned abruptly. He didn’t bother to look at the princess as he spoke, but instead took the prince’s wrist as he felt his pulse.

  “Uh,” Anwen murmured, shuffling through the stack of notes beside her. “Two Virith leaves, both steeped in steaming water for five minutes before—”

  “I asked for the quantity, not a brewing lesson,” the healer snapped, finally glancing at her with irritation. He rolled his eyes, rubbing his jaw with one hand before waving the other dismissively. “Just keep writing.”

  “Yes, Jude,” she whispered, dipping her quill into the inkwell again.

  “Two leaves,” the man continued in a mutter, more to himself than her. “Heart rate has increased appropriately—steady, not spiking. That’s good. Enhanced blood circulation noted. Recommendation: Maintain the current dosage for another three days. Once the prince’s body stabilizes, consider increasing to three leaves. No adverse reactions noted in combination with the suppressive poison used on his dragon.”

  Anwen’s chest tightened as she jotted it all down. She glanced up at Emmett hesitantly. He looked thinner now—almost hollow. This was her doing. Partially. She hadn’t meant for it to go this far. If only her husband and Henrik had listened when she warned them not to overdose him. But they hadn’t. And now Emmett lay here, reduced to a barely breathing sack of meat—and nothing more.

  He is just one of many puppets, her dragon murmured from the back of her mind. He isn’t the first… and he most certainly won’t be the last.

  No… we were the first, Anwen replied silently, dropping her gaze back to the desk.

  Many of those puppets are out there now, her dragon continued. Marching through Arnav’s war against Sylvaris. Like our Kohen…

  “Are you listening?” Jude snapped, pulling Anwen from her thoughts.

  “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, sitting upright in her seat. “I was just thinking about Emmett’s poison.”

  “What about it?” He questioned curtly, narrowing his eyes.

  “Oh… well…” Her mind raced for a logical answer. “I was wondering if we should consider lowering the dosage.”

  The healer straightened his back, crossing his arms across his chest with a deep frown.

  “Why would we do that? What possible good would it serve?”

  Anwen hesitated before carefully speaking.

  “It might help the stimulant take effect more quickly. If his system isn’t being suppressed quite so heavily, he could begin to recover faster. We wouldn’t need to stop it entirely—just halve the dose. That should still keep his dragon subdued while giving his body a better chance to respond to the treatment.”

  “And if you’re wrong? What if his dragon awakens?”

  “If it does, it won’t be immediate,” she replied quickly. “There would be signs—his eyes would change color, maybe a patch of scales would start to form. We’d have time to increase the dosage again before anything happens.”

  “You honestly think this might make him more… normal?” Jude inquired with a raised brow. “Coherent enough to speak, perhaps?”

  “I… I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s just a guess. But I don’t see the harm in trying. At worst, it won’t change anything. At best, it might help push his recovery forward.”

  “Hmm…” the healer hummed, tapping a finger against his chin in thought. “It’s an interesting idea, I’ll give you that. I’ll need to run it by Princess Cerys first. If she approves, we can experiment. Now—wrap up the notes. I’ve had enough of this room. The air is too stale.”

  Anwen quickly jotted down the last of Jude’s observations. When she finished, she gently blew across the ink, coaxing it to dry before sprinkling a layer of setting powder over it. She rolled the sheet carefully and stood. Jude approached and yanked the parchment from her hands with barely a glance.

  “Clean this place up and return my supplies to the healing hall,” he said with a dismissive wave.

  “But…” Anwen hesitated. “Princess Cerys asked me to come to her chambers once I finished here.”

  “And?” He questioned harshly. “Will it take you hours to do what I’ve requested?”

  “No, but I—”

  “Then do as you’re told,” he cut her off, crossing his arms again. “You may go to her after you’ve fulfilled your duties here. I’ll inform her of your delay myself.”

  Anwen opened her mouth to argue, but no sound came out. She wanted to scream, to cry, to demand to be treated as something more than a slave in her own home.

  But she didn’t. She never did.

  What was the point? Her title—princess—meant nothing in her father’s court. It was a courtesy draped over something unwanted, a label they all pretended to acknowledge while treating her worse than a servant. She was simply a stain they couldn’t scrub away.

  “Well?” Jude snapped again. “Get on with it.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry,” she murmured before turning back to the desk. She began gathering the bowls, herbs, and tools the healer had scattered earlier.

  With a satisfied huff, Jude turned on his heels and walked out of the room, with the rolled parchment tucked under his arm. He went quickly through the palace corridors, fighting the smug smile on his lips. He greeted a few courtiers along the way with nods or polite greetings, but nothing more. His mind was elsewhere—on speaking with Princess Cerys. If he could speak to her, he could present Anwen’s idea as his own and claim credit for it. If it worked—and he believed it would—it could secure his greater favor at court, perhaps even get him the prestigious Master of Healing title.

  By the time Jude reached the wing of the palace where Cerys kept her private chambers, his heart was racing—not from exertion, but from anticipation. He stopped in front of the doors where two guards stood watch. They looked at him with blank expressions.

  “The princess is expecting me,” Jude said, lifting his chin confidently.

  “Is she?” One of the men questioned flatly. “Because we weren’t told that.”

  “She’s expecting news regarding Prince Emmett,” Jude replied smoothly. “I assume that is urgent enough to grant me entry.”

  The guards exchanged a look. At the mention of Emmett, their stance shifted slightly. One gave a small nod, then opened the door, gesturing him through.

  “Don’t stay too long,” the guard warned. “She is expecting company shortly.”

  Jude nodded once, adjusted his robe with a dignified tug, and stepped inside. The receiving room was empty, as expected—it was used only for formal gatherings, usually with her parents. The space was left mostly bare, sterile even, with no servants standing and waiting.

  He moved down the corridor until he reached the princess’s entertaining chambers. The healer knocked on the door, and within seconds, a maid opened it for him to step through.

  Inside, Princess Cerys sat at a round table, with a meal for several people laid out in front of her. At the sight of the healer, the princess frowned.

  “Jude?” She questioned. “What are you doing here?”

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

  “I’ve come to speak to you about Prince Emmett,” he said quickly with a confident smile. “And I believe you’ll be pleased to hear—”

  “Where is Anwen?” Cerys cut in abruptly. “I invited my sister to join me for lunch, not you.”

  “Ah, yes, the princess mentioned she had a few remaining tasks to finish,” Jude answered without hesitation. “I assume she’ll be on her way shortly. If I had known she was expected here so soon, I would’ve insisted she come directly.”

  Cerys frowned but waved her hand.

  “Not your fault. She’ll arrive when she’s able. Now, what’s this important matter of yours?”

  Jude took the opportunity to step closer and nodded to one of the waiting ladies, offering her the rolled parchment. The woman took it before carrying it over to the princess.

  “The Virith leaves are beginning to take effect,” the healer explained. “Emmett’s heart rate has risen slightly—just enough to signal that his body is responding. Though not too much to risk strain on his body.”

  “You warned me before that too much stimulant could push his heart too far if he didn’t have time to adapt,” Cerys nodded as she skimmed the parchment.

  “Precisely, Your Highness. This is why I recommend continuing the current dosage for a few more days before increasing it. So far, there are no adverse effects.”

  “Still, that’s not exactly exciting news that was pressing to share,” the princess murmured, setting aside the paper. “You could’ve sent this with Anwen.”

  “Well, I do have a proposal that requires your approval,” he stated, clasping his hands behind his back. “I believe it would benefit Prince Emmett if we reduced the dosage of the poison used to suppress his dragon.”

  “Now, why would you risk allowing Blaise to awaken?” She questioned with a frown.

  “I’m not suggesting a full removal,” Jude assured her quickly. “Only half. The stimulant may work more effectively if the prince’s body isn’t being completely dulled by the poison. We’d still keep enough in his system to keep the dragon dormant.”

  “Also,” he continued. “Anwen told me the signs of an awakening would come gradually—his eyes would change, scales might form. If we see anything like that, we would simply return to the full dose. But if we reduce it now, there’s a chance his recovery could accelerate.”

  “Let’s say you’re right,” Cerys said as she tapped her finger on the table. “And reducing the poison helps. How long do you think it could be before Emmett is lucid enough to speak?”

  “Best case scenario… about 8 days,” Jude stated confidently.

  Cerys was quiet for a moment, lost in thought as she mulled over Jude’s proposal. But then a motion from the door drew her attention. She glanced up just as Lord Reece stepped into the room.

  He paused, lifting a brow as he stared at Jude, who still stood near the center of the chamber, looking every bit like an eager hound waiting for a scrap of meat.

  “Well,” Cerys said, shifting her focus back to the healer. “As you can see, the first of my two invited guests has arrived. You’ll have my decision in a day or two, once I’ve had the chance to review the details with my sister.”

  Jude’s smile remained firm, but inside he felt irked and frustrated.

  “Of course, Princess,” he bowed. “I await your word.

  “Good. Now go.”

  He bowed again, this time with less grace, and backed toward the door, leaving it slightly open as he left the room.

  “Shall I close the door, Your Highness?” Reece inquired as he stood behind his chair at the table.

  “Don’t bother,” Cerys muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Anwen should be here shortly.”

  “I’m surprised she wasn’t already,” the earl remarked as he eased into his seat.

  “I’m sure that useless healer delayed her with some trivial task to keep her out of the way,” the princess sighed, straightening her chair and turning her gaze to him. “He’s too arrogant to hide his envy.”

  Reece hummed in agreement but said nothing more. As usual, he didn’t meet Cerys’s gaze. Though he had been a frequent companion in her bed since arriving at Dunstead, he never looked her in the eyes for long. Whether it was out of fear or discomfort, the princess hadn’t figured it out yet.

  Cerys leaned back, folding one leg over the other as a smile grew on her lips.

  “There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said smoothly.

  “Oh?” Reece murmured, turning his head slightly.

  “Have you ever considered marriage?”

  “It’s not exactly at the top of my list,” he blinked with a small laugh. “I barely have time to think about sleep, let alone a wife.”

  “Would you at least be willing to hear my proposal?” Cerys tilted her head in amusement.

  “I mean no offense, Princess,” he furrowed his brows. “But I sincerely hope you’re not about to suggest a match between us.”

  She laughed, genuinely finding his statement funny.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she teased.

  Reece relaxed slightly, and the tension in his shoulders eased up.

  “If I had a say in who I married,” Cerys continued. “It would be to someone who could overpower me. And we both know you couldn’t pin me down if your life depended on it.”

  “You’re not wrong,” he chuckled openly. “But to be fair, I doubt there are many men alive who would want to try overpowering you.”

  “Actually… there is one.”

  Reece glanced at her, curious by the change in her tone and the faint blush on her cheeks.

  “Is that so?”

  Cerys nodded slowly, tracing the rim of a wine glass.

  “He’s strong. Dangerous. Someone who doesn’t bow or flatter. He’s faced me—and won.”

  “Sounds like a story I’d love to hear,” the earl leaned forward slightly. “Who’s the man brave—or foolish—enough to face a dragon and come out alive? I’m guessing he’s built like a bear… maybe even has a dragon of his own.”

  “Well,” Cerys began with a widened smile. “His name is Sean Higgins. However, he has no dragon—but as you said, he’s built like a bear. Broad shoulders, hands like stone, and a scowl that could silence a room. He’s a general in my father’s army. A few years ago, he came to Dunstead after leading a victorious campaign in the west. The palace was celebrating him, but I couldn’t stop noticing how he kept watching me—not with fear like most men, but with hunger. It made my stomach quiver in the most delightful way.”

  Reece raised a brow, leaning an elbow on the table.

  “I ended up inviting him to my chambers,” the princess continued. “But unlike you—and every other man who’s crossed that threshold—he didn’t kneel between my thighs and try to earn his keep.”

  “He said no?” The earl blinked in surprise.

  “Oh, he didn’t just say no,” she said, crossing her arms. “He refused. Looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘I don’t take orders in the bedroom.’ I was furious. No one denies me. So I slapped him.”

  “That caused a fight,” she went on. “Right there, in front of my horrified ladies-in-waiting. And I could’ve ended it in seconds—unleashed my dragon, used heat to burn him—but when I realized Sean wasn’t holding back, I decided to fight him without help. I wanted to see how far he was willing to go.”

  “And let me guess,” Reece interrupted, half amused, half skeptical. “He pinned you down to the bed?”

  “To the floor, actually,” she replied with a sly grin. “He wrestled me down, tied my wrists behind my back with a cord torn from the curtain, lifted my dress, and proceeded to beat my backside with a belt.”

  Reece’s expression twisted in disbelief.

  “Wait—wait. You let him hit you? When you could’ve burned through the ropes? Snapped him in half? Didn’t it hurt?”

  “Oh, it left bruises,” Cerys admitted as the memory sent a shiver down her spine. “But it was glorious. No one had ever treated me like that. It wasn’t about power or titles. It was just… us. He didn’t see a princess. He saw a woman who needed to be handled.”

  She exhaled slowly, and her smile softened.

  “When I was a sobbing, shaking mess, he untied me, carried me to the bed, and showed me exactly how skilled his mouth and fingers could be. If Sean walked through that door right now, I would drop to my knees without hesitation—beg him to take me, break me into pieces, and rebuild me until I forgot I was royalty.”

  The earl leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

  “Sounds like a lovely relationship the two of you have. So why not marry him?”

  “Oh, believe me—I would, if I could,” Cerys sighed. “But he has no dragon. And that makes him unacceptable in my father’s eyes.”

  “Because your children might not have dragons?”

  “Exactly,” she growled. “My father’s made things very clear to me from the start. If he cannot produce a son with a dragon, then he shall name one of my sons as his heir.”

  “So you have to choose between…uh…love?” Reece frowned. “Or legacy?”

  “I don’t get to choose at all,” Cerys said bitterly. “I’ll be matched to someone who suits my father’s needs. Someone with a dragon. Not a man who makes me feel like the world could burn away and I wouldn’t care as long as he was holding me.”

  Reece hesitated for a moment, then gave a slight smile.

  “Well, if the man chosen for you ends up being a weakling… I suppose you could always keep your general around. You know. For playtime.”

  “Indeed, I could,” she nodded, finally turning her full attention back to Reece. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Specifically… who you should marry.”

  “Ah, yes,” Reece said dryly. “I had almost forgotten how this conversation started. So, go on then—tell me. Who’s the lucky woman?”

  “Anwen,” Cerys said simply.

  Reece stared at the princess as his expression fell.

  “She’s married. To Kohen.”

  “For now,” Cerys replied with a dismissive shrug. “Until he dies out there in battle.”

  “You do know he could come back, right?” Reece questioned, frowning. “Men survive wars all the time.”

  “If he returns alive, my father will make sure he doesn’t stay that way for long,” she stated without a hint of remorse. “Him and the rest of that wretched Salas line. By the time this war ends, they’ll be wiped out and erased from the world.”

  “So you’re telling me…” he muttered. “Not to worry about her being married? Because you’ve already planned for her to be a widow?”

  “Exactly,” the princess nodded. “Anwen won’t stay married. And when that time comes, my father will be looking for someone suitable to take her hand. Someone loyal. Trusted. Someone useful.”

  “And that someone is me?”

  “Let’s consider the facts,” Cerys said, placing her hands in her lap. “You’ve done an exceptional job keeping those nobles who are here for Emmett in line. You have ties to Sylvaris—a kingdom we will soon claim. And once it’s ours, we’ll need help spreading our rule. You will be one of those men who help run things for my father.”

  “And as a reward… I get Anwen?” Reece inquired, arching a brow.

  “Precisely. My sister is not like me. She’s softer. More… manageable. You wouldn’t have to fight for control. You could tie her down and take your pleasures however you like. Sire as many babies as she can carry.”

  “Ah, so what you’re really after is a child,” the earl scowled. “A child with blood from both kingdoms… someone tied to the land by both heritage and loyalty. So that when—not if—when a rebellion happens, there’s someone you can put on the throne. Someone your father can control.”

  The princess’s lips curled slightly, and her eyes sparkled in amusement.

  “Father would prefer if the child had a dragon, of course. But yes, you’ve grasped it perfectly. You marrying Anwen is part of my father’s planning for the future.”

  Reece exhaled slowly before shifting his posture slightly.

  “Would you allow me time to consider it?”

  “Of course,” Cerys nodded. “Marriage is a commitment, after all. I wouldn’t expect you to leap without looking.”

  She reached out for her wine glass, bringing it to her lips before she looked down at the food around her.

  “Why don’t we get started with our lunch? No need to wait any longer.”

  As the maids approached the table to put food on their plates, Anwen stood just beyond the doorway. She was frozen in place, with her back pressed against the wall and her trembling hands covering her mouth.

  She had arrived only a few minutes ago, but stopped when she heard Reece mention Kohen’s name.

  Anwen hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—truly, she hadn’t. But once she understood what they were discussing, her body refused to move.

  They were planning to kill him and use her as a pawn once again.