The days that followed were no less dangerous than the Trial.
Aric and Serenya were given quarters within the obsidian spires of the Courts, chambers gilded with firelight and dragon motifs that seemed to watch them as they slept. Yet safety was an illusion. Every corridor whispered with politics, every banquet dripped with venom.
Dragon Lords visited, one by one, their eyes weighing Aric like hunters circling prey.
Lord Kael, a sleek figure with scales the color of midnight, smirked at him across a long table. "A mortal who bends fire. A neat trick. But fire is a fickle mistress. Perhaps it will consume you next time."
Lady Myrrha, her hair silver-white and her smile razor-sharp, leaned toward Serenya with a voice like poisoned honey. "Exile returns with her pet mortal. How quaint. Did you teach him loyalty… or obedience?"
Aric clenched his fists, but Serenya's hand brushed his beneath the table, stilling him. Her expression remained calm, though her eyes promised fire if they pressed further.
That night, as they stood on a balcony overlooking the burning city, Aric exhaled heavily. "They hate me."
"They fear you," Serenya corrected, her scales shimmering faintly in the firelight. "A mortal wielding dragon flame is unheard of. To them, you're an anomaly. An unknown."
"Feels like I'm just a pawn in their game."
She turned to him, her voice low but fierce. "Then be a pawn that turns the board."
Their eyes locked, firelight caught between them, and for a heartbeat the noise of the Courts faded.
But in the shadows below, unseen by them, another Dragon Lord watched. His lips curled into a dangerous smile.