The sun had finally risen, painting the eastern sky in shades of pink and gold. A new day was here, bringing with it fresh possibilities and old grievances. I had fallen asleep in the carriage somewhere along the seemingly endless journey to Ferne, exhaustion finally claiming me despite my turbulent thoughts. When I eventually woke, disoriented and groggy, I found myself carefully wrapped in a thick, warm fur blanket—and Arvid sitting beside me in the confined space, quietly watching me with an unreadable expression. He smiled gently when our eyes met, the expression transforming his usually serious face. We had gone through so many dramatic ups and downs in just a few short days of travel together, emotional whiplash that would have destroyed most new marriages. But for now, at this moment, we had made a tentative peace with each other and with the painful revelations that had emerged.
I reached over and opened the carriage window, pushing aside the curtain and letting the cold morning air rush in, sharp and clean. The forest line that had dominated our journey had long since fallen behind us, replaced by seemingly endless farmlands stretching as far as the eye could see in every direction. The fields rolled gently toward distant horizons. Farmers were already hard at work in their fields despite the early hour, bent over their tasks, preparing the land for the coming winter that would soon blanket everything in snow. It was going to be brutal this year—everyone could feel it in their bones, see it in the signs. But the farmers had been blessed with a good harvest this season, their barns and storehouses full. They should be able to endure the harsh months ahead, just as the capital and its people would manage to survive.
Soon, scattered houses began to come into view along the roadside—sturdy brick homes with large, well-maintained front yards. Children were playing outside despite the cold, their innocent giggles and shouts carried clearly by the wind like a soft, delicate melody that somehow managed to reach even my hardened heart. The sound made something inside me… heal, just a little. It reminded me of simpler times, of childhood innocence before everything became complicated. Ferne had always been good, fertile land—and its people were naturally happy, blessed by geography and climate.
The children might have been carefree, lost in their games and laughter, but the adults most certainly weren't. They stood cautiously by the roadside watching the steady march of the massive imperial army with mixed, complicated expressions plainly written across their faces—fear, worry, uncertainty, resignation. They had seen this same army pass through before, just weeks ago on its way north to the capital, so this sight wasn't entirely new or unexpected. Yet they remained deeply wary, watching with suspicious eyes. An army was an army, after all, and armies brought danger regardless of their stated intentions.
By noon, when the sun had climbed to its highest point and begun its slow descent, we finally reached our destination: the imposing castle of the Lord of Ferne. Yoyenne's castle. His entire family awaited us formally at the main entrance, arranged in order of importance and rank, clearly having been warned of our approach.
Lord Yoyenne himself was a completely bald, unpleasantly round man wrapped in what could only be described as an immaculate and excessive amount of expensive fur, practically drowning in it. He was adorned with gold jewelry like a preening peacock—rings on every finger, chains around his neck, even gold thread woven into his robes. His wife, standing stiffly beside him, was dressed no better, equally overdressed and dripping with jewels. Only their daughter had chosen to dress simply and modestly, wearing plain but well-made clothes without excessive ornamentation. Seeing Lord Yoyenne again after all these years made my blood boil instantly—for reasons having absolutely nothing to do with his atrocious fashion sense and everything to do with his betrayal.
As soon as we stepped down from the carriage, our feet touching the cold cobblestones, Lord Yoyenne stepped forward importantly and bowed low, his multiple chins folding.
"I welcome the Emperor of Selon and the Queen of Draga to my humble—"
That was as far as he managed to get before I deliberately activated my Dragon Command, channeling the ancient power that lived in my blood. He whimpered pathetically and collapsed immediately, his legs giving out, flattening himself completely on the ground as if crushed by an invisible weight. What a pity, I thought coldly. He truly had his ancestors' blood running through his veins—I had half hoped he would turn out to be a bastard son with no real ancestors heritage, the ones who swore loyalty to our bloodline by taking the blood oath, which would have made this impossible.
I took my time getting down the rest of the way, in no particular hurry, then walked calmly past a clearly bewildered Arvid who was trying to understand what was happening. I approached the prone Lord Yoyenne with measured, deliberate steps.
He tried desperately to rise, his face reddening with effort and humiliation, but the dragon blood flowing in his own veins kept him firmly pinned to the ground, trembling and completely helpless against the command of a stronger bloodline. His family gasped audibly, shocked and frightened by the sight of their powerful patriarch reduced to this state.
My vision suddenly shifted and sharpened, the world taking on a different quality. I could see it clearly now with my enhanced sight: his wife and daughter also carried diluted dragon blood in their veins, inherited through generations. They instinctively stepped back several paces, their bodies recognizing the threat even if their minds didn't fully understand, frightened by something primal and ancient.
I deliberately placed my foot on his broad back, pressing down hard enough to make my point without actually causing injury.
"So," I said, my voice dropping low and taking on an ancient, resonant quality that didn't sound entirely human, the pride and power of dragons threading through every syllable, "WHAT EXACTLY WENT THROUGH THAT BALD HEAD OF YOURS WHEN YOU DECIDED TO BETRAY US? WHEN YOU BROKE YOUR ANCESTORS' SACRED OATH?"
"Forgive me, my queen—please spare me—" he choked out desperately, his words barely intelligible. I removed my foot from his back and began circling him slowly like a predator, then lifted him off the ground with just a focused flick of power, forcing him to stand on his violently shaking legs. Sweat beaded rapidly across his forehead and ran down his face despite the cold.
"WE DIDN'T HEAR YOUR ANSWER PROPERLY," I told him with false patience, my voice still carrying that inhuman resonance. But he couldn't answer coherently—not with the dragon blood in his body responding to my command, congealing unnaturally around his throat and suffocating him. He gasped and wheezed like a fish dying on dry land, his face turning increasingly purple.
Something ancient and powerful stirred deep inside me, rising from wherever it normally slept. It always rose to the surface when I used the Dragon Command, responding to the call of power. But I noticed with growing concern that each time I used this ability, the presence grew stronger… and colder. More alien. Less human. I really shouldn't let it take full control of my body and mind. I needed to maintain myself.
Arvid approached quietly from behind, his footsteps soft.
"You're going to kill him," he murmured close to my ear, his voice calm but carrying a warning. "Is that what you want?"
I knew that. I was fully aware. And yet the dragon presence inside me was deeply unwilling to release someone who had dared to betray and disrespect it, who had broken ancient oaths. With tremendous effort, fighting against my own instincts and the creature's will, I forced it down and back. When I finally let go of the power, Lord Yoyenne fell hard to the ground with a heavy thud, landing in an ungainly heap. His face was deathly pale, drained of all color. His neck was bluish from lack of oxygen, and an angry red mark was already burning visibly across the skin where the power had constricted. He gasped and coughed desperately, trying to force air back into his starved lungs and breathe normally again.
At last, after several tense moments of watching him struggle, his wife and daughter gathered enough courage to move from where they'd been frozen.
"Please forgive him, my queen!" his wife cried out, her voice breaking. She dropped heavily to her knees on the hard cobblestones, not caring about the pain or the undignified position. Tears streamed freely down her painted face, ruining her careful makeup, her entire body shaking with raw, primal fear. "Please, I beg you!"
"He was just a coward!" she continued desperately, the words tumbling out. "After seeing the imperial army and its absolutely overwhelming size, after seeing how many thousands of soldiers were marching, he panicked completely! Before they could potentially pillage and destroy us, he made the decision to open the bridge—he did it for the people, to protect them from being slaughtered! Please understand!"
She sobbed uncontrollably, her whole body heaving.
"Then he should have immediately informed the capital and sought military aid," I replied sharply, my voice cold and unforgiving. "How dare he unilaterally break the sacred promise his ancestors made generations ago and simply open the bridge without permission or consultation? Does he have no brain in that bald head? No sense of duty or honor?"
"But what good would that have done?" his daughter finally spoke up, her voice cutting through her mother's sobs. She was thin and pale, with long blonde hair and surprisingly determined blue eyes that held no fear. She stepped forward boldly, positioning herself slightly in front of her collapsed father.
"When winter came and the river froze solid, as it does every year, the army would have simply marched across the ice anyway," she said, her voice remarkably steady given the circumstances. "Either way, we would have lost. Either way, they would have passed through Ferne. My father just chose the path that avoided bloodshed."
She was right—I knew that intellectually, logically. Her argument made perfect strategic sense. But my stubborn heart, still grieving and angry, refused to accept it or soften.
"My father only wanted to protect his people from being massacred," she continued, holding my gaze. "Is that truly wrong? Is protecting those you're responsible for a crime?"
She would make a fine lord someday, I thought despite myself. She had courage, intelligence, and the ability to speak truth to power. What a shame she would soon be serving as my personal maid instead.
"So it's acceptable to simply act on your personal whims and completely ignore your ancestors' sacred oath?" I asked, stepping closer to her, invading her space. "To disregard centuries of tradition and promises?"
"I heard he now considers the Ferne lands to belong to the Selon Empire rather than Draga—" I leaned in close and whispered directly in her ear, my breath hot against her skin, "We can't use Dragon Command on you if you've done nothing wrong personally. You're certain about that assumption, yes? Would you like to test that theory?"
I straightened up, pulling back. "Any more excuses or clever arguments?" I asked with a mocking tilt of my head.
She looked momentarily defeated, her shoulders slumping slightly. But that unshakable spark of confidence and defiance remained burning in her blue eyes. She glanced quickly at Arvid, then back at me.
"But I heard that the queen herself married the Selon emperor," she answered with a sarcastic smile that was almost impressive in its boldness. "I wonder which ancient rule and tradition that breaks? Isn't that also a betrayal?"
Ah. She was just like Salime's fiancée—looked like her with that blonde hair, talked like her with that sharp tongue and fearless attitude. And I had truly, absolutely had enough of dealing with women like that.