Elara's POV
The glass cut deeper into my palm as I clenched my fist.
Two days had passed since Zara's visit. Two days of sitting in this freezing cell, watching my own blood drip onto the stone floor. Each drop made the dragon mark on my arm glow brighter. Each drop made me feel... different. Stronger. Angrier.
Like something inside me was waking up.
"Last meal, prisoner," a guard grunted, shoving a tray through the slot in my door.
I didn't touch the food. Couldn't. My stomach was twisted in knots. Tomorrow morning, they'd drag me to the Obsidian Gate. Tomorrow, I'd either die screaming or—
Or what? Free a dragon and hope he didn't eat me?
I almost laughed. Almost.
The dungeon door at the end of the hall crashed open. Multiple footsteps echoed—heavy boots on stone. Too many people for a normal guard change.
Something was happening.
"Bring her out!" a familiar voice commanded. Cassian.
My heart stopped, then started racing. Why was he here?
Guards unlocked my cell and grabbed my arms. They dragged me down the hallway, my bare feet scraping against rough stone. We emerged into a large chamber I'd never seen before—some kind of judgment room deep beneath the palace.
Torches lined the walls. In the center stood a raised platform with a single chair. My father sat in it, looking ten years older than he had at the party. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. His crown sat crooked on his head.
Seraphine stood beside him, wearing my mother's crown and a satisfied smile.
And there was Cassian, arms crossed, watching me with cold amusement.
But they weren't alone. At least fifty nobles crowded the room—people I'd known my whole life. People who'd smiled at me, praised me, pretended to care.
Now they all stared at me like I was a monster.
"Kneel," a guard ordered, kicking the back of my knees.
I crashed down hard, chains rattling. My cut palm throbbed, blood seeping between my fingers.
"We are gathered," my father's voice boomed, "to present final evidence of Princess Elara's treason before her execution tomorrow."
"More lies, you mean," I spat.
"SILENCE!" Seraphine shrieked. She stepped forward, holding a thick stack of papers tied with black ribbon. "These are the letters we found in your chambers. Your own handwriting. Your own seal. Your own treasonous words."
She untied the ribbon with dramatic flair and held up the first letter. "This one is dated six months ago. Let me read it aloud." She cleared her throat. "'Father must die before the coronation. His old ways will ruin our plans. Poison works best—slow and undetectable.'"
Gasps filled the room.
"I never wrote that!" I shouted.
"Your signature is right here." Seraphine showed the paper to the nobles. They all nodded, murmuring agreement.
My father's face crumbled. "Is it true, Elara? Did you plan to kill me?"
"No! Father, please—someone forged those letters. Someone copied my handwriting and—"
"This one's even better," Seraphine interrupted, holding up another letter. "'Once Father is dead, I'll sell the northern territories to the Shadow Kingdom. They've offered five million gold pieces. More than enough to fund my real plans.'"
The nobles erupted in angry shouts.
"Traitor!"
"She'd sell us out!"
"Execute her now!"
"LIES!" I screamed over the noise. "Every word is a LIE!"
But nobody listened. Seraphine kept reading letter after letter. Each one worse than the last. Each one describing horrible plans I never made, terrible things I never said.
And each one had my signature at the bottom.
My perfect, exact signature.
Whoever forged these was good. Too good.
"Wait," I said suddenly, my mind racing. "Let me see those letters."
"Why?" Seraphine clutched them to her chest. "So you can destroy the evidence?"
"No. So I can prove they're fake." I held up my chained hands. "Please. If I'm going to die tomorrow anyway, at least let me defend myself now."
My father hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Let her see them. But guards—if she tries anything, cut off her hands."
Seraphine reluctantly handed over the stack of letters. Her face was confident, but I saw something flicker in her eyes. Worry? Fear?
I took the letters with trembling hands. My blood smeared across the first page as I examined it. The handwriting was perfect—exactly like mine. The signature was flawless. Even the seal looked real.
But something was wrong.
"This paper," I said slowly, "is wrong."
"What are you babbling about?" Cassian snapped.
"I only write on cream-colored paper. Always. Since I was twelve years old." I held up the letter. "This is pure white. I would never use this."
Several nobles leaned forward, interested now.
"That proves nothing," Seraphine said quickly. "Maybe you ran out of your fancy paper—"
"And look at the ink." I pointed to the signature. "It's slightly smudged here. I never smudge my signature. I use a special slow-drying ink that my mother gave me. It never smudges."
More murmurs from the crowd.
"And this seal," I continued, my confidence growing, "is wrong too. See this tiny crack in the wax? My seal doesn't have that crack. It's brand new."
"She's making excuses!" Seraphine's voice rose too high. She was panicking.
"Let me see your seal, sister," I said sweetly. "The one you carry. Let's compare them."
"I don't have to prove anything to you!"
"Then you won't mind showing everyone, right?" I looked at the nobles. "Doesn't she keep a seal on her at all times? The one she inherited from her mother?"
One of the older nobles nodded. "Lady Seraphine does carry a seal. I've seen her use it many times."
"Show them," I pressed. "Show them your seal, Seraphine. Unless there's something you're hiding?"
Seraphine's face went pale, then red. "This is ridiculous—"
"SHOW THEM!" I roared.
The room went silent.
Slowly, shaking with rage, Seraphine reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a golden seal. She held it up for everyone to see.
And there it was—the same tiny crack in the design. Exactly like the one on "my" letters.
"She used her own seal," I said clearly. "She forged everything with her own seal and just changed it to look like mine. That's why the crack is there. It's HER seal, not mine."
The nobles exploded into chaos.
"Is this true?"
"She framed her own sister?"
"But the King already decreed—"
"ENOUGH!" My father stood up, and everyone fell silent. He stared at Seraphine with an expression I couldn't read. "Seraphine. Did you forge these letters?"
For a moment, I thought she'd confess. Her mouth opened. Her eyes darted around wildly.
Then Cassian stepped forward smoothly. "Your Majesty, even if the seal is wrong, that doesn't change the facts. Elara is still dragon-touched. We all saw the mark on her arm. She's dangerous."
"What does that have to do with anything?" I demanded.
"Dragon-touched people are unpredictable," Cassian continued. "Violent. They go mad and kill everyone around them. It's in all the old histories. Your Majesty, regardless of these letters, Elara poses a threat to the kingdom simply by existing."
It was brilliant and horrible. He'd just given my father a reason to execute me even if the treason charges fell apart.
My father looked torn. "I... I need to think—"
"There's no time to think!" Seraphine shrieked. "The execution is tomorrow. Everything is prepared. The people expect justice. If you back down now, you'll look weak!"
"She's right," Cassian added. "The kingdom needs to see strength. Needs to see that treason—and dragon corruption—will not be tolerated."
I watched my father's face crumble. Watched him give up.
"The execution proceeds as planned," he said quietly. "May the gods forgive me."
"NO!" I lunged forward, but guards grabbed me. "Father, please! PLEASE!"
But he'd already turned away. Already left the room. Already abandoned me.
Seraphine knelt beside me, her lips close to my ear. "Did you really think you'd win?" she whispered. "Even if you proved the letters were fake, we'd find another reason. We'll always find another reason. Because you're dragon-touched, dear sister. And dragon-touched people don't get to live."
"Why?" I gasped. "Why do you hate me this much?"
"Because Mother told me the truth before she died," Seraphine hissed. "Your mother—the precious Dragon-Speaker—should have been executed as a child. But she was too beautiful, so the King married her instead. And then you were born carrying her cursed blood." Her eyes blazed. "My mother spent her whole life in your mother's shadow. And I spent mine in yours. Not anymore."
She stood up, smoothing her dress. "Take her back to her cell. Tomorrow, the dragon can have her."
As guards dragged me away, Cassian called out: "Sweet dreams, Elara. Try not to think about burning alive!"
They threw me back into my cell so hard I hit the far wall. Pain exploded through my shoulder. I lay there, bleeding and broken, as their laughter echoed down the hallway.
Tomorrow, I would die.
Unless the dragon saved me first.
I pressed my bleeding palm against the dragon mark on my arm. It burned hot—hotter than it ever had before.
"Please," I whispered to the mark, to the ancient magic in my blood, to whatever god might be listening. "Please let this work. Please let me survive long enough to make them all pay."
The mark flared bright silver.
And somewhere in the mountains, buried beneath three hundred years of chains and darkness, the World-Breaker dragon smiled for the first time in centuries.
He could smell her blood.
He could feel her rage.
And tomorrow, when they brought her to his prison, he would finally be free.