CHAPTER 85: THE ILLUSION OF SAFETY

Seris had always thought herself clever. Calculating. Brilliant even.

So when the guards dragged her back into the nest like an unruly hatchling, she still clung to that confidence. She kicked, clawed, and spat fireless words, demanding to be released, insisting she had every right to confront the Chancellor himself. The moment they threw her back into her chamber, she straightened her robes, hair a storm around her face, and shouted through the door.

"This is a misunderstanding! I’ll see the Chancellor at once. He will explain everything!"

But no one came.

Instead, the attendants who glimpsed her through the crack of the door looked at her in silence, their eyes shadowed, their expressions grim. Not one of them seemed sympathetic. Not one offered even the smallest bow of courtesy. That look—that silent judgment—made her chest burn hotter than any dragon flame.

How dare they?!

She began pacing the floor, muttering under her breath, steps frantic as her fury spilled into the silence. She rocked in her chair, sat down only to stand again, ears straining for the sound of the usual nightly message. Dinner would bring news. Dinner would bring instructions. The Chancellor always had a plan.

Surely, he would tell her this was all a mistake. Surely, he would reassure her that her time to rise was close.

But dinner never came.

A servant entered with her head bowed low and spoke with a trembling voice. "By order of the Dragon Lord, Lady Seris has been stripped of all privileges."

The words struck her like a slap. Stripped?

She laughed bitterly, then screamed.

She overturned her table, ripped the curtains, and hurled vases against the wall. Her shrieks rattled the halls, and every dragon in the nest heard the storm of her fury.

Hours later, when her chamber looked like the aftermath of a raid, another attendant entered quietly with a tray. On it lay a glass of water, a simple plate of fruit, and sweet buns, still warm.

"The Chancellor bids that Lady Seris eat properly," the attendant said. "How can you rise if you destroy yourself like this? If the others see only a tantrum, will they not grow more resistant?"

Seris froze mid-rant.

The words rang in her ears like sweet music. Her lips curled into a knowing smile.

Yes. Yes, of course. The Chancellor understood.

He was thinking the same way. This was all a ruse. They were pretending. Playing along with these suffocating orders until the right moment.

She sank back into her chair with all the grace of an obedient dragon, plucked a bun from the tray, and nodded sagely. "Naturally. The moment I claim my rightful place, the first to be punished will be those insolent enough to doubt me."

She ate as though the meal itself were a coronation.

But Seris Thorne would never see another dawn.

In the dead of night, while the Dragon Lord and his aide crept stealthily through the nest halls, Seris lay curled in her bed. A red dragon in human guise, her chest rose and fell with even breaths, a picture of restless sleep.

Then her form began to shrink.

Flesh contracted, bones cracked, her tall figure folding in on itself until what lay beneath the blankets was no longer a woman, but a baby dragon no larger than a hunting hound. Had anyone witnessed it, they would have been struck dumb by the sight—the small dragon blinking awake, its eyes empty of thought, gaze void of will.

The dragonling stirred, tottered off the bed, and padded out of the room.

No guards stirred.

No servants gasped.

The child-like form walked unchallenged through the corridor, silent as a dream.

It reached the wading lagoon. The waters lapped gently against the stones, silver in the moonlight. Without hesitation, the dragonling stepped inside.

At once, the surface rippled. Water coiled upward, wrapping around its small frame like a living hand. A bubble formed, encasing the little body, sealing it tight. Then, slowly, inexorably, the water began to swallow it whole.

No cries.

No splashes.

Only the quiet gulp of the lagoon as the dragonling sank beneath, carried away as if it had walked into the depths of its own choosing.

And so it appeared: another dragon had left of her own will.

Far away, in a quiet study thick with shadows, the strings of a zither that usually sang a haunting tune were silent. Tonight, the melody had been replaced by gnashing teeth, sharp and impatient.

"Package shipped out as scheduled."

No praise followed. No instructions. Only a sharp "tsk" of displeasure.

The orb flickered. Died. The nearest bulb burst in a spray of glass.

And in the stillness, the figure bent to annotate a single note in a ledger, the ink dark and final.

Seris Thorne — Relocated.

Meanwhile, in another wing, magic cushioned any possible sounds.

The landing was brutal.

One second, Riley was clinging to Kael’s sleeve and trying not to imagine what might happen if half a portal decided to misbehave. The next, he was face-first against a polished floor, gagging on his own breath.

"Ugh—oh no, I’m going to—" He slapped a hand over his mouth, stomach flipping like a hooked fish.

"Compose yourself."

Kael’s voice was maddeningly calm. Of course, he looked the same. Of course, the golden menace hadn’t even blinked. He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, like they had simply taken a casual stroll through the garden instead of ripping themselves through unstable space.

Riley raised his head just enough to glare. Though he wanted to say something, maybe a long string of curses, it was impossible when he felt like one hell of a roadkill.

In the end, "You’re okay?" was all he could say.

Kael’s eyes flicked to him, then past him. "Because I am not you."

Riley swore under his breath before taking a moment to breathe in and out. So apparently, motion sickness wasn’t part of the things he was now immune to. How totally unfair.

"Oh, thanks, that clears it up." Riley groaned, pushing himself upright. "And for the record, I could have just stayed at the estate where my digestive tract had a fighting chance."

Kael’s golden gaze cut back, sharp and unyielding. "You will not remain there."

That tone. Dark, final, the kind that made Riley’s skin prickle. He blinked, momentarily thrown. "Why not? Your parents are even there. You’ve got a whole estate crawling with dragons. How much safer can it get?"

For a heartbeat, Kael’s expression shifted.

Murderous.

Surprisingly, Riley didn’t feel that it was directed at him. But it wasn’t easy to ignore how he looked past him as if remembering something.

The air thickened around him, and any more and it would likely be hot enough for the walls to peel.

"You don’t know what you are speaking of," Kael said, low, dangerous.

"Don’t ever mistake the clan’s walls for safety. Just because it’s the dragon clan doesn’t mean it’s safe."

Riley’s mouth went dry.

That wasn’t an argument. That was a wound.

He opened his mouth, closed it again. His mind spun.

Was that why Kael never lived in the estate that was actually meant for the dragon lord?

Why he chose to reign from the Ministry instead of the place he was supposed to call home?

But the dragon lord wasn’t offering answers, and Riley wasn’t suicidal enough to pry when Kael’s jaw looked sharp enough to cut glass.

Instead, he swallowed hard and forced himself to stand, wobbling slightly. "Right. Not safe. Got it."

Kael’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t comment further.

Riley clutched his stomach, trying to shake off the vertigo. He couldn’t afford to unravel now, not when they had work to do. Whatever Kael’s history was, whatever ghosts prowled in these halls, there would be time to sort it out later.

For now, the goal was to investigate. Even if his upturned gut protested, even if every instinct screamed that the whole place was some hornet’s nest, he pressed on.