Genuine. Right. A genuine soulmate bond, forged under duress between two people who still barely tolerate each other, to prevent a war. No pressure.
But getting her into his bed would be a start,I think, that desperate, pragmatic voice in my head screaming. The second trial is in two days. We don't have time for a courtship sonnet cycle and long walks in the haunted woods. We have time for a Hail Mary pass.
“I'll help you,” I blurt, the words practically burning my tongue.
His perfect dragon-king face actually cracks for half a second. Blink and you'd miss it.
“Look, I get it. You're probably, like, the Casanova of the dragon realm or whatever,” I say, leaning so far forward my elbows stick to someone's abandoned syrup puddle. “But Dayn. You've been a complete disaster with my sister. You basically magical-handcuffed her, kidnapped her, mansplained her entire existence, and you stare at her like she's some rare heirloom you finally collected. News flash: that approach isn't working.”
He goes full statue on me, those amber eyes calculating something behind them. I can practically hear the ancient dragon abacus clicking away as he decides if I'm worth listening to or if I should be barbecued.
“What do you propose?” he finally rumbles, voice gravelly.
I exhale slowly. “A tactical alliance. You need to save her from the Ides. I need to save her from the Ides. Common ground.” I lean back, chair creaking under my weight as I cross my arms. “So I suggest we begin Operation… GHLDK.”
He frowns. “What?”
“You figure it out.”
21
CHAD
“Get Her Laid by a Dragon King?” I mutter.
“It’s got flair,” Brynn whispers the words from behind the dubious cover of a weeping angel statue, her breath fogging in the cold air, “and it could work. I mean, she already clearly has a thing for him. Something. I saw the way she practically melted into him back in Draethys.”
I keep my voice to a low murmur. “The plan has too many emotional variables to be tactically sound. And, in all likelihood, we have no time to make anything like this work before she completes the trials.”
“But what do we have to lose by trying?” Brynn breathes. “Nothing. Plus, there’s no harm having a… backup option. We could at least get the ball rolling.”
I clench my jaw. “Insanely enough, I agree.”
Even more insanely—ifthat old spirit knew anything about what she was talking about—I think it might be our onlysaneoption.
Ice forms in my gut. All my life, I've walked the tightrope between two worlds—never darkblood enough,never clearblood enough—trying to maintain a precarious balance. Now watching the darkbloods reach for the Ides feels like witnessing someone light a match in a room drenched in gasoline. I should have seen it coming. Each year, each skirmish between the factions has wound the spring tighter, pushed the pendulum further. This was inevitable—the moment when desperation finally outweighs caution.
I just never expected dragons to be the match that finally ignites the powder keg. Them entering the equation feels like some kind of… cosmic mockery.
And Brynn Salem is now the self-appointed director of this farce. A farce I am now bound to by a silver ring in her pocket and the faint, desperate hope that her madness might actually somehow save us all.In her favor, she got us into Draethys.
“Okay,” she whispers, peeking around the angel’s wing again. “Phase One: Proximity. We need to get them alone. Somewhere… romantic? Or at least not actively hostile. Ideas?”
My mind cycles through schematics of the academy. Weak points. Blind spots. Places for an ambush, or an assignation. The two are not so different. “The western battlement is isolated after the evening patrol shift change,” I say, my voice a low monotone. “It offers a clear view of the forest. The wind would muffle any conversation.”
She glances at me, a flicker of a smile in her eyes. “See? This is why you’re my tactical betrayal expert. You think of everything.”
The words are a casual barb, but they land more like a physical blow. I don’t let it show. For the time being, I’m her tool. Nothing more…Albeit a willing tool.
“The problem isn’t the location,” I continue, forcing my focus back to the mission. “It’s the target. Every time Dayn so much as breathes in her direction, she looks ready to go full?—”
As if summoned, Esme appears at the far end ofthe courtyard. She moves with a cold grace, a solitary shadow against the gray stone, heading for the training grounds. The fragility I saw in her earlier has faded; each footfall now seems to land with renewed strength, conviction.
“Right,” Brynn mutters, chewing on her lower lip. “She’s not exactly receptive to grand romantic gestures. Or, you know, basic human interaction.”
I watch Esme disappear into the armory, possibly on her way to the most brutal of the combat simulators, for… whatever the second trial will hold. She’s obviously been briefed already.
“You’re approaching this as a social problem,” I say, keeping my voice low. “It is a tactical one. We don’t need her to be receptive. We need her to be dependent.”
