Myra regains her composure, glaring at me with surprise and indignation. The courtiers murmur amongst themselves, the once-silent spectators now caught in the unfolding drama. Diaval stands beside me, his protective stance unwavering. I can feel his pride through the bond, warm and fierce.
"This changes nothing. The claim is still valid," Myra declares, attempting to regain control.
The elder, who had stepped back, watches with a contemplative expression. His eyes, filled with understanding, meet mine briefly. The courtiers exchange uneasy glances, caught between allegiance to tradition and the unexpected shift in power dynamics. Diaval tightens his grip on my hand. His eyes convey a silent message of solidarity. Whatever challenges may lie ahead, we face them together.
Myra, undeterred, narrows her eyes at me. "You may have a few tricks, but the true claim cannot be undone. You will give me what is owed."
I stand my ground, the newfound strength within me pulsing with quiet but resolute energy. The fear I felt walking into this castle has transformed into something else—something fiercer.
I am not just a pawn in the ancient game of dragons.
I am not the scared girl who runs.
I am a Luna who has discovered the strength that lies within. And I will not let this woman take what is mine.
Chapter 23
Diaval
Pride surgeswithin me as I witness Feray, my sweet mate, finally taking a stand for herself. The mythical bond we share pulses with the echo of her newfound strength, and I marvel at the defensive power revealed by her Luna gifts.
My little wolf just knocked a dragon queen on her ass.
"Let's go. It's obvious we're not welcome here." I position myself protectively behind Feray, ready to shield her from any potential attack. My gaze meets hers, and I see a flicker of gratitude in her eyes.
"You can't leave. I haven't given you permission," Myra bellows from her imposing throne. The weight of her words echoes with centuries-old traditions. But tradition now clashes with a force that refuses to be confined.
"By age and right, it should be me on that throne," I proclaim, challenging the very foundation of the hierarchy. The words taste like freedom on my tongue. I've wanted to say them for five hundred years. The room vibrates with tension. I pass Feray over to Khal and Easton with a silent directive—guard her withyour lives. The urgency lingers as they hurry out of the throne room, leaving me to face the storm alone.
"Males are breeders, not leaders. It's how it's always been and shall always be done." Myra stomps her foot like a petulant child. As the door closes behind my family, something loosens in my chest. They're safe. That's all that matters.
Myra glares at me with anger and indignation. "Your mate may have displayed a parlor trick, but it changes nothing. You cannot escape the ancient traditions that have governed us for centuries."
"Times change, Myra." My words are quiet but unyielding. "I have the right to choose my destiny, and I stand with my true mate." Her eyes narrow, bone plates shifting beneath her face. "You stand against your queen, against tradition. There will be consequences."
I feel the weight of those words—the threat that echoes through centuries of Draconic history. The courtiers wait with bated breath. Let them watch. Let them see what choosing love over servitude looks like.
"Feray is my mate, and I will not bow to traditions that seek to suppress our true potential."
Myra's fury intensifies. "You will regret this defiance. The true order will be restored, and you will kneel before your queen."
I stand resolute. "You may have power, but true strength lies in embracing change."
Myra rises from her throne, her form towering as she tries to regain control. She steps down, eyes locked onto mine. "If you choose the mutt, you are no longer welcome within themountains of Vasserdell." The ultimatum hangs in the air. A sea of dragon eyes fixes on me, awaiting resolution.
With a measured nod, I acknowledge her decree. "So be it."
I turn away, giving her my back—a deliberate act of ultimate defiance. I do not wait for her dismissal, nor do I allow her the satisfaction of having the last word. "You can never return, Diaval. You are a dragon without a flight from this day forward!" My dragon cringes internally at the proclamation. The words slice deeper than I expected. A flight is everything to a dragon—family, identity, belonging. For five hundred years, I've been running from this place, but it was still mine. Still home.
Now it's not.
The ache is immediate and visceral, a hollow space opening in my chest where the connection to my kind used to live. I draw in a deep breath to steady myself, then turn back to face her.
"I may be without a flight," I declare, "but I have a pack that has my back one hundred percent of the time. I am respected and treated as more than just a mere toy."
A genuine smile crosses my lips—the first real one I've worn in this castle in centuries. "Freedom is a beautiful thing."
I glance over my shoulder, watching her fume on her throne. The courtiers exchange whispers that increase to a fevered pitch. The chaos I've caused should keep Myra busy for several hours—time enough to distance ourselves from Vasserdell. As I make my way through the grand hallways, the opulence serves as a stark contrast to the weight of my decision. The stone walls, adorned with intricate carvings, bear witness to the history of Vasserdell. A history that now includes my exile. The word tastes bitter,but beneath it lies something unexpected—relief. I am no longer bound by the expectations that have haunted me for centuries.
