Aenythar's jaws gaped. The world vanished in a blinding flash of searing heat, a rush of displaced air, and then—nothing. No fire. No incinerating pain. Instead, a wave of impossibly thick, acrid smoke slammed into Arin, stealing her breath, stinging her eyes. She gasped, stumbling backward, her hands flailing in the sudden, impenetrable darkness. She couldn't see her own hands, couldn't see the stone beneath her feet.
Chaos erupted around her. The guards, coughing and sputtering, shouted, their voices muffled by the oppressive haze. "Intruder! Blades out! Where in the hells did that come from?"
"What in the fading flame?!" Roen's voice, hoarse with disbelief and rage, cut through the din. He was just as bewildered as she was. He hadn't expected this either.
Arin, disoriented, still couldn't breathe properly. She felt utterly lost in the swirling, suffocating blackness. Where had this smoke come from? Dragons breathed fire, not this choking, otherworldly darkness.
Then, a rough hand clamped around her arm, firm and possessive. She felt a strong pull, dragging her against a solid, warm body. A voice, low and dangerous, breathed against her ear, "Quiet."
Caldan.
The scent of him—smoke, steel, and something uniquely wild—filled her lungs. The feel of his hands, one on her arm, the other settling on her waist, was grounding. Shock, pure and profound, ran through her. He was here. He was real. And in that terrifying, smoke-filled moment, a wave of profound, startling relief washed over her. She was alive. And he had saved her.
The guards paused, their frantic shouts dying down to wary whispers. They could see him now, a dark silhouette, holding Arin close. "Prince Caldan?" one ventured, his voice laced with confusion.
Arin pulled back slightly, twisting her head to look up at him through the lingering smoke. "How…?" she began, her voice a reedy whisper.
He didn't answer. His molten gold eyes, narrowed slits in the gloom, burned into hers. The glare was sharp, a silent command, and it effectively shut her up. He was furious.
Caldan raised a hand, palm outward, a gesture of silent command. And in response, the thick, swirling smoke began to twist, to writhe, responding to his will. It swirled away from them, dissipating slowly, revealing the chaos it had wrought.
Aenythar roared again, a sound of profound confusion rather than fury now. Its magnificent red wings unfurled fully, beating agitatedly, creating small currents in the clearing air. The dragon looked… baffled.
The guards, still coughing and stumbling, circled blindly in the receding haze, blades drawn but useless. They looked like bewildered children, caught in a game they didn't understand.
As the last tendrils of smoke cleared, the full tableau was revealed. Caldan stood there, stark and imposing, Arin still held firmly against his side. Roen, disheveled and furious, stood a few yards away, his sword still clutched in his hand, his eyes wide with shock. Aenythar, hovering above, looked from its rider to Caldan, a low, questioning growl vibrating through the courtyard.
"What in the blazing hells are you doing here, Caldan?" Roen snarled, his voice still hoarse with disbelief. "And what the fuck was that?"
Caldan's gaze, dark and lethal, was fixed on Roen. "I could ask you the same, brother," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to vibrate through the stone. "What were you trying to do to her?"
Roen sneered, glancing at Arin with contempt. "I was getting my revenge, brother. The little viper stabbed me. Again. She needed to learn her place." He gestured to his now-healed thigh. "A commoner. She thinks she can touch princes without consequence."
Caldan took a step forward, dragging Arin with him. His grip on her waist tightened, a silent warning. "Revenge?" he scoffed, the word dripping with icy disdain. "You brought a full-grown dragon, your guards, and your pathetic pride to kill a girl. A girl with no weapon. For a scratch that healed before the blood even dried. A scratch, I might add, that was your fault."
Roen's face flushed a furious red. "My fault? What business is it of yours, Caldan? Stay out of what concerns me! This is between me and the commoner!"
Caldan stopped, his eyes like molten gold, burning with a contained fury that made the air crackle. "She was brought to this castle by me, Roen. Anything that happens to her, or with her, is my business. She is not some toy for you to play with when you're bored. Or when your fragile ego can't handle a bit of defiance."
"You didn't inform your little whore who she could and could not mess with in this castle!" Roen yelled, his voice rising in frustration. "So now, she pays the price! A lesson, for defying a prince!"
Caldan's gaze shifted from Roen to Aenythar. The dragon, still hovering, let out a confused growl—not defiant, but uncertain. It shook its massive head, teeth snapping at the air, as if trying to clear its own thoughts.
Arin, leaning against Caldan's unyielding side, felt a cold suspicion bloom in her mind. The smoke. Dragons didn't breathe that kind of darkness. And Caldan—he had arrived
before the smoke had been exhaled. Had he summoned it? Or had he… become it? Was this his silent dragon, Vaelrix, manifesting? Or some deeper, stranger power within him? She had been to the Crucible Pits. She knew what real dragonfire looked like. This was something else. Something darker.
Caldan took another deliberate step forward, pulling Arin along. His voice dropped, a low, deadly growl. "Arin will pay no price, Roen. Not for this. If you want to fight someone, then fight me."
Before Roen could respond, Caldan's fist shot out. A swift, brutal punch to Roen's jaw. The sound of impact was sickeningly loud, echoing in the quiet courtyard. Roen's head snapped back.
"That's for calling her a whore," Caldan said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
Roen staggered, touching his jaw, his eyes wide with a fresh surge of rage. He roared, abandoning all pretense of a proper duel. He lunged, his sword held high, a wild, uncontrolled strike aimed at Caldan's head.
Caldan didn't flinch. He moved like a shadow, a whisper of motion. He simply stepped aside, fluid and effortless, letting Roen's frantic lunge carry him past. Then, with terrifying speed, Caldan's hand shot out, clamping around Roen's throat.
Arin gasped. Roen's feet left the ground. His sword clattered to the stone, a useless piece of metal.
The guards, their faces pale, their eyes wide with fear and confusion, remained frozen. Aenythar hissed, its magnificent body half-rising, a low, threatening rumble vibrating in its chest.
Caldan didn't even glance at the dragon. His molten gaze was locked entirely on Roen, who choked and thrashed in his implacable grip. His voice, a deadly whisper, sliced through the air. "You will never touch her again, Roen. Never look at her, never speak to her. If I ever hear so much as a whisper that you've crossed her path, I will not only kill you, I will personally see to it that your dragon joins you in the burning pit."
With a sudden, violent shove, Caldan flung Roen across the courtyard. Roen landed hard, sprawling on the stone, gasping for air, clutching his bruised throat.
Aenythar shrieked. Utter rage. The dragon descended from its perch, a massive, terrifying shape, its wings beating the air, creating a powerful draft. Flames, molten and brilliant, began to build behind its teeth, real dragonfire this time, aimed squarely at Caldan.
Arin, despite her pain, instinctively reached out, a choked cry escaping her lips. "Caldan!"
But he didn't move. He stood there, unyielding, his eyes fixed on the incoming fire.
Then, just as Aenythar opened its jaws to unleash the inferno, the air shimmered. Another wave of impossibly thick, suffocating black smoke erupted from Caldan, swirling around him, engulfing him completely.
Everything went still. Aenythar hovered, mid-air, flames still flickering in its throat, its eyes wide with confusion and a dawning fear. It let out a frustrated, questioning roar, a sound that spoke of utter bewilderment. The dragon, that proud, vicious beast, was furious, yes, but also confused, and terrified.
Caldan stood within the smoke, unmoving. He stared at Aenythar through the dissipating haze, a silent challenge in his eyes. The dragon quivered, then let out a frustrated growl, a sound that quickly turned into a mournful wail. With a final, bewildered glance at Caldan, Aenythar turned, its mighty wings beating, and soared away, disappearing into the pale morning sky.
The guards rushed to Roen, helping him up. He shrugged them off with a snarl, his face contorted with fury. He slapped one of them, hard. "Idiots! I told you to make sure he didn't interfere! And what was that? What in the fading flame was that smoke?"
He turned back to Caldan, his eyes blazing with hatred. "This isn't over, Caldan! Not by a long shot! And you," he spat, his gaze raking over Arin, "you better keep that commoner on a very tight leash. Because if I ever get another chance, I will make you beg for the mercy you denied me. I will find her, Caldan. And I will kill her. Slowly."
With that, Roen turned and stalked away, limping slightly, his furious muttering echoing in the quiet courtyard.
Caldan turned to Arin, his eyes, still molten gold, fixing on her. The rage hadn't quite left them. He grabbed her arm, his grip firm, pulling her forward. Arin flinched, a small sound escaping her lips. Her ribs screamed in protest, the pain flaring anew.
His eyes, which had been so full of fury, softened infinitesimally as they swept over her bleeding, battered form. A subtle flicker of something akin to concern. Then, without a word, he bent down, scooping her up into his arms.
"I can walk," Arin protested, her voice weak.
He ignored her, his jaw set. He carried her through the echoing corridors, her head resting against his hard shoulder. She could feel the tremors of his anger, barely contained. He was furious with her. She knew it. She tried to speak, to explain, to offer some justification for her stubborn defiance.
"Caldan, I—"
"Silence," he cut her off, his voice flat, unyielding. "Not one more word."
He reached his chambers, kicking the heavy door open with a resounding crash. It slammed against the wall, rattling the very foundations of the room. He carried her inside, straight to his bed, and gently, almost reverently, set her down.
Arin knew what was coming. The storm. She lay there, her ribs throbbing, bracing herself. And Caldan did not disappoint. He stalked away, his movements sharp, furious. A heavy ceramic vase exploded against the far wall. A chair splintered as he kicked it across the room. A lamp crashed to the floor, plunging a corner into shadow. The sounds were violent, jarring. She watched him, a silent, bleeding observer, waiting for the tempest to pass.
Finally, the smashing stopped. He stood in the center of the room, breathing hard, his back to her, his shoulders rising and falling with suppressed fury.
Arin swallowed, the metallic taste of blood still in her mouth. "Caldan, please, let me explain."
He turned slowly, his face a mask of cold fury. "Explain?" His voice was low, dangerous. "You are in no position to explain anything. You are in no position to defend yourself, Arin. Not after that stunt."
His eyes, dark and piercing, locked on hers. "Take it off."
Arin stared, confused. "Take… what off?"
"Your tunic," he bit out, his voice sharp, devoid of patience. "Now. Or I will rip it from your body."