Cerys stood outside her father’s study, her patience thinning with every passing second. The guards had knocked well over a minute ago, yet no one had answered. The muffled screams from within confirmed her father was inside, though clearly busy. Crossing her arms, she exhaled loudly, tapping her fingers against her elbow. Another minute passed before she glared at one of the guards, jerking her chin toward the door. He hesitated but obeyed, banging his fist against the wood once again.

  Finally, the door swung open, revealing a young woman with flushed cheeks. Her dress was pulled down around her waist, exposing her breasts. She averted her gaze as she stepped aside, bowing her head to the princess. Without sparing her a glance, Cerys walked inside.

  The study reeked of wine, sweat, and iron. Her parents were sitting in high-backed chairs positioned in front of the far wall, where another woman was chained up naked. She had welts crisscrossing her back, and fresh blood flowed out from the wounds. A palace guard stood off to the side, readying his whip for another strike. Two more maids stood behind the king and queen, half-dressed and their heads bowed.

  Cerys barely blinked at the scene. It was nothing new. Her parents loved to toy with the servants, alternating between pleasure and torture as they saw fit. If the women were lucky, they were merely fondled and sent away. Otherwise, the whips would come out. And when mistakes—real or imagined—were made, pain was always the price.

  The princess approached her parents, stopping once Arnav looked at her. He held up a hand, and the guard stopped the whipping. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the cries of the chained woman.

  “What is it, Cerys?” Arnav growled in displeasure as he grabbed a nearby glass. He drank from it before speaking again. “Your mother and I are quite busy.”

  “Your Majesties,” the princess greeted with a curtsy. “I’ve come to inform you that Emmett has arrived.”

  “And?” Kendra, her mother, scoffed. “We knew he was coming.”

  “Yes, but he arrived barely alive,” Cerys continued bluntly. “Henrik and Kohen gave him five days’ worth of Anwen’s medicine in one sitting—overdosing him.”

  Arnav’s expression darkened as he handed his glass to one of the topless maids.

  “When?” He demanded loudly. “Neither of them mentioned this in their reports.”

  “From the looks of him, I’d say at least a month ago,” Cerys answered calmly, unbothered by her father’s raised voice. “He’s little more than a walking skeleton, and his mind is so broken that he speaks of Yasmin as if he had just seen her. There’s no chance we can present him to the nobles and soldiers who believe they’re supporting him.”

  Arnav’s jaw tightened as scales rippled across his skin. Abruptly, he stood from his chair, storming over to the table in the center of the room. He seemed to look down at the map and papers for a moment before grabbing onto a paperweight and tossing it at a wall. It shattered on impact, causing the maids to jump from the sound.

  “Those useless fools!” He snarled, clenching his fists. “Where are Henrik and Kohen now? Bring them here this instant!”

  “The old lord is currently bleeding out in the front hall,” Cerys said with a dramatic sigh. “Kohen, however, decided to stay behind in Jux… to remain useful for the time being.”

  Arnav exhaled through his nose, sending steam up into the air. He glanced over to his wife, who merely smirked as she swirled the wine in her glass.

  “Well,” Kendra mused. “At least one of them had the sense to salvage this mess.”

  “Yes, let him die in battle so he can have an honorable death,” Cerys scowled sarcastically. “Lovely.”

  “Oh, don’t pout,” Kendra scolded as she frowned at her daughter. “It’s unbecoming of a princess. If you wish to punish Kohen, go whip Anwen. Or cut off some of her fingers and send them to him instead. It will hurt him just the same.”

  “No,” Arnav interjected while rubbing his forehead.

  “Husband…” the queen growled as she narrowed her eyes, irritated at how he seemed to want to protect his bastard child.

  “I said no,” Arnav repeated with a quick glance at his wife. “We may yet be in need of Anwen’s skills. If anyone can make Emmett sensible enough to be of use, it’s her. She’s the one who created the drug used against the prince—perhaps she can undo its effects.”

  “Shall I send someone to fetch her, Your Majesty?” Cerys inquired with a raised eyebrow.

  “No. You will go yourself,” the king ordered as he pushed away from the table. He went over to the chained woman, running a hand along her damaged back. She flinched at the touch but did not make a sound.

  “You will speak to Anwen,” he continued, glancing at Cerys. “Tell her what has happened and ensure she understands the importance of loyalty. How you do it does not concern me—I only care that she comprehends what is required of her and what will happen should she fail.”

  Arnav inhaled deeply, savoring the metallic scent of blood that lingered in the air. Then, without another word, he extended his free hand, and the guard obediently placed the whip into his grasp. The king stepped back, positioning himself behind the chained woman.

  “Go now,” he said, glancing back at Cerys. “And do not return for the rest of the day. After I finish venting my frustrations on this girl’s back, I intend to bend your mother and the maids over the table, fuck them, and fill each with my seed.”

  “Then, happy breeding,” the princess replied as she inclined her head. She turned to her mother, offering a quick curtsy before heading out of the study, leaving just as the sound of the whip and the woman’s scream filled the air.

  Cerys walked across the palace, leaving behind the grand corridors as she entered the oldest part of the structure. This wing had been neglected, with dust covering every surface. It was the servant’s quarters, and her parents had never seen a reason to renovate the area. Guests would never wander down these halls, and neither would the princess—under normal circumstances. Yet here she was, going to the farthest room, where Anwen had been set aside like an unwanted toy.

  This had been her mother’s doing. Kendra despised the sight of Anwen, who was a living, breathing reminder of her greatest failure. While the palace maids—weak human women—had given Arnav bastard after bastard, Kendra only had Cerys. No Sons…

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Yet, of all the king’s illegitimate children, only two had inherited his dragon’s blood—Anwen and a boy named Declan. Because of that, they were the only bastards Arnav chose to acknowledge. The rest? Forgotten. Sent away to the furthest corners of the kingdom.

  But possessing a dragon had never guaranteed survival for the bastard children. Declan had learned that at the age of fifteen.

  No one spoke of it outright, but it was widely assumed that Kendra had been the cause of the boy’s death. And truly, who would have blamed her? She was the queen, but Declan’s existence meant that Arnav finally had a male heir. Rather than shoving him into the shadows like Anwen, Declan had been given privileges mirroring that of a royal-born prince. He had been dressed in the finest clothes, paraded before the nobles, and given chambers fit for his status.

  However, whether or not he realized it, Declan was a threat—to Cerys, to Kendra, to everything they had. And so, the queen had done what she must.

  No punishment had ever touched her, though. In his grief, Arnav had tortured and executed two of Kendra’s ladies-in-waiting, but beyond that? Nothing. His sorrow had not kept him from his wife’s bed, nor did it stop his desire to have another child with her. Even with the queen in her late thirties, they were still trying for a son.

  Cerys finally reached the door at the very end of the hall, where two guards stood at attention. They straightened as she approached, offering the princess a slight nod of their heads. Yet, neither man spoke. They knew better. Cerys was prone to anger like her father, and any wrong word would mean losing one’s tongue, if not more. Instead, one of the guards put his hand on the door, pushing it open for the princess to enter.

  Anwen’s room was small and barely fit for a servant, let alone a daughter of the king—bastard or not. Only two narrow windows allowed slivers of light into the room, and the small hearth off to the side was empty. Cerys looked over the chamber before settling on the woman curled up on the bed. Anwen was beneath a thin pile of blankets, tucking her knees into her chest in an attempt to get warm. Though Cerys couldn’t feel the chill in the air, she could see the mist rising from her breath as she exhaled.

  Pathetic creature… her dragon mused within her.

  Cerys almost smirked at the comment but kept her expression composed. Before she could respond, Anwen stirred, finally looking up from her miserable little nest of blankets. The older girl blinked in the low light, her face barely visible through the strands of unkempt hair that fell around her shoulders. When her eyes landed on Cerys, she jumped out of the bed, scrambling to her feet.

  “Y-Your Highness,” Anwen stammered. “I—I am sorry. I did not hear you come in.”

  Cerys tilted her head, feigning concern as her gaze crossed the room again.

  “Your chamber is so dark and cold,” she remarked with pretend sympathy. She turned quickly to the doorway, frowning toward the guards. “Why is there no fire in my sister’s hearth? You should be ashamed of yourselves. Go on, fetch her some wood. Now!”

  The guards bowed quickly before rushing off to obey. They knew better than to question Cerys’s display of concern. This was all part of a game, one that Cerys and Arnav played well. Anwen would be left to rot for weeks at a time, surviving on scraps and neglect, but the moment she became useful, the illusion of care and kindness came out.

  As the guards disappeared down the hall, Cerys turned back to Anwen with a warm smile. Her dragon stirred beneath her skin, creating scales that rippled across her neck and shoulders. Steam rose in the chilled air as her dragon’s heat filled the room, warming the space as she stepped forward. Reaching out, Cerys took Anwen’s hands in hers, noticing how cold they were.

  “Oh, my sister,” she murmured affectionately. “Why are you so cold? Why did you not ask for firewood or warmer blankets?”

  Anwen’s fingers twitched in her grasp, and she hesitated to answer.

  “I did not wish to seem ungrateful for what I had by asking for more.”

  “Nonsense,” Cerys scoffed, shaking her head. With tender care, she lifted Anwen’s hands and placed them against her own cheeks. “You’re my favorite sister. I wouldn’t want you to suffer.”

  A lump formed in Anwen’s throat, and her eyes fluttered shut briefly as warmth seeped into her frozen skin. She lived for these moments, for the rare glimpses of affection and belonging. Even if they were fleeting, even if deep down, she knew they were a fake—it didn’t matter.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally whispered as her heart pounded painfully in her chest. “I’ll speak up next time.”

  “Good.” Cerys smiled, finally releasing her grip. “Why don’t you come for a walk with me? I’m sure by the time you return, your room will be nice and comfortable.”

  Anwen hesitated before nodding.

  “That would be nice, thank you.”

  Turning, she crossed the room to retrieve her cloak, wrapping the thin fabric around her shoulders. Though the material was worn and barely provided warmth, she clutched it tightly. Cerys watched her with only a smile before extending an arm toward the door.

  “Shall we?” She inquired sweetly.

  Anwen took a deep breath and stepped forward, following her sister out into the corridor.

  “Did you hear that Emmett has arrived?” Cerys inquired as the two princesses walked through the palace.

  “I had not,” Anwen admitted, shaking her head. She kept her gaze forward, though her fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of her cloak. “I assume everything has gone according to yours and Father’s plans if he is here?”

  “For the most part,” Cerys muttered, pressing her lips into a thin line. Though she tried to hold back, her expression darkened ever so slightly.

  Anwen’s pulse quickened. She knew that look and had seen it countless times before. It was the look Cerys had when things did not go precisely as she intended or when someone had failed to meet her impossibly high standards.

  “What happened?” She questioned hesitantly.

  Cerys scoffed to herself, barely restraining her fury.

  “Well, Emmett arrived looking like he was ready to meet the Creators,” she said as she clenched her fists at her side. “It seems your husband and Henrik can’t follow the simplest instructions regarding the medicine.”

  At the mention of her husband, Anwen’s heart slammed against her ribs.

  “What… what did they do?” She inquired, dreading the answer. If Kohen had displeased Cerys, if he had failed in whatever task had been assigned to him, then he could very well be dead. And though Anwen had mentally prepared herself for that possibility, the thought of losing him—of knowing for sure—felt like a knife twisting deep into her chest.

  “Apparently, after Emmett missed five days of the medicine, they decided to give him five doses at once!” Cerys shouted, throwing her hands up in the air.

  “And Emmett’s… alive?” Anwen queried as her steps faltered and her blood ran cold. She struggled to understand how anyone could survive that much of the toxins she created.

  “Barely,” Cerys scoffed before she stopped walking to face her elder sister. “But that’s where you come in. I need your help to reverse the damage done to Emmett—at least enough so that he can hold a coherent conversation. Without your intervention, we could lose the support of nearly two thousand soldiers and a dozen noble families who believe they are backing Emmett’s claim.”

  “I… I can try,” Anwen replied as she swallowed hard. “But I would need to evaluate him first.”

  “Of course,” Cerys nodded approvingly. “Feel free to access the healing hall and the library. Whatever resources you require, you have my permission to use. But you must understand this task is of the utmost importance. If you—”

  “I won’t disappoint,” Anwen interrupted, holding her sister’s gaze though it scared her. “I swear it.”

  “Good,” Cerys replied with a satisfied smile. “Perhaps you could be of better use to Drurus than your husband and his family have been.”

  Anwen’s stomach twisted once again. She dropped her head, suppressing the urge to cry as she tried to speak.

  “Is… is he—”

  Cerys rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand.

  “Kohen is very much alive,” she sighed, as if the matter had little consequence. “He remained in Jux to serve on the front lines. You should be proud of him.”

  Relief flooded Anwen so quickly that her knees nearly buckled.

  “Henrik, on the other hand,” Cerys continued casually. “Has met his end.”

  Anwen’s eyes snapped up to her younger sister, who merely stared at her with wild, fiery eyes.

  “I hope you understand the importance of this task,” Cerys said simply as the space around them became unbearably hot. “Because dragon or not, the consequences of failing me—or our father—will be severe.”

  Anwen’s mouth went dry, and she could only nod in response.