Chapter 2

Genevieve POV: "I am willing to marry the Sixth Lord." Blaire curtsied gracefully before our father, Alistair, the formidable commander of the wyvern legions. She rose, her face flushed with a strange, feverish zeal. "Father, I had a vision last night. I dreamt that the Sixth Lord ascended to the high throne as the new Dragon King, ruling over the realm. I was by his side, crowned as his Queen, bathed in boundless glory. And when I woke, the royal decree of marriage had actually arrived at our gates… Father, Mother, this must be a prophecy granted by the Dragon Gods. You must let me take the Sixth Lord's hand." "Silence, Blaire!" Alistair snapped, his face darkening like a thunderhead. "How dare you spout such treasonous absurdities? Do you wish to bring ruin upon our house?" Eleanor stared at her biological daughter in horror, as if Blaire had been possessed by a night-demon. Bronson Montgomery, the Sixth Lord? His dragon blood was notoriously impure, his aura so weak that even the lowest eunuchs in the royal court sneered at his existence. The idea of him claiming the Dragon King's crown was sheer lunacy. "That is simply impossible," Eleanor muttered, instinctively shaking her head. "How can you stake your future on a mere dream? If you choose the wrong consort, your life will be entirely destroyed…" "It is true, Mother!" Blaire whined, clinging to Eleanor's arm and swaying it with practiced petulance. "Just indulge me this once! Bronson is healthy and hale—with his dragon-line, nothing is impossible. His lack of royal favor is merely a façade. He harbors formidable power in the shadows. If Father lends him the might of the wyvern legions, he will undoubtedly claim the supreme throne!" After uttering those bold claims, she looked at Alistair with desperate, pleading eyes. Standing quietly in the shadows of the parlor, I watched Blaire's performance with cold detachment. I had heard her feverish whispers to her handmaidens recently—delirious ramblings about a 'past life,' about how I had once ridden the coattails of power to wear the Dragon Crown, and how she was now destined to steal my rightful glory. She genuinely believed she had been reborn with the divine foresight to alter our destinies. She thought she was so clever, intercepting my betrothal to Bronson. She believed he was a hidden jewel, and that by marrying him, she would secure a lifetime of sovereign power. Conversely, she intended to push Jonah Montgomery onto me. To Blaire, the Fourth Lord was nothing but a dying exile, a man whose marrow was being eaten away by the cold poison of dragonsbane, destined to be utterly crushed by Queen Corrin Frazier. She wanted me to suffer the wrath of the Queen's cruel matrons, to be the one forced to walk barefoot over red-hot iron grates on my wedding day like her last life. Let her believe her delusions. She was utterly blind. Blaire saw only the illusion of power. She didn't know that Bronson's so-called 'hidden strength' was hollow, a fragile house of cards waiting to burn without my intellect to guide him. Nor did she realize that the coughing, blood-spitting Jonah was no discarded cripple. Beneath that sickly veneer lay a Golden True Dragon whose soul had already reached the pinnacle of awakening. He was biding his time in the shadows, nursing a bitter blood feud for his murdered mother. And I, bearing the lost ancestral flames of dragon-healing, was more than willing to be the one to hand him the sharpest blade. Alistair scrutinized his daughter's expectant face, his brow furrowing deeply. "Blaire, are you truly certain you wish to wed the Sixth Lord?" She nodded emphatically, her eyes burning with greedy ambition. "I am certain. I will marry none other." "Very well. Then you shall both wait peacefully in your chambers until the wedding day," Alistair said. I didn't miss the subtle sigh of relief that escaped his lips. He was secretly glad he wouldn't have to sacrifice his precious trueborn daughter to a dying prince. He turned to his wife with a stern warning. "The dowries for both daughters must be strictly equal. Do not dare to slight Genevieve. Do not forget, she is marrying the Fourth Lord, whom the Dragon King outwardly cherishes most." Though clearly disgruntled, Eleanor forced a nod of compliance. I maintained my silence, my face a mask of placid obedience. To Eleanor, I was nothing more than a stray cur she had picked up outside a temple when she thought she was barren. I was the 'dragon-less' foundling with no warmth of the ancestral soul, kept around only until she miraculously conceived her precious Blaire a year later. Once I outlived my purpose as a good-luck charm, she had banished me to a forgotten courtyard, out of sight and out of mind. She had no idea that the blood of the ancestral Dragon Gods flowed pure through my veins. Let them coddle their vanity and their foolish dreams of supremacy. Fate had arranged for our weddings to fall upon the very same day, and I couldn't wait to see the ashes Blaire's stolen 'prophecy' would eventually turn into.