Chapter 3

Clotilda Robbins POV:

"Princess?"

I looked down at the royal healer kneeling in the dirt, his shoulders shaking beneath his gold-embroidered cloak.

"Get up, Sir," I said, my voice hardening, "I don't know what kind of cruel game the nobility plays in the upper city, but I have no patience for it. Take your glowing paper and go."

Eben Stephens lifted his head, and swimming with tears, staring at me with a reverence that felt heavier than an executioner's blade.

He slowly rose to his feet, carefully tucking the glowing parchment into the velvet lining of his breast pocket.

"Forgive me, My Lady," he said, his voice thick with emotion, clearing his throat as he wiped his face with the back of his linen sleeve. "I have forgotten my composure. But you must understand... twenty-two years ago, the cradle of our house was emptied in the dead of winter. We tore down mountains looking for you."

He didn't wait for my response.

Instead, he turned toward the door, his long strides swift and purposeful.

"Rest here for just a moment. Do not move. Do not let anyone touch the children."

He slipped out into the stone corridor, pulling the heavy oak door almost shut behind him.

Through the narrow crack between the door and the frame, I could see his back, rigid with tension, he reached deep into his robes and pulled out an oval communication dragon crystal the size of a fist.

It was carved from high-grade amber, pulsing with internal fire.Eben channeled his inner dragonfire into the stone.

The crystal flared violently, casting an intense, pulsing orange glow that painted the cracked stones of the hallway in harsh relief.

A high-pitched hum resonated through the air, vibrating so hard my teeth ached.

"Reginald! Germaine!" Eben barked into the crystal, his gentle demeanor completely vanishing, replaced by the commanding authority of a high lord. "Connect the resonance! Drop whatever council you are holding and connect the resonance immediately!"

A second passed, filled only with the crackle of magical static.

Then, a deep, rumbling voice burst from the stone, rough and laced with the crackle of distant thunder.

"Eben? What in the nine hells are you shouting about? We are inspecting the border garrisons for the winter muster. If you are interrupting me for royal hospital politics—"

"I found her, Reginald," Eben cut in, his voice cracking on the name, tears bleeding through his words once more. "I found Tilda."

A sudden, suffocating silence slammed through the communication link.

The silence was so heavy, so profound, that even the distant roar of the wind outside the ward seemed to vanish.

Inside the room, I sat frozen on the cot, my hands hovering over Nora and Leo, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs.

Tilda?

Nobody had ever called me Tilda.

My adoptive parents, the cold-hearted Robins, would always spit out the name "Clotilda" with a disgusted tone whenever they locked me in the laundry room.

Then, a woman's voice shattered the stillness from the crystal.

It was not a refined, polite noblewoman's tone; it was a raw, primal scream that shook the very air in the corridor.

"Where is she?" Germaine Stephens, the Grand Duchess of Dawncrest, roared through the stone, the sheer force of her dragonfire causing the crystal to whine with agonizing feedback. "Eben, by the First Dragon's skull, if you are lying to me, I will rip your wings off! Where is my daughter?"

"Dawncrest Healing Sanctuary. Lower ward. Cell nine," Eben replied rapidly, his voice hardening with righteous fury. "She just gave birth to twins, brother. She is lying on a freezing stone slab, wrapped in rags, abandoned in the Dragonless gutter by that miserable black-stone worm Kraig Harris!"

"Flame-scale Sub-Dragons! All of them!" Duke Reginald's voice thundered through the link, shaking the mortar between the bricks. "Sound the war horns! Mobilize the vanguard! We are taking the sky!"

"Wait, Reginald, the royal treaty—"

"To the void with the treaty!" Germaine's voice snarled, wild and lethal. "My baby is on cold stone! Clear the airspace or I will burn the city gates to slag!"

The connection severed with a sharp crackle of collapsing fire.

Eben exhaled a long, shuddering breath, smoothing his white robes with trembling fingers before turning and pushing the door fully open.

He stepped back into the cell, his presence filling the cramped room like a rising sun.

He didn't look at the dirt on the floor.

He raised his hand toward the ceiling, his amethyst eyes flashing with golden light, and snapped his fingers.

A burst of warm, radiant dragonfire shot upward, igniting the dim crystal lamp.

The sickly green light was instantly banished, replaced by a brilliant, cascading golden glow that flooded the corners of the room, instantly warming the freezing stone and driving out the smell of mildew and blood.

"My Lady," Eben said, his posture straight, his head tilted respectfully. "This damp cellar is unfit for a dog, let alone the true blood of Dawncrest. You are leaving."

"I told you," I stammered, shrinking back slightly from the overwhelming warmth that now enveloped the room, "I have no money for the upper wards. Lord Harris's aide—"

"Lord Harris is an insect," Eben interrupted, his voice dropping into a deadly, flat tone that chilled me far more than the winter draft ever could. "And his silver is an insult to the dirt beneath your feet. You will never speak of cost again, child."

He walked to the doorway and bellowed into the corridor.

"Administrator! Front and center! Now!"

The sound of frantic, stumbling footsteps approached, and a middle-aged man in the velvet robes of the Sanctuary's chief administrator scurried into view.

It was the same man who had sneered at me when Kraig's guards dumped me here three days ago, refusing my pleas for an extra blanket.

The administrator took one look at Eben's golden crest, then at the brilliant golden light radiating from the ceiling lamp, and his face turned the color of curdled milk.

He dropped to his knees so hard his kneecaps cracked against the flagstones, his nose practically pressed against the floor.

"Lord Healer! Exalted Elder!" the administrator stammered, sweat beading instantly across his forehead. "We... we were unaware of your presence in the lower sectors! How may the Sanctuary serve the Great House of Stephens?"

"The Grand Sun Suite on the pinnacle terrace," Eben said coldly, not even deigning to look down at the groveling man. "Have it opened, heated with pure fire-crystals, and dressed in the finest silks within ten breaths. If I find a single speck of dust on the bedsheets, I will have your physician's license burned and your tongue fed to the drakes."

The administrator gasped, his eyes bulging.

"B-but, Exalted One! The Grand Sun Suite is reserved exclusively for visiting Dragon Kings and Sovereign Dukes! The sanctuary code strictly forbids common—"

Eben turned his head slightly.

A terrifying, ancient aura rolled off him, the pure golden pressure of a dragon elder suffocating the hallway.

The air grew so heavy the administrator began to choke, clutching at his throat as he pressed himself flat against the stones.

"Did I ask for a recital of your pathetic codes?" Eben asked softly, each word laced with lethal promise. "Or did I give you a command?"

"Immediately! At once, My Lord!"

The administrator scrambled backward on all fours like a panicked crab before turning and sprinting up the stairs, screaming orders at the top of his lungs.

Eben turned back toward me, the lethal aura vanishing in an instant, replaced once more by that heartbreakingly tender, sorrowful smile.

He stepped over to the trough, gently scooping Leo into his left arm, wrapped in a fresh, warm linen cloth he pulled from his satchel, while extending his right hand toward me.

"Come, Tilda," he whispered softly, his eyes shining with unspent tears. "Let us take you into the light. Your father and mother are already tearing the clouds apart to bring you home."