Pryce stared at his reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing himself. Scales covered most of his body now, their dark pattern spreading like frost across a window. Only a small patch on his chest remained unchanged, protected by his mother’s pendant.

Trust in your blood, not their poison. Ragnarok’s voice echoed in his mind.

“Too late for that,” Pryce said, his transformed voice rougher than before. He touched the scales along his jaw, remembering Seren’s kiss and how thoroughly he’d fallen for her deception.

The stolen documents from the war room lay scattered across his bed. Mining surveys, invasion plans, troop movements—all of it pointed to one truth: the Dragonkin never intended to protect Crystal Shores. They meant to strip it bare.

Ash watched from his velvet cushion, whiskers twitching as Pryce paced. Through the window, Skye perched on the balcony rail.

Pryce tore a crucial page from the mining survey, the one showing the vast deposits beneath Crystal Shores. His scaled fingers made the task clumsy, but he managed to fold it small enough to fit in Skye’s capsule.

“Come here, girl,” he called softly.

The gull hopped closer, head tilted. Pryce stroked her feathers.

“I need you to be swift,” he said, securing the message in the leg capsule. “Get this to—”

The door opened. Pryce spun to find Seren. Her eyes fixed on the scattered documents.

“My love,” she said. “What’s this?”

“Mining surveys,” Pryce said, moving between Seren and Skye. “Invasion plans. The truth about what you want from Crystal Shores.”

Seren’s scales flared at her temples as she stepped closer. “You don’t understand what you’ve found, my love. These are merely contingency plans, in case the Seadrake Corsairs—”

“There are no Corsairs, are there?”

A change came over Seren’s face. She moved to the window, her dress catching the dying light of Kaalm’s evening sun. Below, dragons wheeled between Dragon Fang Island’s volcanic peaks.

“We did what was necessary,” she said. “Crystal Shores sits on the largest deposit of dragon-magic ore ever discovered. Did you think we’d let such power remain in the hands of common fishermen?”

Behind her back, Pryce gestured for Skye to take flight. The gull spread her wings silently.

“So the marriage proposal, the transformation . . .” His scaled hands curled into fists. “All of it was just to gain legal claim to my home?”

“Not all.” Seren turned, and for a moment he glimpsed real emotion in her eyes. “I chose you because I saw your potential. Together, we could—”

Skye launched herself from the balcony. Seren’s head snapped toward the sound, her eyes narrowing at the message capsule on the bird’s leg.

“Guards!” she shouted.

The door burst open. Master Kestrel strode in flanked by warriors.

“Foolish boy.” Kestrel said. “Did you think we wouldn’t be watching? That we’d let you ruin everything we’ve worked for?”

Ash darted between legs and disappeared into the corridor as guards moved to surround Pryce. Below, Stormwing’s roar shook the evening air, but the dragon remained penned in her stable.

“The transformation is too far along to stop now,” Seren said. “Why couldn’t you just accept your destiny?”

“Because some of us can’t be bought,” Pryce said, thinking of his father’s empty nets. “Some things matter more than power.”

“Take him to the cells,” Kestrel ordered. “Perhaps some time alone will help him understand his position better.”

As guards seized his arms, Pryce caught a last glimpse of Skye soaring south.

“You’re wrong about one thing,” Kestrel said as they dragged Pryce toward the door. “There are powers worth more than mere dragon-magic ore. Ancient powers, sleeping beneath Crystal Shores. Powers that could reshape the world, if one knew how to wake them.”

Seren shot him a sharp look. “Master Kestrel.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Kestrel said. “By this time tomorrow, the boy will be fully transformed and married to you, my princess. Crystal Shores’ resources will be ours, legally and permanently.”

They led Pryce down torch-lit corridors, deep under the residence. The cells here were carved from the volcanic rock itself, their bars forged from the same metal used to chain Ragnarok.

Remember who you are, the great dragon’s voice whispered in his mind as the cell door clanged shut. Remember before it’s too late.

Evening shadows lengthened in Pryce’s cell. His scales ached with each new growth, creeping steadily toward the last patch of human skin on his chest.

Footsteps approached—lighter than the guards’ usual tread. Jorr appeared at the cell bars.

“Young master,” Jorr whispered, glancing down the corridor. “The princess has ordered the wedding moved to tomorrow’s dawn. Once you’re legally bound . . .”

“Crystal Shores will belong to them.” Pryce moved closer to the bars. “Jorr, I need your help.”

“Anything.”

“My quiver—the one my family gave me. There’s a sapphire sewn into it. A Royal Sapphire.”

Jorr’s eyes widened. “The rarest of gems?”

“Take it to Master Vex. Tell him I’ll trade it for a cure, something to reverse what his potion did to me.”

“But Master Vex never—”

“Show him the sapphire first,” Pryce said. “He’s a collector. He’ll do it for something that valuable.”

Jorr hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll find your quiver and return as quickly as I can.”

As the handler hurried away, Pryce sank onto the stone bench. His transformed fingers felt the scales on his arms, remembering how eagerly he’d drunk Vex’s potion. How completely he’d believed Seren’s lies.

The old magic stirs, Ragnarok’s voice rumbled in his mind. They seek to wake what should remain sleeping.

“What are they really looking for under Crystal Shores?”

Power older than dragons. Older than the world you know. But such power comes with a price.

 ***

Jorr clutched the sapphire in his palm as he approached Master Vex’s laboratory. His knuckles barely touched the door when it swung open.

“What?” The alchemist’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Jorr. “Ah, the stable boy. Come to beg more healing salves for those beasts?”

“No, Master Vex.” Jorr opened his palm, revealing the sapphire. “I’ve come to trade.”

Vex’s breath caught. He grabbed Jorr’s wrist, pulling him inside the laboratory. The door slammed behind them.

“Where did you get that?” Vex reached for the gem.

Jorr closed his fingers around it. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is what I want in exchange.”

“Insolent boy.” Vex’s eyes never left Jorr’s closed fist. “What could you possibly want that’s worth a Royal Sapphire?”

“A cure. Something to reverse the transformation potion you gave Pryce, the soon to be prince.”

Vex’s laugh was harsh. “Impossible. The changes are permanent once they take hold. By morning, he’ll be one of us completely.”

“Then the sapphire goes elsewhere.” Jorr turned toward the door.

“Wait.” Vex moved to block his path. “There might be . . . something. Though its effects are unpredictable.”

“What effects?”

Vex pulled a dusty book from his shelves, flipping through brittle pages. “Drakebane. An ancient formula. It can halt the transformation, even reverse it, but . . .” He traced spidery text with one sharp nail. “The price is high.”

“How high?”

“It induces a death-like sleep. Most never wake. Those who do take at least a day to return. And there’s no guarantee of survival at all.”

Jorr swallowed hard. “But it would reverse the transformation?”

“Oh yes. Quite effectively.” Vex closed the book. “Of course, such a rare potion would require equally rare payment.”

Jorr held up the sapphire.

“I can have it ready in an hour,” Vex said, snatching the sapphire. “But remember, boy—if anyone asks where you got it . . .”

“I know. I was never here.”

Vex turned to his workbench, already pulling out vials and powders. “One hour,” he said without looking back. “And tell your friend to choose wisely. Death, even temporary, is not a fate to be chosen lightly. He could even be buried alive.”

***

Hours crept by. Pryce dozed fitfully until hurried footsteps woke him. Jorr returned, his face grave in the torchlight.

“Master Vex agreed,” Jorr said, “but there’s something you should know.” He glanced down the corridor again. “The reversal potion—he calls it Drakebane—it will stop the transformation, but . . .”

“But what?”

“It puts the drinker into a death-like sleep. Most never wake up. Those who do, he says it takes at least a day, maybe more.” Jorr gripped the cell bars. “And there’s no guarantee you’ll wake at all.”

Pryce touched his mother’s pendant. “If I seem dead, they can’t force the marriage. Can’t use me to claim Crystal Shores.”

“But young master, the risk—”

“Would you rather I become one of them completely? Help them destroy my home?” New scales crackled across his neck. “How long until the transformation is permanent?”

“By dawn,” Jorr said. “Master Vex was very clear about that.”

Pryce stood. “Then we don’t have much time. Did you bring it?”

Jorr withdrew a small vial filled with swirling silver liquid. “Are you certain about this?”

“No,” Pryce admitted. “But sometimes the only way forward is through the dark.” He reached for the vial. “Thank you, Jorr. For everything.”

“What should I tell them—when they find you?”

“Tell them . . . nothing. They will assume I died from the transformation.”

Pryce unstoppered the vial. “And Jorr? If I don’t wake up, make sure my mother gets her pendant back.”

Before doubt could stop him, Pryce lifted the vial to his lips. The Drakebane went down like liquid ice, freezing him from the inside out. He handed the vial back to Jorr before his legs buckled.

Jorr caught the vial and backed away as Pryce collapsed onto the stone floor. The cold spread through his limbs. His vision dimmed, the cell fading to gray, then black.

He sank into darkness deeper than any night, but awareness remained. Time passed strangely in his frozen state. Guards changed shifts. Torches guttered and were replaced.

“Prisoner check,” a gruff voice called.

Footsteps approached his cell. A sharp intake of breath.

“By the depths—get the captain! The prisoner’s down!”

More footsteps. Urgent voices. Someone rattling the cell door.

“Don’t touch him,” a captain ordered. “Get Princess Seren and Master Vex. Now!”

Time slipped again. How long before the princess arrived? Minutes? Hours? Pryce floated in the darkness until Seren approached.

“What happened?” Seren demanded.

“Found him like this, Your Highness,” the captain said. “Not moving. Not breathing.”

“Move aside.” Master Vex’s voice now. Cold fingers pressed against Pryce’s throat. “No pulse. The transformation must have been too much for his mixed blood. I warned you this could happen with one of his heritage.”

“No.” Seren’s voice cracked. “No, check again! He was fine at evening bell.”

“The change accelerated too quickly,” Vex said. “His Shorling blood rejected it entirely.” The alchemist’s cold fingers probed Pryce’s scales. “Fascinating reaction though. I’d like to examine the body—”

“This ruins everything.” Seren’s dress rustled as she paced. “Captain, bring Father Blackwood here immediately. We’ll perform the ceremony now, before he’s completely gone.”

“Your Highness,” the captain shifted uncomfortably, “you can’t marry a dead man.”

“Now!”

The captain hurried away. Seren knelt beside Pryce’s body, her fingers stroking the scales on his face. “Hold on, my love. Just a few moments more.”

Master Vex cleared his throat. “Princess, I must point out that he has no pulse.”

“Be silent.” She stood as new footsteps approached.

Father Blackwood appeared at the cell door, clutching his ritual book. The elderly priest’s eyes widened at the sight of Pryce on the floor. “Your Highness, surely you don’t mean to—”

“Begin the ceremony,” Seren commanded. “We’ll make this quick.”

“But . . .” The priest glanced at Pryce’s still form. “My lady, he cannot speak his vows. Without mutual consent—”

“He consented earlier today. These witnesses can confirm it.” She gestured to the guards. “Now begin.”

Father Blackwood opened his book with trembling hands. “As you wish, Your Highness. Though I must note in the record that the groom appears . . .  indisposed.”

“Make your notes, but speak the words. The law requires a ceremony, and we will have one.”

The priest’s voice quavered as he began. “We gather here in this . . . unusual circumstance, to join—”

“Skip the pleasantries,” Seren snapped. “Get to the binding words.”

Master Vex moved closer to examine Pryce’s scales. “Fascinating. They’re already beginning to fade. Once death truly sets in—”

“Continue, Father!” Seren’s composure cracked.

Father Blackwood spoke the ancient words. Through the darkness of his frozen state, Pryce felt Seren’s hand grasp his limp one.

“Do you, Princess Seren of the Dragonkin, take this man—”

“Yes,” she said. “Now pronounce it done.”

“My lady,” Father Blackwood’s book snapped shut. “I cannot. The law requires both parties to speak their vows. Even with witnesses to his prior consent, a marriage ceremony requires the groom to be . . . well . . . alive.”

“Then perhaps I should explain this differently.” Seren’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Either you will perform this ceremony, or I will personally introduce you to my dragons. I hear they’re particularly hungry this time of year.”

Father Blackwood glanced between Seren and the motionless form of Pryce, as he reopened his book. “I . . . I suppose there are some . . . alternative interpretations of the law that could apply in this . . . unique situation.”

“I thought you might see it that way,” Seren said.

The ceremony proceeded with unusual haste, Father Blackwood spoke the sacred words. When it came time for the groom’s responses, Seren answered firmly in Pryce’s stead, her voice brooking no argument from the priest.

As soon as the final blessing was pronounced, Seren turned to the small gathering of witnesses. “Lord Pryce is unfortunately feeling quite ill and will need to rest through the celebration,” she said. “I trust you all understand the need for discretion regarding his absence from the festivities. We wouldn’t want to worry anyone unnecessarily about his health, would we?”

The witnesses nodded.

The captain bowed deeply. “My congratulations to you and Lord Pryce on your union, my lady. I trust the arrangements we discussed for the estate’s continued management are still to your satisfaction?”

“Indeed they are, Captain. Without this marriage, the mining operations have no legitimate claim. The Shorlings will resist.” Seren inclined her head gracefully. “And now, if you’ll excuse us, I must see to my husband’s comfort.” She turned to the guards. “Take him to the cold storage beneath the kitchens. Tell no one of his death until I decide how to proceed. Captain, seal off this section of the dungeon. Master Vex, you will speak of this to no one.”

“But the specimens I could gather—” Vex began.

“You’ll have your chance to study him later,” Seren said. “For now, silence. If word reaches Crystal Shores that their precious son died during our ‘training,’ it will only make taking the village harder.”

“And the lad’s storm drake?” the captain asked. “It’s been fighting the chains since he collapsed.”

“Keep it restrained. Double the guards if you must. That dragon is too valuable to lose.”

Footsteps retreated, leaving Pryce alone in his darkness. He tried to move, to open his eyes, but his body remained frozen. Only his mind drifted, caught between wake and sleep.

Rough hands lifted Pryce’s limp body as he was carried through the corridors, ascending stone steps. The air grew warmer, filled with kitchen smells, then cold again as they descended to some lower chamber. They laid him on what felt like a stone slab.

“Poor boy,” a cook whispered. “They should never have tried to change him.”

“Quiet,” someone said. “The princess ordered silence.”

The door closed, leaving Pryce in total darkness.