The Dragon's Silent Shadow
She is the last spark of a dying flame. He is the shadow waiting to catch it.
Princess Saoirse of Aethelgard is dead—or so the Empire believes. When her kingdom falls to Oakhaven’s iron machines, the last Dragon Princess disguises herself as a lowly servant to protect the world's remaining magic. Her goal is simple: infiltrate the enemy capital, rescue her captured cousin, and end the royal bloodline.
Prince Tristan is the Empire’s greatest disappointment. To the court, he is a drunken fool; in the shadows, he is the Viper, a lethal strategist plotting his father’s downfall. When he discovers a "mute" maid with eyes full of murder amidst the ruins, he doesn't expose her. He claims her.
Trapped in the dangerous intimacy of the Prince’s chambers, a deadly game of cat and mouse begins. Tristan knows she is a liar; Saoirse sees the sharp mind behind his lazy smile. As their hatred shifts into a scorching, forbidden attraction, they realize they share a common enemy. But with the Emperor hunting the true Dragon, revealing their secrets could destroy them both.
The Dragon is hiding. The Viper is hunting. Together, they will burn the world.
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Chapter: Chapter 9: The City of Iron and BoneThe water in the copper tub was scalding, steam curling into the frigid air of the North Tower like ghosts escaping a grave.Tristan sat in the high-backed leather chair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, watching Saoirse scrub the gray dust of the Imperial Archives from her skin. She was behind the changing screen, but the silhouette of her movement was visible through the thin parchment—the curve of her arm, the tilt of her head as she poured water over her hair.He took a long swallow of the brandy. It did nothing to numb the image of the diagram he had seen in the black book.The God-Shell. A machine built to eat a soul."You’re staring," Saoirse’s voice drifted from behind the screen."I’m guarding," Tristan corrected, though he averted his eyes to the fire. "Liam is too stupid to check the dust chutes, but Rowan... Rowan will count the footprints in the ash."Saoirse stepped out from behind the screen. She was wrapped in a rough towel, her wet hair slicked back, her skin flus
Last Updated: 2026-01-28
Chapter: Chapter 8: The Dust of Dead GodsThe floor of the North Tower was made of unforgiving basalt, and Tristan felt every inch of it pressed against his spine.He woke with a groan, the morning light stabbing through the single window like a dagger. His neck was stiff, his shoulder ached from where the rug had bunched up, and his head throbbed with the lingering phantom taste of cheap brandy.He opened one eye.Saoirse was already awake.She sat on the edge of the four-poster bed, fully dressed in her gray wool servant’s dress. Her hands were folded in her lap, her posture rigid. She wasn't looking at him. She was staring at the space where he lay, but her eyes were unfocused, lost in some internal calculation.Tristan pushed himself up, his joints popping. The memory of the previous night rushed back—the music, the silk dress, the smell of her skin, and that desperate, reckless kiss.He touched his lips instinctively. They still tingled."You’re awake," Saoirse said. Her voice was flat, stripped of the emotion that had f
Last Updated: 2026-01-27
Chapter: Chapter 7: The Waltz of WolvesThe dress was a scandal stitched in midnight blue silk.It lay on the bed in the North Tower, shimmering in the gloom like a slice of the night sky. It was not a servant’s dress. It was cut low in the back, fitted through the bodice, and slit high up the leg—a garment designed for a mistress, for a woman kept and displayed.Saoirse stared at it, her stomach churning with a mix of shame and nausea. The belladonna drops were already working; the edges of the dress blurred and swam in her vision."Put it on," Tristan said from the washbasin. He was shaving, the razor scraping against his jaw with a rhythmic shuck-shuck."It’s indecent," Saoirse whispered, clutching her rough wool tunic."It’s a costume," Tristan corrected, wiping soap from his face. He turned to look at her. He was dressed for war disguised as a party—black breeches, high polished boots, and a coat of deep charcoal velvet with silver buttons. He looked devastatingly handsome and entirely dangerous."The Iron Lords are he
Last Updated: 2026-01-26
Chapter: Chapter 6: The Spider and the FlyChapter 6: The Spider and the FlyThe silence in the North Tower was not peaceful; it was the breathless quiet of a held lung.Liam’s footsteps had faded down the corridor minutes ago, but Tristan and Saoirse remained frozen beneath the heavy duvet, tangled in a knot of limbs and soot. The broken door hung crookedly on its hinges, a jagged mouth grinning at them from the hallway.Tristan’s arm was still clamped around her shoulders, his hand gripping her upper arm hard enough to leave a mark. His heart hammered against her back—a frantic, bird-like rhythm that betrayed the icy composure of his face."You spoke," he whispered.The words vibrated through his chest and into hers.Saoirse pulled away slightly, creating a pocket of air between them. The intimacy of the position—her leg thrown over his, her chemise riding up her thigh, the heat of his bare skin—suddenly crashed into her awareness. She scrambled backward, hitting the headboard."I had to," she rasped, her voice rough like un
Last Updated: 2026-01-26
Chapter: Chapter 5: The Art of DisappearingThe bruise on Saoirse’s hip was blooming into a magnificent shade of violet, mirroring her eyes.She stared at it in the reflection of the washbasin mirror, tracing the tender skin with a fingertip. It was a gift from Tristan’s training saber, delivered yesterday when she had hesitated during a parry.“You hesitated because you were thinking,” he had said, standing over her while she wheezed on the stone floor. “Servants don’t think. They do.”Three days had passed since the wine cellar. Three days of a brutal, silent education.Tristan did not teach her how to fight like a soldier. He taught her how to fight like a ghost. He taught her how to walk across the floorboards without making them creak. He taught her how to pour wine with a steady hand even when he was screaming at her. He taught her how to stand in a corner and flatten her presence until she felt less like a person and more like a piece of furniture.“Invisibility isn't magic,” he had told her over a dinner of stale bread
Last Updated: 2026-01-26
Chapter: Chapter 4: The Wine and the WoundThe wine cellar of the Imperial Palace was less a room and more a cathedral dedicated to excess.Rows of oak barrels stretched into the gloom, stacked floor to ceiling like the ribs of a leviathan. The air here was cool and smelled of fermentation and dust—a welcome reprieve from the ozone-heavy atmosphere of the War Council.Tristan didn't stop to admire the vintage. He dragged Saoirse past the racks of reds and whites, his grip on her arm unyielding. He didn't speak until they reached the very back of the cellar, where the light from the corridor torches barely reached.He spun her around, pressing her back against a stack of crates."Breathe," he commanded.Saoirse glared at him, her chest heaving. She felt like a kettle boiled dry, the heat of her magic still vibrating under her skin, seeking a release that wasn't there.Tristan stepped back, running a hand through his hair. The fool's mask was gone entirely now. In the dim light, with his shirt collar unbuttoned and his eyes shar
Last Updated: 2026-01-22
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