Chapter 7

In the heart of the Western Mountains, the Black Iron Castle rose like an open wound in the landscape. Its towers were irregular, made of volcanic stone and twisted metal. Red and black banners fluttered in the cold wind. Inside the council chamber, lit only by green torches that never burned out, Lord Vortigern slammed his fist on the massive oak table with such force that cracks spread across its surface.

“That whore is giving herself to demons!” he roared.

His voice echoed off the stone walls. Vortigern was a tall, middle-aged man with sharp features and a neatly trimmed beard streaked with gray. His eyes were gray and cold as steel blades. He wore a black doublet embroidered with golden serpents — the symbol of his house. Around the table sat his closest advisors: General Draven, Chancellor Aldric, and, seated slightly apart in the shadows, Malachar himself.

The sorcerer wore a dark purple robe. His skin was excessively pale, almost translucent, and black veins ran across his neck and hands. His eyes were completely black, with no visible white.

Vortigern slammed the table again.

“Bring me proof! I want to see everything. Every moan, every indecent position, every spurt from those monsters inside her. I will use this to force her to marry me… or burn her as a witch in the central square of FeWard!”

General Draven cleared his throat, uncomfortable.

“My lord, Princess Irmak has the support of much of the nobility. Accusing her of witchcraft without irrefutable proof could spark a rebellion.”

Vortigern turned to him with fury.

“Proof? I will have better proof than anyone could dream of! Malachar!”

The sorcerer slowly raised his head. A thin, cruel smile curved his lips.

“The observers have just arrived, my lord. They brought something… special.”

With a wave of his hand, Malachar summoned the three beings. They materialized in the center of the room, kneeling. The black glass vial floated to the table, landing in front of Vortigern. Inside it, the liquid shimmered with iridescent shades of gold, silver, and crimson — the combined essence of Irmak and the twin dragons.

Malachar snapped his fingers. A crystal sphere appeared above the table, projecting perfect holographic images of the scene in the forest.

The councilors watched in horrified, fascinated silence as the scene unfolded in vivid detail: Irmak on all fours, being taken from behind by Átila while she sucked Kuzey. Irmak riding Kuzey while Átila took her anally. Irmak screaming in pleasure, fluids running down her thighs, her body marked by bites and claw scratches. Her moans echoed through the council chamber as if she were there with them.

“By the gods…” murmured Chancellor Aldric, turning pale.

Vortigern, on the contrary, smiled. A slow, predatory smile full of lust and hatred.

“Look at her,” he said, approaching the sphere. “The pure and untouched crown princess. Moaning like a cheap whore between two beasts. This is better than I could have imagined.”

He turned to Malachar, his eyes gleaming.

“Can you amplify this? I want the entire kingdom to see it. I want them to see how she spreads her legs for monsters. I want them to hear every ‘ah… gods…’ she let out while being fucked.”

Malachar tilted his head.

“I can, my lord. But there is a price. Dragon magic is ancient and powerful. Using it openly may alert the twins. They will feel the profanation of their seed.”

Vortigern dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand.

“Let them feel it. The war has already begun. I plan to marry Irmak and, through her, control the throne of FeWard. Her father, the king, is being slowly poisoned by your hand, Malachar. When he dies, I will be the regent. And if Irmak resists… well, a pyre cleanses a witch’s reputation very well.”

General Draven slammed his fist on the table, more restrained than his lord.

“My lord, the twin dragons are not mere monsters. Ancient reports say they are the sons of one of the Great Ancestral Dragons. If we provoke them openly, we may be bringing destruction upon the entire kingdom.”

Vortigern turned to him with contempt.

“Then we will destroy them first. Malachar, you said you have a plan.”

The sorcerer stood up. His voice was smooth, almost hypnotic.

“Yes. The observers did not only record images. They collected essence. I can create a blood curse. One that will make the dragons’ semen inside her burn like acid if she does not submit to your will, Lord Vortigern. I can also fabricate witnesses. Peasants who will swear they saw Irmak performing demonic rituals in the forest. I can even corrupt some of her own guards to claim she seduced them with dark magic.”

Aldric frowned.

“And what about the king? He still breathes. If he discovers we are poisoning him…”

“He won’t discover it,” Malachar interrupted. “The poison is slow. It acts like a natural disease. In three moons, he will be dead. Vortigern will marry the widowed princess and assume full control.”

Vortigern walked over to the narrow window, gazing at the dark mountains.

“I want her. I have always wanted her. Ever since she was sixteen and publicly rejected me at the winter ball. Now she will pay. I will make her watch while I burn those two dragons alive. Then I will make her kneel before me and beg me to take her. And when she is pregnant with my heir, I will remind her every night of how she moaned for monsters.”

One of the spectral observers let out a high-pitched giggle.

“She moaned a lot, my lord. ‘Ah… gods… more…’ She said that many times.”

Vortigern clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

“Silence, you abomination.”

He turned back to the group.

“I want a complete plan by dawn. Draven, mobilize the Iron Legions. Five hundred men to surround the Ebony Forest. Aldric, prepare the documents accusing her of witchcraft. Malachar… I want you to create something special. A corrupted mirror of truth. Something that, when shown to the royal council, reveals only the most degrading parts of what she did.”

Malachar smiled, revealing blackened teeth.

“It will be done. But I suggest we send more observers. I want to see if she seeks the dragons again tonight. The more material we have, the stronger her public humiliation will be.”

Vortigern nodded.

“Do it. And send a raven with a message to her father. Tell him I have discovered a conspiracy involving the princess and demonic forces. That should hasten his decline from worry.”

The three observers dissolved once more into smoke, returning to the forest to continue their obscene vigil.

In the chamber, silence fell for a moment. Then Vortigern spoke again, his voice low and laced with venom:

“She thought she could give herself to dragons and escape unpunished. But I will turn her into the kingdom’s greatest whore… or its greatest martyr. It depends only on how well she behaves once I have her on her knees.”

Malachar inclined his head.

“And if the dragons come for her? If they decide she belongs to them?”

Vortigern smiled coldly.

“Then we will have a war worthy of songs. And in the end, I will have the princess, the throne, and the heads of those two monsters hanging above my throne.”

He raised the vial containing the shimmering essence, turning it against the green light of the torches.

“It begins now. The espionage is over. The war begins.”

***

Far away, in the forest clearing, Irmak slept deeply between the warm bodies of Kuzey and Átila, unaware of the red eyes that once again materialized among the trees, watching every breath and every unconscious movement of her naked body.

The twin dragons, however, felt a slight ripple in the magic. Kuzey opened one golden eye, sniffing the air.

“Something is wrong,” he murmured.

Átila tightened his arm around Irmak’s waist, protective.

“Someone is watching us.”

They did not yet know it, but the siege had already begun. Lord Vortigern was not merely an ambitious noble. He was a man driven by hatred, lust, and an insane desire to possess what he could never have honestly.

The princess who had moaned with pleasure between dragons would soon discover the price of being desired by monsters… and by men even more monstrous