Chapter 4

It began with a whisper. A slip of a tongue from a young maid who didn’t know better.

Cassandra had been walking through the eastern hall when she heard it.

“I saw her—Lady Eliana,” the maid giggled softly to another, “she entered the king’s private chamber. The one. The secret one no one ever goes into. Not even the council dares step there. Only the Commander, his closest friend, ever enters.”

Cassandra froze.

Her eyes narrowed.

The king’s secret chamber?

A place shrouded in myth, sealed from the world—sacred and silent. And yet, this human girl had gone inside?

She turned swiftly, skirts brushing against the polished floor as her thoughts raced. Her heart was tight with unease, not jealousy—no, something deeper.

A threat.

Cassandra clenched her jaw. If the king had allowed Eliana into that chamber, then it meant she had crossed a line no other concubine had ever dared approach. She wasn’t just favored. She was... dangerously close.

And anything dangerously close to the king… could eventually become dangerously close to power.

To the throne.

She could be a threat, Cassandra realized, her breath quickening. If not now... then one day.

And threats had to be handled.

************

Kallistar kingdom 

Elliot sat near the window, staring at the forest that swallowed the horizon.

It had been days.

Weeks.

He had stopped counting.

He hugged his knees to his chest, eyes glazed as he watched the wind stir the leaves.

“She should be back,” he murmured. “She promised.”

His mother looked over from where she stirred the hearth, her face tight with worry. She glanced toward her husband, the banished king, who stood stiffly by the door, arms crossed.

“She will return, Elliot,” his mother whispered, though her voice trembled.

But Elliot could tell—she didn’t believe it. Not anymore.

“She’s just a girl,” the king muttered bitterly. “She never should’ve gone. I should never have let her be taken.”

“It was your idea,” the queen snapped suddenly, her voice sharp. “You sent her for peace. You said the king of Qombinia would honor his promise.”

“He lied,” the king said, voice low with fury. “He did not give us what he said he would. He broke his word.”

Elliot stood up slowly.

“Then go bring her back,” he said.

They both turned toward him.

His voice was soft, but his eyes were storming.

“Don’t just argue,” he whispered. “Go get my sister.”

The room fell quiet.

The fire crackled behind them.

But Elliot didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and walked away, the ache in his chest growing heavier with every step.

In his heart, he didn’t just miss her.

He needed her.

Because Eliana wasn’t just his sister.

She was the piece holding them all together.

*************

Qombinia kingdom 

The Royal Courtroom Entrance 

The grand courtroom of Qombinia pulsed with unease. Word had spread like wildfire: the king—elusive, divine, feared—was to make a sudden and unprecedented announcement. No details. No summons. Just a ripple of command that brought every member of the court to heel.

The concubines arrived first, draped in silks of midnight, emerald, and fire. Jewels shimmered on their brows, their lips curved in practiced smiles that never reached their eyes. Behind lace fans and layered veils, they exchanged whispers sharp as daggers.

“There has been no ceremony,” one murmured, voice laced with suspicion.

“No name placed in the royal registry,” another replied, flicking her fan closed with a snap.

“Then what is she doing here?”

The great obsidian doors creaked open.

And Eliana stepped into their world.

A hush swept through the vast courtroom like a breath held too long. Her steps echoed on the marble, slow, measured, though her heart thundered beneath her ribs. Her maid followed closely, gently adjusting the lavender robe that trailed behind her like soft fog at dawn. Embroidered phoenixes of gold soared across the fabric—symbols of rebirth, of something long lost... rising.

Eliana’s gaze stayed forward, though she felt the eyes of dozens rake across her.

She was not like them.

She had no magic, no ancient bloodline, no whispered legacy.

She was human.

And they knew it.

Scorn blossomed on the faces of the concubines, venom behind painted smiles. One scoffed under her breath. Another rolled her eyes, fingers curling possessively around her pearl sash.

“She dares walk in here?” one whispered.

“She reeks of mortality,” another spat softly, nose wrinkled. “She will wither before the century ends.”

“An insult,” a third murmured. “What is our king thinking?”

But none dared speak above a whisper—not when the king was watching.

King Drakonios sat upon his throne, carved from blackstone and rimmed with red fire opals. His posture was relaxed, yet regal; his crimson gaze cast downward until the mortal girl stepped through the threshold.

Then his eyes lifted.

And the world changed.

When their eyes met, time trembled.

Eliana froze.

His gaze was overwhelming—ancient, powerful, and terrifyingly beautiful. He looked nothing like the cold king she imagined from stories. He was more—so much more. The obsidian robes framed his broad form like a cloak of night. His hair flowed like spilled ink touched with fire. His eyes glowed, not like any man’s, but like something forged in divine wrath.

He didn’t look at her like the others did.

He didn’t see a human.

He saw something.

Gasps hissed through the crowd like wind through dry leaves.

“This is an outrage!” a concubine said, louder this time.

“She’s an enemy!” snapped another. “Her kind slaughtered dragons in the old wars!”

“She doesn’t belong in this sacred hall,” an elder from the High Council growled, rising from his seat. His eyes, centuries-old and hard as carved stone, glared down at Eliana. “She carries no magic. No dragon blood. She is not one of us.”

Whispers turned to murmurs. Murmurs to outrage.

“Your Majesty,” the elder said, bowing with rigid reluctance, “with all respect, this is a violation of every custom. There is no ritual. No binding. No documentation of her name being placed among your court.”

“She’s a human,” another councilman said in disgust. “She is unfit to walk these floors, let alone stand before your throne. Have we sunk so low?”

“She could be a spy,” someone said. “A weapon in disguise.”

“She is a threat!”

But the king stood.

The room fell into instant silence.

The torches along the walls flickered with unnatural flame as Drakonios descended the steps of his throne, his boots echoing with divine weight. The air grew heavier. Time itself seemed to slow beneath his power.

“She is not here as a concubine,” he said at last, his voice smooth and thunderous, echoing across the court like the voice of prophecy itself. “She is not bound to your customs. She has been given—bestowed—as a treaty.”

The room froze.

“A treaty?” the eldest councilman repeated, incredulous.

“Yes,” Drakonios replied. “A settlement. A bridge between the dragon realm and the human lands. She was sent in good faith, a symbol of peace and atonement after years of exile and bloodshed.”

He turned slightly, his crimson gaze cutting across the room.

“Rejecting her is rejecting that peace.”

Not a soul moved.

Eliana stood trembling, not from fear—but from the storm that had just been unleashed on her behalf.

He looked at her again. Something flickered in his gaze—almost too quick to name. Recognition. Curiosity. Something buried deep.

“She belongs here,” he said at last.

And no one dared speak again.

Later That Night – Eliana’s Chambers

The moon hung high over Qombinia, casting silver light across the velvet canopy of Eliana’s bed.

 The room was still, save for the quiet sound of her fingers fumbling at the back of her dress.

 She stood before a tall mirror, brow furrowed, struggling to undo the tiny buttons that trailed down her spine.

Eliana paced her chambers restlessly. The room, though lavish, felt like a cage. Her cat, a soft grey creature named Lune, curled on her windowsill, tail flicking with faint irritation, sensing her mistress's unrest.

Her maid had already retired, dismissed early at Eliana’s insistence. She had wanted to be alone—but now, her fingers trembled, stuck on the third stubborn clasp.

“Tch,” she whispered in frustration, shifting to reach further.

Then the door opened—without a knock, without warning.

The king.

Her heart leapt into her throat as the air shifted. She didn’t need to turn around. She felt him—his presence like fire wrapped in shadow.

“Eliana.”

His voice—deep, calm, and lined with something unreadable.

She spun slightly, clutching the sides of her gown. “Your Majesty—” she whispered, startled, breathless.

He entered like a shadow breaking through silk. Silent. Powerful. Commanding.

Eliana froze.

Eliana's lips parted, but no sound came out.

Eliana froze as the heavy door swung open without a sound. The king stepped inside, his crimson eyes fixed on her.

“Don’t you even know how to knock?” she snapped, cheeks flushed. “Is this how you enter someone’s room?”

For a heartbeat, the king simply stared—then, a low, amused chuckle escaped him.

“You’re the first to dare speak that way to me,” he said, voice rich with laughter.

 Unfazed, She turned her back again, cheeks flushed. “I was just… trying to unbutton it,” she muttered, embarrassed, her fingers nervously picking at the fabric again. “It’s difficult to reach...”

The king’s footsteps were soundless, but the air around her grew warmer as he approached.

“Allow me,” he said simply, his voice a gentle command.

His hands—cool and elegant—reached for the buttons. Slowly, with practiced patience, he began to unfasten them one by one. His fingers brushed lightly against her skin, sending shivers across her spine.

But it wasn’t just the touch—it was the silence. Thick. Suspended.

Eliana’s breath caught. She nodded slowly, not trusting her voice.

King stepped closer, silently offering help, his eyes never leaving hers.

“She looked at him, trembling slightly. There was no anger in his voice. No rage. Just raw, consuming intrigue.

Eliana quickly stepped forward, pulling her gown tightly around her chest as the final clasp came undone. Her face flushed—not just from his touch, but from something else entirely. Pride. Defiance.

She turned sharply to face him, red in the cheeks but steady in the eyes.

“How dare you,” she said, her voice soft but shaking with fire. “How dare you walk into my chambers without permission.”

King Drakonios blinked.

The silence between them stretched, long and sharp.

 I may be a concubine in your palace,” she continued, her voice rising a little now, “but I am not a toy. I am not yours to command at any hour you please. You should have knocked.”

The king stared at her, stunned. For the first time in centuries—perhaps longer—someone had spoken to him like this.

Not with fear.

Not with flattery.

But with audacity.

Then, slowly, impossibly, his lips curved into a smile. A soft, amused, dangerous smile. And then—he laughed. A deep, rich laugh, like thunder softened by velvet. 

You,” he said, eyes gleaming with something rare and wild, “you are the first person—ever—to speak to me like that.”

“Oh, has no one ever told you that you lack manners? That you’re unbearably disrespectful? Everyone may fear you, but I don’t. You may be their king, but you will never be mine. And I will never, ever love you. Do you understand?”

He stepped closer, still chuckling, shaking his head in disbelief. “In all my existence, not even queens, warriors, or ancient seers have dared to say such things to me.”

His smile grew, and his voice dropped to a silky murmur. “And from a concubine, no less?”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing, still studying her like a puzzle he’d never seen before.

“You dare speak to me that way? Mark my words—you’ll regret it soon. Very soon. You’ll be the one begging for my love, and I’ll make sure you understand exactly why I am the true king of all dragons.”

“You are a strange, strange creature, Eliana,” he said.

---

Her little cat stood silently, eyes fixed on him.

“I’m a treaty and a concubine—so stay in your lane. Be grateful you have plenty of concubines to spare.”

Even with her face partially hidden, his fierce presence was undeniable. he smiled slyly. “I love breaking fierce people. There’s nothing sweeter than watching them fall.”

Lune hissed quietly in the corner but did not move.

The king studied her for a moment longer, then turned to leave.

*******

The heavy door closed behind King Drakonios with a muted thud.

Alone in his private chamber, the shadows seemed to pulse with the echo of Eliana’s smooth skin. 

Her skin beneath his fingers—soft, warm, unyielding.

The memory played again and again in his mind, relentless and sharp like a flame licking at dry wood.

Her fierce defiance. Her burning spirit.

He had never known a mortal to stir him like this. Not with a single touch.

It was maddening. Exhilarating. Dangerous.

His crimson eyes darkened as a low growl rumbled deep in his chest.

I must taste that fire again.

He reached for the gilded bell on his ornate desk.

With a swift motion, he rang it three times—slow, deliberate.

A soft knock answered almost immediately.

The door creaked open.

Cassandra entered—her dark eyes flickering with curiosity and caution.

“My king,” she murmured, stepping inside.

Drakonios’s gaze swept over her—the favored concubine who had long been his refuge and release.

Tonight, however, his desire wasn’t merely for comfort.

Tonight, he needed to quell the storm Eliana had ignited inside him.

“Come here,” he commanded, voice low, rough with need.

Cassandra obeyed without hesitation, stepping closer into the heat of his presence.

As she closed the distance, the king’s mind raced, but his body spoke for him—hungry, fierce, and aching.

Eliana had broken something inside him… but Cassandra would help him find the control he lost.

Tonight was not over.