Years had slipped away like whispers through the stone halls of the palace, but the Queen remained an eternal monument—cold, stern, and entirely untouched by the softening hands of time.
Nazar, however, had blossomed into a stunning princess, the jewel of Nairon. Suitors from every corner of the continent flocked to the gates, desperate for the honor of her hand. Fairo, too, had shed his boyish skin; he was now the crown prince, deep in the grueling fires of leadership and the dark, ancestral secrets of his bloodline.
But it was Dalirina who defied the order of things.
She had grown into a breathtaking woman of eighteen. Her beauty was not the soft elegance of the court, but something wild—otherworldly and captivating. She moved with a predator's grace, having mastered the art of the bow and the dangerous, rhythmic language of taming dragons.
On this afternoon, she sat beside Fairo in the garden, their voices low, weaving dreams of futures they dared not speak aloud. Beside them, Elinor lay curled in the sun. She was no longer the tiny creature of crimson and blue; she was colossal, a living storm wrapped in scales. Her wings were wide enough to eclipse the palace gardens, and her very breath carried the warmth of a furnace.
But the peace was fragile.
Outside the garden walls, the palace was a hive of unrest. Guards, servants, and terrified visitors from neighboring realms had gathered before the royal court, their voices rising in a dissonant roar of fear. They spoke of the beast—of Elinor's size, her terrifying, volcanic presence. They called her a monster, a predator that threatened their children and their homes.
The King had no choice. He summoned Dalirina and her dragon to the court.
She entered the hall with Fairo walking firmly at her side, his presence a shield for her spirit. Elinor followed, her heavy, rhythmic steps echoing like a heartbeat against the marble floor, causing the very foundations of the palace to shudder.
As the dragon crossed the threshold, the court descended into a suffocating, deathly silence. The royal guards tightened their grips on their spears, their knuckles white with terror. Elinor exhaled, a cloud of hot, sulfurous steam billowing through the hall like the breath of a waking volcano.
The King stared at the beast, his composure failing him. — "This cannot be..." he muttered, his voice barely audible. "The Great Calamity... the Titan Breed? Within our very walls?"
The royal dragon expert was summoned in a frantic panic. He circled the beast, his hands shaking as he examined her shifting, iridescent scales. He confirmed the nightmare: Elinor was indeed a pure-blood Titan.
A heavy, stunned silence followed. That species was not meant to be tamed; they were the apex of destruction, bowing to no mortal.
Fairo stepped forward, his voice resonant with newfound authority. — "Elinor is obedient to Dalirina. She follows her without a single hesitation. Dalirina trained her—she is tame."
The King turned his gaze toward the young girl, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and dawning dread. — "Unthinkable... Such creatures bow only to the ancient, forgotten Friez bloodline."
From the shadows of the throne, the Queen finally spoke. Her voice was flat, sharp, and carried the chill of an incoming winter. — "Perhaps the dragon simply imprinted on the girl after hatching... Perhaps the beast is merely confused, and considers this maid its mother."
The explanation provided a convenient shield for the court's fragile logic. The King nodded slowly, an uneasy truce in his eyes. He issued the decree with a heavy heart: Elinor was to be confined to the deep, soundproofed dungeons for the safety of the realm.
Dalirina's world collapsed.
She dropped to her knees, her composure shattering into a thousand jagged pieces. She begged, her voice cracking with a raw, primal desperation, her tears carving tracks through the dust on her cheeks.
But the King's will was a wall of stone.
Broken, Dalirina turned and fled the hall. Fairo did not hesitate; he chased her into the corridors, catching her in a fierce embrace. He held her tightly, whispering words of comfort—promises of a way out—that no one else in the palace was meant to hear.
High above them, on the cold stone of the private balcony, Nazar watched the scene unfold.
She saw Fairo's hands upon Dalirina, the way he looked at the maid with a devotion he never showed the court. Something deep inside Nazar's soul—something old and fragile—cracked.
Her mother stepped up beside her, placing a cold, heavy hand on her shoulder. Her voice was a low, poisonous whisper: — "Look at her... wrapping herself around your prince like a serpent. Will you really let a common maid steal the crown that was destined for you?"