Chapter 2

Torvin didn't even turn around, yet somehow caught every ridiculous thought swirling through my head at the other end of the dragonbone chain.

"Drop whatever absurd notion you're entertaining." His raspy voice cut through the darkness.

"I married you out of pity. Pure and simple. If I hadn't stepped in and dragged you back here, do you have any idea where you'd be right now?"

My fingers clenched the blanket.

"The moment you walked out of that hall branded as worthless, Magnus's shadow guard would've had you before you ever reached the capital gates. Straight to the Abyss."

The words hit like ice water. So Magnus was trying to kill me. Again.

That bastard remembered too. He had to.

The whole trap was too clean—the public humiliation, the 'worthless' brand, the operatives waiting in the shadows. Use Phaedra's bloodline to secure the throne, then cut me loose the moment I lost royal protection. After that, the Abyss would do the rest.

In my previous life, that psychopath had carved open my chest on a frozen altar, trying to purify his inferior dragon blood with my nine-tailed core.

The thought of that blood pool—and the nine children who'd died in it, drained and broken—sent ice crawling up my spine.

But fear burned fast. What replaced it was harder. Sharper.

Last life, he'd bled me dry and left my children dead. This life, he wanted me gone before it even began.

A soul that rotten thought itself worthy of the throne?

Seething, I drifted in and out of restless sleep.

It felt like I'd barely closed my eyes when dawn broke and Torvin hauled me up without a word, dragging me to the great hall for Typhon's morning assembly.

I was still fighting back yawns when we arrived. Phaedra and Magnus were already there, standing at attention.

Phaedra's face radiated smug happiness, but her legs trembled like they might buckle any second.

Through the lace at her collar, her collarbone was covered in livid bite marks—some so deep they'd turned purple. There were even spots where dragon scales had scraped her skin raw, leaving crusted scabs.

I couldn't help the mental wince. That had to hurt like hell.

Dragon appetites were notoriously savage. Magnus was a lunatic who didn't care if his partner survived the night.

From the way she stood—legs barely able to close—last night had been torture, not pleasure. She'd clearly needed servants just to get out of bed.

I must have let some sympathy show, because Phaedra immediately read it as jealousy.

She forced herself upright, yanked her collar wider to display those brutal marks, and leaned in.

"Oh, Vespera—you look exhausted." False concern dripped from her voice. "I do hope that uncle of yours wasn't too... demanding? Though I heard quite the opposite—that he couldn't even bring himself to touch you."

I let out a soft laugh, my gaze dropping pointedly between her trembling legs.

"Careful, Phaedra. All that standing must be agony." A pointed pause. "Though I suppose some prices are worth paying. For now. Best find something for those tears before tonight—wouldn't want permanent damage."

Phaedra went chalk-white. She jerked backward, pulling at her injuries, and sucked in a sharp breath.

Through clenched teeth: "Enjoy your little victories. Just wait and see what His Majesty does to you."

Clearly, Typhon's spies had been busy. When he learned we'd slept fully clothed, he sat on his throne and addressed Torvin in a cold voice:

"What's the meaning of that chain?"

The air in the hall grew suffocatingly heavy. Torvin didn't even blink. He leaned against a stone pillar, lazily examining his fingernails.

"The girl seemed interesting enough during the day. But when it came time for business, she turned into a trembling mess. Tedious. Killed the mood entirely."

The flippant explanation made Typhon surge to his feet. He grabbed the dragon soul crystal beside him and hurled it down the steps.

The crack of shattering stone echoed through the chamber.

"Outrageous!"

The morning assembly ended under suffocating tension.

Then, unexpectedly, Typhon summoned me privately.

In the side chamber, his vertical pupils locked onto me, demanding to know what really happened last night.

I dropped my gaze and worked up a tearful expression, saying timidly that as a virgin bride, I'd been terrified by the murderous aura beneath the Prince's mask. I'd frozen completely, which spoiled Torvin's mood.

Typhon studied me in loaded silence. Finally, he ordered coldly that I drop the frightened virgin act and produce a strong heir as soon as possible.

Then he waved me away with clear impatience.

The moment I returned to the stone fortress, I walked straight into Torvin's ice-cold stare.

"What did he ask you?" His voice carried weight like a threat.

I didn't hide anything. I recounted the conversation word for word.

When I finished, Torvin went silent. The cold severity radiating from beneath his mask made the air congeal.

"Keep your distance from him." A pause, heavy with unspoken threat. "Avoid private meetings. If anything comes up, push it onto me."

This excessive vigilance only deepened my suspicion.

The relationship between these brothers was as dangerous a mystery as that bone-dragon mask.

Over the next tense weeks—before I could fully map out the palace power struggles—explosive news tore through the royal household:

Phaedra was pregnant. And supposedly carrying an extremely rare pure dragon heir. Her flat belly already showed faint traces of magical golden light.

Magnus was beside himself with joy.

To flaunt this and cement his position as heir, he hastily invited the city's entire nobility to the main hall for an extravagant "Bloodline Witness Feast."

Naturally, I was "invited"—more like compelled to attend.

The moment I stepped into the great hall, Phaedra wasted no time.

She reclined languidly on a divan, holding a goblet of crimson dragon blood wine. With a casual flick, she deliberately poured the viscous liquid over her own shoes—and "accidentally" splashed it across my dress.

Then she stroked her belly and sneered down at me:

"Dear Vespera, since I'm carrying precious cargo, I can't possibly bend over. Be a dear and wipe my shoes clean—on your knees, with that pretty dress of yours."

The music stopped. Every noble waited for the show.

From the main seat, Magnus raised his glass in a mocking toast: "Why dirty your eyes with this barren half-blood waste?"

Harsh laughter erupted throughout the hall.

Fury blazed through me. My fingertips began gathering nine-tailed spirit fire—when suddenly, a horrifying abyssal pressure descended, snuffing out the flames in my palm!

Then a violent wind exploded through the chamber!

The heavy sterling silver decanter on the table was seized by an invisible hand and hurled with devastating force at Phaedra's smug face!

CRACK!

A sickening thud, followed by a piercing scream. The decanter struck dead-center, shattering her nose. Blood and wine gushed from her face in equal measure.

Before anyone could process it, the massive double doors were kicked open with explosive force!

Steady bootfalls entered like death's own footsteps. Then a voice—low, rough, and cold enough to freeze every drop of blood in the room—cut through the silence:

"Did someone give you the impression that my wife kneels for anyone?"