Left alone, Darius raked his fingers roughly through his dark hair, his eyes lifting toward the darkening sky. The weight of the last few days pressed hard against his shoulders, the near-fatal battle, the burst of Imogen’s magic, the brutal escape from the general’s forces.

  How had he let that damned general live?

  His jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration surging through him. He should have taken a few more seconds and crushed Arthur’s skull, torn the bastard’s head from his shoulders. But no, he’d been working on borrowed time with Axel on the brink of death, Imogen barely clinging to consciousness after the explosive burst of her awakening magic.

  At least they’d all made it back alive. That was something.

  Darius exhaled slowly, forcing the anger to coil tighter, bury deeper, as he turned and began walking toward the training grounds. His long stride cut through the cooling night air, his mind already shifting to what came next.

  Protecting Imogen. Preparing his warriors. Most importantly making sure that, this time, when Arthur or his cursed nephew came for what was his they wouldn’t walk away. Darius’s boots struck the dirt path steadily as he approached the training grounds, the cool night air whispering around him.

  “We will show the world,” he said to the night, “that we will not roll over so easily. We will not appease the masses, or beg for scraps at the feet of those who want us crushed.

  His eyes narrowed, gleaming faintly under the rising moon. We want to live in our own world, on our own terms whether they like it or not.

  It made no difference. They would fight for freedom. For survival. For the right to exist without shame or fear.

  Darius’s shoulders tensed, the weight of memory pressing down on him. For just a moment, his eyes closed, a flicker of old pain crossing his face.

  He saw it, that boy from so many years ago, the boy who had lost everything in the fire of war. His father’s blood on the ground. His mother’s screams echoing through stone halls. The boy who had been forced to bury his childhood alongside the ruins of a dying kingdom.

  Darius let out a slow, steadying breath.

  I fight for him.

  He opened his eyes, fierce and clear.

  I fight for my people.

  His jaw set, his stride lengthening as the sounds of clashing weapons and gruff voices rose ahead.

  I fight for my future.

  And as his mind flicked unwillingly to the image of Imogen, curled in sleep under his roof, her golden power still faintly alive even in rest…

  He clenched his fists tighter.

  I fight for her.

  The sharp ring of steel clashing on steel echoed through the training grounds as Darius strode in, his presence rippling like a silent command through the air.

  Weapons slowed, then lowered. Chests heaved from exertion sweat gleaming under the flicker of torchlight.

  Axel leaned casually to one side, arms crossed, a faint grin tugging at his mouth as his king entered.

  Darius’s face was hard, his eyes sweeping over the fighters a cold, assessing gaze.

  There were plenty of capable warriors here. But one stood out.

  The smith’s daughter, Malachite.

  She was shorter than the rest, thickly built with a strong torso and thick thighs, her wide shoulders giving her a stocky, grounded presence. But it wasn’t just her shape or strength that caught Darius’s eye, it was the spark in her.

  Her big brown eyes were bright, full of life and energy, even as she planted her feet firmly and swung her weapon with sharp, practiced precision. Strands of short brown hair, streaked with vivid green, bounced slightly with each movement. Her curled horns sharp and angled inward to deadly points gleamed faintly under the torchlight.

  And despite the sweat streaking her brow, despite the bruises darkening her arms, Malachite wore a grin wide, fierce, almost playful as if she relished every hit, every challenge, every opportunity to throw herself into the fray.

  She laughed as she ducked under a sparring partner’s swing, twisting nimbly before landing a sharp jab to his ribs. “Come on, Jorn! You can’t be that slow!”

  Darius’s eyes narrowed faintly, something thoughtful flickering across his usually cold face.

  She looked ready to take on the world and somehow, enjoy it at the same time.

  Yes. She just might be exactly what Imogen needed at her side.

  Malachite let out a bright, laughing whoop as she spun around her sparring partner, slamming the flat of her blade lightly against his back. “Ha! Gotcha again, Jorn! You owe me drinks!”

  Jorn groaned, rubbing at his side. “You’re a menace, Mal.”

  “Thank you!” she grinned, bouncing slightly on her toes, her green-streaked hair shining under the torchlight.

  The rest of the warriors chuckled, shaking their heads but the sound died quickly as the weight of a new presence settled over the grounds.

  Darius stepped forward, his tall, broad frame cutting sharply through the circle of fighters, a king on the hunt for exactly what he needed.

  Malachite blinked, surprised as the group parted, Darius’s long shadow falling over her. She quickly straightened, planting one fist over her chest in a rough but respectful salute. “My king.”

  Darius’s gaze swept once over her the sweat on her brow, the bruises on her arms, the grin still tugging faintly at her mouth despite her effort to stand formally and still.

  “You’re Malachite, the smith’s daughter,” Darius said, his voice low, even.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Yes, sir.” Her brown eyes widened slightly, uncertain. “Did I… do something wrong?” Axel let out a soft snort from the side, folding his arms, amused.

  Darius shook his head slowly. “You’re being reassigned.”

  Malachite frowned. “Reassigned?”

  Darius stepped closer, his gaze steady and unblinking. “You’re going to be the personal guard and lady-in-waiting to my queen. Effective immediately.”

  Malachite’s mouth fell slightly open, her eyes going round. “Wh- wait. What?”

  “You heard me,” Darius said simply, his tone leaving no room for debate. “She’ll need someone strong and loyal. And not afraid to speak her mind.”

  Malachite gaped at him for another breath then suddenly let out a loud, delighted laugh. “Oh hell yes! Wait until my father hears this!” She clapped her hands together once, her grin wide and sparkling. “I promise, my king, you won’t regret it!”

  Axel huffed a quiet laugh behind Darius. “Careful, Mal. You’re probably going to scare her.”

  Malachite shot Axel a cheeky grin. “She survived him” she jerked her chin toward Darius, “I’m sure she can handle me.”

  Darius allowed the faintest twitch of his mouth, the closest thing to a smile he’d shown all day. “Good,” he murmured. “Meet me at the main house tomorrow. She’ll need you.”

  Malachite gave a sharp, enthusiastic salute. “Yes, sir!”

  As Darius turned to leave, Axel fell into step beside him, grinning sideways. “Are you sure you’re ready for the two of them in the same room?”

  Darius shook his head, the edge of his mouth still tugging slightly. “I’m sure Imogen could use someone who makes her laugh.”

  The morning sunlight poured softly through the window, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Imogen stirred groggily under the heavy blankets, her body sore and aching, every muscle and bone reminding her of the battle, the magic, the impossible weight she’d carried the day before. She burrowed deeper, her head tucked under the covers until a prickle of instinct made her pause.

  Someone was in the room.

  Slowly, cautiously, she poked her head out of the blankets, blinking her bleary eyes struggling to adjust to the light and froze.

  Standing near the small mirror, staring at her own reflection with a mixture of disgust and awe, was possibly the most adorable (and heavily armed) woman Imogen had ever seen.

  She was shorter, maybe by a full head and dressed in a bright yellow long-sleeved Victorian-style dress that flared prettily at the waist. Her big brown eyes were fixed critically on herself in the glass, the green in her hair catching the sunlight. And strapped to her back, absurdly large and almost comically out of place against the delicate dress, was a massive round shield and an enormous war hammer, both gleaming faintly with runic marks.

  Imogen cleared her throat softly. The girl jumped, spinning around and then broke into the brightest, most dazzling grin Imogen had seen in days.

  “Good morning, Dragon singer!” the girl chirped, practically bouncing on her toes despite the sheer size of the weapons she carried. “My name’s Malachite! But my close friends call me Mal so you can totally call me Mal!

  Imogen blinked, dazed, as Malachite practically skipped over to the bed, the shield and hammer shifting easily on her back, like she barely noticed the weight.

  With an exaggerated, proud flourish, Malachite dropped to one knee and bowed her head formally.

  “I’ve been assigned as your lady-in-waiting and your personal knight!” she declared, her voice bright with excitement.

  She looked up at Imogen with the warmest, most inviting grin. Imogen sat on the edge of the bed, as Malachite darted around the room like a cheerful whirlwind, laying out folded fabrics, polished boots, jewelry, and a delicate circlet.

  “I don’t… need all of that, do I?” Imogen mumbled, rubbing her face with both hands.

  Malachite spun around, arms loaded with a pale pink gown with soft, fluttering layers and subtle embroidery that caught the light like tiny stars. “Ohhh, you definitely do, my queen. Today’s a big day!”

  Imogen let out a tired groan, flopping back onto the pillows. “Can’t we just go with, like, pants and a clean shirt?”

  Malachite gave a bark of laughter — and then wrinkled her nose sharply as she stepped closer.

  “Okay, okay, first off…” she said with a teasing grin, “I say this with all the love in the world, but girl, you smell as bad as you look.”

  Imogen’s face went red in an instant. “Mal!” she squeaked, half-laughing, half-horrified.

  Malachite grinned wider, tugging her up by the hand. “No offense, but you’ve got dried blood, battlefield mud, and I’m pretty sure you sweated out half your weight in magic yesterday.” She gave a mock-dramatic sigh. “So before we even think about pink dresses and fancy hair, you, my lovely Dragon singer, are going straight to the bath.”

  Imogen groaned, dragging her feet as Malachite nudged her toward the steaming bath in the adjoining room. “Seriously, can’t we just skip the dress part?”

  Malachite snorted, crossing her arms with a cocky grin. “Listen, if I have to wear a dress today and trust me, I’d rather be in armor then you’re wearing one too. No backing out, no excuses.”

  Imogen gave her a wide-eyed, slightly panicked look. “But… it’s pink.”

  Malachite smirked. “Oh, you’ll look adorable. Now go soak, your majesty.”

  Imogen let out a long, defeated sigh but shuffled off toward the bath, grumbling under her breath. Behind her, Malachite chuckled, already rolling up her sleeves and preparing to help her queen look the part even if both of them secretly wanted to be anywhere but in a dress.

  Malachite beamed. “Don’t worry you’re gonna love me!” Plopping herself on the floor across the room. Imogen hesitated, “Are you going to stay in here, while I uh-” gesturing toward the bath, “you know?”

  “As your lady-in-waiting, it’s normal for me to be here if you need anything.” She said cheerfully. Imogen sighed, “then can you at least, you know, close your eyes?” Mal said playfully, “it won’t be anything I haven’t seen!” as she covered her eyes.

  Imogen sank deeper into the steaming bath, letting out a long, blissful sigh as the heat soaked into her sore muscles. Her tangled black hair floated loosely around her, and for the first time since… well, everything, she felt the faintest trace of calm. “Thank you.”

  Malachite sat cross-legged on the floor, idly fiddling with the straps of her massive shield and hammer now propped against the wall.

  “So…” Imogen ventured after a few minutes of quiet. “Is it always this intense around here?”

  Malachite let out a bark of laughter, resting her chin in her hands. “Oh, you’ve only seen the start of it, queenie. Just wait until you meet Elise.”

  Imogen peeked one eye open. “Elise?”

  Malachite huffed dramatically.

  “Elise is… well, she’s technically the strongest warrior we’ve got. I mean, she’s terrifying in battle, no doubt. But off the field? Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “She thinks she’s better than everyone. Walks around like she owns the world.”

  Imogen let out a soft laugh, tilting her head back. “Sounds… charming.”

  Malachite grinned. “Oh, just wait. She’s had a massive crush on King Darius for years. And now, here you come mysterious, powerful, and boom! You’re his mate, the queen, the Dragonsinger. You can bet Elise is already sharpening her claws for you.”

  Imogen groaned, sinking lower into the water until just her nose peeked out. “Great. Jealous warrior women and a world that wants me dead.”

  Malachite chuckled, leaning back on her hands. “Hey, at least you’ve got me on your side. She picks on me all the time, calls me ‘little hammer girl’ or ‘baby horns.’” She wrinkled her nose. “She’s so mean.”

  Imogen peeked up from the water, a small, wry smile tugging at her mouth.

  “You know… if we’re going to be friends, you don’t have to call me ‘queenie’ or ‘Dragon singer.’”

  Malachite blinked, surprised — and then her face lit up with a wide, pleased grin. “Really?”

  Imogen gave a faint laugh. “Yeah. Just… call me Imogen.”

  Malachite thumped a fist proudly against her chest. “You got it, Imogen! You know what that means? You’re officially stuck with me now.”

  Imogen let out a soft, amused sigh, closing her eyes again. “I think I can live with that.”