The air outside was crisp and cool as Darius offered his arm, which Imogen took carefully, still slightly unsteady in the unfamiliar finery.

  Malachite followed a few paces behind, hands casually resting on the strap of her enormous shield and hammer, a knowing little smirk tugging at her lips, giving them space, but keeping a protective eye.

  They walked slowly through the village, the soft morning light spilling across the stone pathways trying not to notice the eyes that followed them.

  One by one, villagers paused in their work smiths pulling back their hammers, merchants halting in mid-conversation, young children tugging on their mothers’ sleeves, eyes wide.

  Imogen shifted slightly under their stares, glancing nervously at Darius.

  “Why are they all…?” But she could feel it now, too. faint, but undeniable.

  Something pulsed softly under her skin, like a quiet heartbeat of magic, an echo she hadn’t realized was there. It shimmered faintly in the air around her, brushing softly against the dragon kin they passed. She saw it, in their eyes. The spark, a tiny flicker of energy as if something inside them stirred to life just by being near her.

  Darius felt it, too.

  He walked tall and proud at her side, his eyes cold and commanding as they swept over his people, but his hand tightened faintly on hers, grounding her, anchoring her.

  “They can feel you,” he murmured quietly, just for her ears. “Your magic. Your presence.”

  Imogen’s throat tightened slightly. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this…”

  Darius’s voice was low, rough, steady.

  “You don’t have to be ready. You just have to walk forward.”

  Malachite grinned faintly behind them, eyes twinkling as she watched the way Darius leaned ever so slightly toward Imogen, his usually cold, distant body language softening whenever he glanced her way.

  As they reached the edge of the training grounds, the noise of clashing steel and barking orders drifted into the air. Elder Oliver waited near the center, his sharp gaze flicking toward them as they approached.

  Imogen drew in a deep, shaky breath, straightening her shoulders.

  Darius gave her hand one last squeeze before releasing it slowly, his eyes glinting.

  “You’ve already turned heads, Imogen,” he murmured. “Now let them see why.”The clang of weapons and the murmur of gathered warriors filled the training grounds as the trio approached.

  Elder Oliver turned slowly, his sharp eyes sweeping over Imogen from head to toe. He nodded once, his lined face unreadable. “Are you ready, girl?” he asked evenly. “Ready to train?”

  Imogen straightened, opening her mouth to answer, determined to show she was no longer the trembling, panicked girl they’d first met.

  But before a word could leave her lips, a shadow stepped forward.

  Tall, slender, and strikingly muscled, the woman emerged from the gathered warriors like a blade cutting through silk. She wore dark steel armor fitted sleek and deadly, polished to a gleam, etched with razor-sharp patterns. Her long silver hair was braided tightly down her back, her high cheekbones and pale, sharp features making her look both wickedly beautiful and terrifying.

  Imogen’s breath caught faintly.

  She couldn't help but think that is how a real queen should look, even for a second.

  The woman’s cold, piercing eyes swept over Imogen, pausing on her pink gown with thinly veiled disdain.

  “Is this,” she said smoothly, her voice like an icy dagger, “really what we have to look forward to?”

  Imogen flinched slightly.

  The woman, Elise, Imogen realized scoffed softly, crossing her arms, one hip cocked in effortless, predatory confidence.The tension snapped taut across the training grounds, the air thick with expectation.

  Elise stood tall, arms crossed, her dark steel armor gleaming like the edge of a blade, her cold eyes locked on Imogen with open disdain. “We need a queen who’s ready to fight,” she sneered, “not some doll standing there looking pretty.”

  Malachite bristled instantly, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue but she was cut off by a quiet, commanding voice.

  “Enough.”

  All eyes swung to Elder Oliver, his lined face calm, his voice carrying easily across the hushed grounds.“Elise,” he said smoothly, one brow raised, “it is not your place to judge the queen.”

  Elise’s jaw twitched faintly, her arms tightening over her chest. She dipped her head not quite a bow, but enough to acknowledge his authority though her eyes flicked coldly back to Imogen, unreadable.

  Oliver’s sharp gaze turned to Imogen next, steady and piercing, without malice but without softness either.

  “You do not need to prove yourself to her,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only those nearest heard, “but you do need to prove yourself here. To all of them.” His gaze swept the gathered warriors. “They will not follow words. They will follow strength.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Imogen’s throat tightened faintly.

  She felt Darius shift beside her the silent weight of his presence grounding her, fierce and steady. Malachite’s bright, supportive grin flickered just in her peripheral vision, like a small anchor.

  And standing across from her, Elise gave the faintest smirk, cool and confident, waiting to see if the soft-looking girl in the pale pink gown would shatter under pressure.

  Imogen drew in a slow, shaky breath. Her fingers flexed faintly at her sides.

  You don’t have to be ready, Darius’s voice echoed softly in her memory. You just have to walk forward.

  The training grounds had gone silent.

  Imogen took a slow step forward, her soft pink gown fluttering slightly as the gathered warriors watched in tense, curious stillness.

  Elise stood tall, silver hair gleaming, arms crossed over dark steel armor, her cold eyes narrowed as if she expected Imogen to shrink under her gaze.

  But Imogen didn’t flinch.

  Instead, a sly little smile tugged at her lips as she tilted her head, her eyes gleaming faintly with heat and amusement. “Oh, Elise,” Imogen murmured sweetly, voice soft but sharp enough to cut. “I get it now.”

  Elise’s smirk faltered slightly. “You get what?”

  Imogen gave a small, almost playful laugh, folding her arms loosely, “You’re not worried about whether I can fight.” She let her gaze sweep deliberately up and down Elise, a faintly teasing glint in her eyes. “You’re worried because you know exactly who I am.”

  Elise stiffened faintly, her jaw tightening.

  Imogen stepped forward, her chin lifting proudly, her smile curling just a little sharper. “I’m the Dragon singer,” she said softly. “I’m queen, Darius’s mate.” She let the last words linger deliberately, feeling the subtle ripple they sent through the onlookers. “And you? You’re just angry you’re not the one standing at his side.”

  A sharp, audible breath hissed through the crowd.

  Malachite’s mouth fell wide open, her big brown eyes going huge, one hand flying to her chest.

  “Ohhhh, she went there…”

  Darius’s eyes narrowed slightly not in anger but in surprise, a flicker of something dark and hungry sparking behind them.

  Elise’s smirk vanished, her cold eyes flashing dangerously as she took one slow step forward. “You’re walking a fine line, your majesty,” she said smoothly, though her voice had an edge now, sharp and biting.

  Imogen gave a soft, confident laugh, tilting her head. “Good. Because I’m not tiptoeing.”

  For a heartbeat, they stared each other down queen and general, mate and rival and something electric snapped in the air between them, sharp and unmistakable.

  Oliver’s brow arched faintly, a flicker of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched. “Well,” he murmured under his breath, “it seems the queen’s not so delicate after all.”Elise’s blade gleamed faintly as she circled, her smirk sharp and predatory.

  Imogen’s fingers tingled with a golden flicker of raw, coiling magic, her heart thundering in her chest as she faced the tall, armored warrior.

  The gathered crowd watched in tense silence, breaths held.

  Darius stood at the edge of the circle, arms folded, his eyes narrowed and watchful.

  Elise gave a slow, taunting smile. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” she murmured, her voice a purr of silk and steel. “Or were you just all talk after all?”

  Imogen lifted her chin slightly, her own sly smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Elise. I’m just giving you a moment to breathe before I embarrass you in front of everyone.”

  The warriors nearby let out muffled snickers, a ripple of wide eyes and shifting weight moving through the circle. Malachite clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes huge. “Oh my gods,” she whispered. “She’s going to start a war in five minutes flat.”

  Elise’s cold eyes flashed sharply, the smirk slipping into something darker. She shifted her grip on her blade, her body lowering smoothly into a ready stance.“You have no idea what you’re inviting, Dragon singer.”

  Imogen took a small step forward, the golden light crackling faintly along her fingertips. “Neither do you.”

  A loud voice broke the tension, “Enough!” The ground between them flared suddenly with a brilliant pulse of white light, a crackling shield of magic slamming upward and cutting the two women off mid-step.

  Both staggered back slightly, blinking against the glare.

  Oliver stood at the edge of the ring, his hand raised high, his lined face sharp and stern, his voice carrying across the stunned crowd.

  “This is not the time for posturing, or proving points like children in the dirt.”

  Elise exhaled slowly, the faintest flicker of a smirk tugging back at her mouth as she slid her blade back into its sheath.

  “As you say, Elder,” she murmured smoothly but her eyes cut sharply back to Imogen one last time, full of challenge.

  Imogen crossed her arms lightly, lifting her chin. “Let me know when you’re ready for a real fight, General.”

  Elise arched one silver brow, “Oh, don’t worry, Your Majesty. I’ll be ready when you are.”

  From the sidelines, Malachite groaned softly, burying her face in her hands. `“Please tell me you two aren’t going to kill each other before breakfast…”

  Darius remained still, his arms folded, his gaze burning icy blue and intense as he watched Imogen quietly, something dark and proud flickering faintly behind his eyes.

  Oliver exhaled through his nose, lowering his hand, his expression shifting slightly as he turned toward Imogen.

  “You’re not here to throw clever words, girl,” he said calmly. “You’re here to train. To become what you need to be. Save the sparring for when you’re ready.”

  Imogen’s pulse pounded in her ears, her cheeks flushed faintly not with shame, but with the heat of adrenaline, of defiance, of wanting to prove herself.

  She nodded once, sharp and determined, “Understood.”

  Axel jogged up, his brown hair tousled from the wind, green eyes flicking sharply over the crowd as he arrived just in time to see the magic shield fading between Imogen and Elise. “Did I miss the fireworks?” he muttered under his breath, sliding up beside Darius with a faint grin.

  Darius glanced over at him, arms still crossed over his chest. “Almost,” he murmured. “Stay sharp.”

  At the center of the training ring, Elder Oliver stepped forward, his sharp eyes flicking between Imogen and Elise then sweeping over the gathered warriors. “This is no arena for posturing or petty rivalries,” Oliver said coolly, his voice clear and steady. “The queen has not come to play a part. She’s here to learn, to fight, and to grow into what we all need her to be.”

  His gaze pinned Imogen. “Your real challenge starts today,” he said simply. “You will not be handed respect or authority, you will earn it. From every fighter, every elder, every villager who looks to you for strength. And that begins here.”

  Imogen swallowed hard but nodded sharply, her shoulders straightening. “I understand.”