The council chamber of Moss Keep was cold despite the roaring fire, its high stone walls and arched ceiling built for grandeur, not warmth. The Pollux crest, a silver dragon on a field of blue, hung above the long table where Hansen Pollux sat at the head, his pale eyes sharper than any blade. His two sons stood before him, so different in temperament, yet bound by blood and duty.

Caiden, the oldest, was broad-shouldered and sure of himself, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his stance unyielding as stone. Rigel, two years younger, leaned casually against the table's edge, arms folded, his smirk a constant thorn in his brother's side.

"You will marry Lady Elira," Hansen said, voice even but commanding. "The match has been arranged, and it is wise. Her family holds the southern passes. With her dowry comes not only wealth but influence."

"I don't want her dowry," Caiden replied flatly. His pale blue eyes caught the firelight, steady and cold. "I don't want her influence. And I sure as hell don't want her."

Rigel gave a low whistle, shaking his head with mock pity. "Spoken like a man who's spent too many nights in the brothel to remember what a lady even looks like."

Caiden shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. "Better the brothel than a cage."

"Oh, yes," Rigel said with a grin, "because bedding half the tavern girls in Moss is freedom."

"Enough," Hansen snapped, though a muscle twitched in his jaw. He was used to their bickering, but this, this defiance, was different. His gaze pinned Caiden. "You are my heir. You do not have the luxury of choosing your path. Duty is yours, Caiden. Duty and sacrifice."

Caiden's lips curved into a humorless smile. "Then let Rigel marry her. He seems so eager."

"Ha!" Rigel barked, his smirk widening. "I'd wager Lady Elira would sooner throw herself into Donovan's jaws than share a bed with me."

A total lie, most women would gladly share a bed with Rigel. But Rigel knew, in the way a sibling knows another, that Caiden would never give Rigel the satisfaction of knowing he was attractive.

Hansen's hand slammed down on the table, rattling the goblets. "Stop talking nonsense. This is not a game."

But to Caiden, it felt like just that. His father pushed, Rigel made a joke or two, and he, he would not yield. He never did.

It was Donovan who saved him from further argument, the deep, impatient rumble of the dragon echoing from the cliffs outside. Seizing the excuse, Caiden bowed stiffly to his father, his broad shoulders straight, his stride easy, almost mocking as he left.

"Donovan calls," Caiden said at last, his voice low, almost dismissive. "And unlike this council, he is worth listening to."

Before Hansen could reply, Caiden bowed stiffly, turned on his heel, and strode from the chamber. Rigel lingered only long enough to toss his brother a parting jab. "Don't fall off your dragon, big brother!" Before Hansen's glare sent him scrambling after.

Outside, the wind met Caiden's cheek, cool and sharp against his pale skin. Donovan waited on the cliffside, vast wings folded, scales glinting like burnished steel in the afternoon sun. The dragon's growl was low, impatient, vibrating through Caiden's bones.

"Easy, old boy," he murmured, placing a steady hand against the thick hide of Donovan's neck. "We'll be off soon."

Mounting with practiced ease, Caiden urged Donovan skyward. The world fell away beneath them, the keep, the council, the weight of expectation. Up here, in the blue expanse above Moss, Caiden was untouchable. Free.

They flew for hours, tracing the jagged cliffs and forested valleys. Caiden let the wind pull the tension from his body, let the rhythm of Donovan's wings drown out his father's voice. It was only when Donovan tilted suddenly, nostrils flaring, that Caiden saw it. A figure.

Crushed into the undergrowth near the edge of the forest, sprawled and broken like a discarded doll. Blood marked the earth in a dark trail, leading to where she lay.

Caiden's grip tightened on the reins. This was no tavern wench, no noble's daughter out of place. This was something else entirely.

Donovan descended in a great sweep of wings, stirring the trees and scattering leaves, unleashing flocks of frightened birds. The dragon landed heavy on the forest floor, claws digging into the soil, smoke curling from his nose.

Caiden slid from the saddle with practiced ease, boots crunching against the earth. His heart was already beating faster, his instincts screaming caution, but when he approached the crumpled figure in the undergrowth, caution gave way to something far sharper.

She was young. Dirt clung to her skin, blood matted her hair, her lips cracked and dry. Her dress, if it could still be called that, was torn to ribbons, exposing bruises in ugly shades of violet and green. The sight of the welted marks across her arms and thighs turned Caiden's stomach in a way the battlefield never had.

He crouched beside her, jaw tightening.

"Gods..." he breathed, pale eyes narrowing as he took in the damage. "What bastards did this to you?"

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, a sound escaping her throat. Hoarse, broken, not quite words. Caiden leaned closer, careful not to startle her, though the shadow of Donovan behind him would terrify any sane person. The dragon's deep rumble vibrated through the ground, low and threatening, as if he too recognized her suffering.

"You're safe," Caiden said firmly, his voice gentler than he realized he could make it. He reached out, brushing dirt and blood from her cheek with the back of his hand. "They won't touch you again. Not while I'm here."

Her eyes cracked open then, dull with pain, and for a fleeting moment they met his. Something shifted in Caiden's chest, something hot and unfamiliar. He had seen men gutted on the field, comrades crushed beneath dragons, and never once had he felt this. But looking at her now, so frail, broken, left for dead... he felt it: a fierce, protective anger, a promise forming in the marrow of his bones.

He shrugged off his heavy cloak and wrapped it around her, tucking it carefully to shield her torn body from the chill air. "Come on," he muttered, more to himself than her. "We're going home."

Sliding an arm beneath her knees and another around her back, Caiden lifted her effortlessly, her frail weight pressed against the solid breadth of his chest. She gave a faint gasp of pain, but her head fell against him, too weak to resist.

Donovan lowered his great head, one amber eye fixed on the girl. Caiden met his dragon's gaze, grim and steady. "She rides with us," he said. The dragon was quick to answer, as if he knew the severity of the situation. Donovan got into position for his assent.

Clutching her close, Caiden mounted once more, settling her against him as Donovan spread his wings. For the first time in years, Caiden Pollux thought of nothing. Not brothels, not battles, not his father's endless lectures on duty. All he thought of was the fragile girl in his arms, and the unshakable vow already taking root inside him: no one would ever hurt her again.

"What's your name, girl?" Caiden asked, trying to fly as smoothly as he could.