Page 47

VAHZIRYN

T he council chamber is nearly empty now, the faint torchlight dancing over the grand pillars and ornate serpent carvings.

Only a few scattered guards linger at their posts, whispering among themselves.

Moments ago, this hall was alive with tension, brimming with the shocked faces of naga nobles as Mira survived my venom.

Now, the hush is profound, reverberating in the arches above like the final echo of a once-thunderous storm.

I stand at the center of the marbled floor, tail coiled beneath me in a gesture of repressed energy.

The air feels heavy, and my heart pounds with the realization that the council—those ancient gatekeepers of tradition—has no choice but to acknowledge Mira’s scalebound status.

She overcame the venom challenge in front of everyone, proving our bond is no fleeting scandal but hallowed by the oldest laws.

Mira sways beside me, her face pale, still bearing the aftershocks of the fever that nearly consumed her life.

Her hair clings to her damp cheeks in stray curls, and her breathing remains shallow, though her eyes shine with a fierce light.

She’s alive. That singular truth keeps me anchored as I reach for her.

My scaled arms slip around her waist, lending support. My tail shifts to steady her.

I brush a trembling hand over her cheek, relief flooding me. “Steady,” I whisper. “You’re sure you can stand?”

She nods, though I feel her muscles tense from the effort. “I can,” she manages in a thin but resolute voice. “I won’t collapse again. Not when—” She draws a breath, meeting my gaze. Her eyes reflect a swirl of triumph and exhaustion. “We’ve won.”

The word crackles in my mind. Won. It feels too monumental to fully absorb.

We forced the council’s hand, shattered their condemnation.

The half-circle of seats stands deserted, the echoes of their grudging acceptance still swirling around us.

If the law is to be upheld—and the council thrives on law—then our bond stands beyond question.

A scuff of steps disrupts my thoughts. Silver-Scaled Councilor steps forward, face etched in a mixture of reluctance and what might be respect.

A handful of watchers gather behind him—lesser officials, curious onlookers, perhaps a guard or two.

Their eyes flick between me and Mira with open wariness.

Silver-Scaled Councilor clears his throat. “Vahziryn,” he intones, voice measured. “You and the human Mira—are recognized as scalebound, by the ancient code. By that rite, your bond is incontestable.” He sounds as though each word costs him. “The council... will not dispute it.”

A hush follows, punctured only by the shifting of a few startled courtiers.

For so long, I’ve lived under the threat of condemnation, forced to offer my entire domain as a sacrifice.

But now, the law we invoked outranks even the council’s edicts.

The tension in my chest unwinds fractionally.

I tighten my hold on Mira, sensing the trembling in her body.

Silver-Scaled Councilor glances away, perhaps unwilling to meet our eyes. “You remain exiled from formal leadership,” he adds stiffly, “given your prior choices. But we cannot brand your mate or your child as heresy. The old law compels acceptance.”

Velna lingers behind him, posture rigid, green scales glinting with frustration. She opens her mouth as if to protest, but the councilor cuts her off with a curt gesture. I see fury simmer in her eyes. Let her rage. We survived her schemes.

A flicker of movement catches my gaze—Crick and Talli stand near a shadowy column, relief plain on their faces.

Crick’s arms fold over his chest in his typical stance, while Talli grips her staff, her tattoos glinting with faint colors in the torchlight.

They must have snuck into the aftermath, ensuring we’re not alone for the final declaration.

I incline my head in acknowledgment of the councilor’s pronouncement, voice low with years of pent-up defiance. “Then my mate stands with me, recognized by the laws you claim to uphold.” My tail flicks once, a subtle sign of my lingering tension. “That is enough.”

Silver-Scaled Councilor nods reluctantly. “Yes, but do not misunderstand. You will not be warlord of your father’s domain. The council reassigns it. Your household staff may remain or depart as they choose.”

I exchange a look with Mira, my mind whirling. I see no future in these halls. Freed from the council’s threat, we can choose our own path. The territory I once cherished is beyond my grasp. I’m not sure I mourn its loss. Mira’s presence at my side outweighs any ambition I once harbored.

“You may keep your life,” the councilor adds tersely, as though bestowing a grand favor. “But your title is forfeit. That is the council’s final word.”

A surge of resolve rises in me, meeting that final blow with a surprising calm.

“I renounce the warlord rank,” I say, voice sharper than I expect.

“I have no interest in wearing a name that binds me to a system so cruel.” I tighten my arms around Mira, feeling her lean on me with quiet gratitude. “We are done here.”

Silver-Scaled Councilor stiffens, some of the watchers shifting in alarm.

Usually, an ex-warlord might slink off in shame or plead for partial restitution.

I do neither. Instead, I turn on my heel, guiding Mira carefully toward the main doors.

My coils shift around her to keep her upright.

She walks with slow determination, her steps echoing in the high-vaulted space.

A ripple of whispers follows us. Some watchers appear scandalized, others oddly moved.

Defiance thrums through me, each step carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid farewells.

Let them see how little I value their manipulative throne.

Let them whisper that I carried my mate out of this viper’s nest in full daylight.

At the threshold, a hush drapes over me. I pause, turning to glance at the half-empty dais, the place where I once believed my destiny resided. The council stares back in stony silence. Then, ignoring them, I sweep out into the corridor, supporting Mira all the way.

She exhales sharply once we’re beyond the chamber’s oppressive gloom. “It’s done,” she murmurs, voice tremulous with relief. “They can’t undo our bond. Nor can they declare our child a crime.”

I press a soft kiss to her temple, tail brushing her calf in reassurance. “We broke their hold,” I whisper. “We walk away with heads high.”

Crick and Talli hurry to join us, footsteps echoing on polished stone.

Talli’s eyes glint with approval, while Crick’s lopsided grin underscores his pride.

“I half-expected them to attempt one final ambush,” Crick mutters, glancing back warily.

“But it seems they fear the public scandal of defying the old laws.”

Talli taps her staff, expression thoughtful. “Likely they’ll plan behind the scenes, but for now, you forced them to comply. Well done.” She cuts a rare smile at Mira, who returns it, albeit tiredly.

A throng of lesser nobles and curious onlookers mill in the hall, parting to let us pass.

Our pace is measured, mindful of Mira’s fragile state.

She remains upright, determined not to show weakness in front of these watchers.

I feel her trembling under my hand, but she never stumbles.

Pride and protectiveness swirl in me, fueling an almost giddy sensation.

The once-looming shadow of condemnation has fractured.

At the grand entrance to the High Nest’s central building, bright sunlight floods the polished steps outside.

I blink, adjusting to the brilliance. A crowd stands on the plaza—naga of every caste, half-bloods, even a few humans huddled on the fringes.

They hush as we appear, curiosity etched on every face.

Word must have spread about the final outcome: the human who survived venom, forging an unbreakable bond with a disgraced warlord.

I glance at Mira, silently asking if she can bear the spectacle. She squares her shoulders, lips curving in a faint, confident line. “I’m ready,” she whispers.

We descend the steps. The crowd mutters, eyes flicking to the coil of my tail around Mira’s waist. Some nudge each other in uneasy awe, others sneer.

A few watchers step forward, not to attack but to stare in fascination.

One or two half-bloods actually cheer softly, though they’re quickly shushed by anxious peers.

The tension is thick, but no one dares block us.

About halfway down the steps, Mira’s breath catches, and I sense her legs quiver.

Without hesitation, I sweep her into my arms, mindful of her condition.

She tenses at first, wanting to stand on her own, but then exhales in acceptance, letting me cradle her.

The crowd’s murmurs increase, a wave of startled gasps.

Let them see that I claim her openly. I hiss under my breath, a subtle warning that no one should approach.

She winds an arm around my neck, face pressed to my chest. Despite the swirl of hundreds of eyes, a hush envelops us, as if time slows.

I can’t recall the last time I felt such fierce devotion.

Adrenaline pulses through me, tangled with triumph and the raw tenderness of her survival—for both of us.

I meet the stares with unwavering resolve, silently proclaiming that if they attempt to harm her or our unborn child, they face me head-on.

We reach the bottom of the steps, Talli and Crick flanking us, glaring at anyone who draws too close.

The crowd parts. I hold Mira firmly, tail trailing behind, guiding us through the throng.

Step by step, we push beyond the heart of the High Nest, forging a path out of the oppressive capital.

The city we exit is not the same place that once banished me in scorn.

Now, it’s a city forced to witness our defiance, powerless to reverse it.

As we press onward, the crowd thins. By the time we reach the gates, only a handful of stunned onlookers trail behind.

The guards stationed there glance at me uncertainly.

I am no warlord now, only a man carrying his mate in full, unwavering claim.

They stand aside without a word, letting us pass.

The bright sky frames the moment, scorching away the last vestiges of the council’s looming shadow.

Mira lifts her head, hair drifting in a gentle breeze, hazel eyes reflecting relief. “We’re free,” she murmurs, voice still weak from the fever but lined with awe.

I nod, swallowing hard. “Free of them,” I confirm. My voice emerges husky, thick with a swirl of emotion. “No more bowing to a system that sought to bury us.”

Her lips curl in a small, bittersweet smile. “Now we can truly start over.”