Chapter 679 Their Best Weapon Is Off-Limits

The Dragon King’s eyes were locked on the second letter.

His jaw was set in a way that Dexmon’s face had never produced on its own. The gold in his eyes burned at a frequency that made the torches nearest to him flicker and bend, drawn toward him like iron filings toward a magnet. He was livid. The livid was ancient, vast, the specific fury of a king whose dragons were being corrupted and whose fury predated every diplomatic convention currently preventing him from doing something about it.

“Are you able to sense the corruption type?” Tiberon asked. “Is it Dark Fae?”

The Dragon King’s answer was one word. Delivered with ten thousand years of certainty.

“Yes.”

Tiberon’s jaw moved one millimeter. The millimeter contained an entire tactical restructuring.

“Then we need the Draken Prime.”

The Dragon King looked at Tiberon. The look was long, measured, carrying the weight of a sovereign who understood exactly what that sentence meant and was calculating the cost before anyone else in the conversation had finished processing the request.

“Dark Fae detonate when facing death,” Hyran cut in. “The Draken Prime has arrows that convert Dark Fae to ash on contact. She is currently in Shadowclaw and I can open a portal and retrieve her.” He paused. “But before we deploy her, be aware that every time she uses her own magic, the shadow tether advances. The more she channels, the deeper it roots. Maelor needs her using as little magic as possible. Ideally none.” His eyes moved between Tiberon and the Dragon King. “He also needs her calm. If she becomes distressed or depletes too far, her cloak destabilizes. The moment that cloak drops, the High Emperor can portal to her location and there are no wards that would stop it. We would be solving one problem and handing him the solution.”

The sentence sat on the training field with the weight of a bomb nobody could defuse.

“I am aware,” Tiberon replied. “Does the tether deepening occur when she channels Dexmon or Gavriel’s magic?”

“Yes. But to a lesser degree. It is slower, safer, and does not trigger the tether the way her own reserves do. But it is still expenditure, and expenditure still carries risk.”

Tiberon absorbed this. Filed it. Turned to the Dragon King.

“Assuming you are familiar with the gold arrows that turn Dark Fae and vampires into ash?”

“Yes.”

Tiberon gave a nod. “They worked for me when I shot them. Will they work for our spotters as well?”

The Dragon King was still for a long moment. His gold eyes were distant, reading something no one else in the conversation could see.

“They will not function if she is not present. The arrows are an extension of her magic. They require proximity to the source. Without her, they are metal.”

The silence that followed was the silence of a strategy collapsing in real time.

The Dragon King closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice carried the careful, deliberate cadence of someone weighing every word against a scale only he could see.

“She is calm and safe. The dragons can sense she is weaker than she should be.” He opened his eyes. “If she is brought here, she will ultimately attempt to shield the dragons and the Hidden Flame. She will not do this out of defiance. It is her nature. Her instinct is to protect, and the instinct will override every order we give her. She will fight it. But she will eventually lose that fight because she has lost it every time before.”

He paused. Something shifted behind his eyes. A flicker. A fracture in the ancient composure, hairline thin, and through it bled something that was not the Dragon King.

“We are more than equipped to handle this.”

The voice changed.

It was subtle. A shift in register that moved the words from formal to familiar, from ancient cadence to something closer to the man whose body was doing the speaking. Two voices woven together, layered, the seam between them visible for the first time in two days.

“She stays in Shadowclaw. We send someone to warn them. With the order that she goes into Shadowclaw’s tunnels with guards and their master mage. And we keep communication open to make sure they are not also part of this attack.”

The Dragon King’s gold eyes met Tiberon’s. But the eyes were not entirely the Dragon King’s anymore.

“We are more than equipped to handle Drakenfell.”

Every person within earshot heard it. Nobody was certain which voice had delivered the final sentence. The ancient king’s authority was there. But Dexmon’s voice was also there.

Dexmon’s eyes flickered back to regular gold. The ancient gold dimmed, cooled, and settled back to the regular gold that belonged to Dexmon Drakenfell and no one else.

Tiberon looked at his son’s face. The face that was his son’s and wasn’t. The face that had just produced a sentence carrying two signatures.

His eye did not twitch. His jaw did not move. But something behind his expression warmed by one degree, and the degree was the degree of a father who had just heard his son’s voice break through a ten-thousand-year occupation, and the breaking had been to protect the woman he loved.

“Understood,” Tiberon said. “Hyran, send word to Shadowclaw. Full lockdown protocol. The Draken Prime goes underground. Aeron Lancaster is personally responsible for her safety. I want confirmation that their castle is secure.”

Dexmon shook his head. “If we tell Serena that Drakenfell is under attack, she will come and there will be no stopping her. Inform Finnick Shadowclaw. He will ensure she is protected.”

Then he stumbled.

One step forward. His hand caught the fence post. His teeth clenched so hard the tendon in his jaw jumped.

Across the field, Gavriel Sterling doubled over at the same second. Same reaction. Same timing. His hand went to his forearm and his face contorted with the specific grimace of someone whose skin was doing something his skin had not been consulted about.