And then the dragon leapt into the sky, carrying all three of them toward whatever salvation…or doom, waited on the horizon, his enormous wings cutting through the pale dawn like blades forged from light itself.
The camp stared upward in stunned silence, their cheers dying in their throats. Moments ago, they had been celebrating the birth of a prince, voices raised in triumph, drums echoing across the plains; but now, as they watched the dark silhouette streak across the heavens with their king, their queen, and the newborn heir, they whispered in confusion and growing disbelief…
The King was running away.
A ripple of panic settled over the field, quiet at first, then spreading like a sickness. No one understood. No one had been told. No one even dared to think of what it meant that the dragon himself had torn open the queen's tent and taken the prince. Only the sound of beating wings lingered, like thunder fading into the mountains.
