KAEL'S POV
I moved without thinking.
One second, Seraphine stood there with black eyes and a dead woman's voice. The next, I had her slammed against the wall, my hand around her throat.
"Impossible," I snarled. "I killed you. I watched you die."
"You did." The voice coming from Seraphine's mouth was wrong—too old, too cold. "You broke my neck with your bare hands. Very dramatic, my love."
My love. She'd called me that five hundred years ago, right before she cursed my kingdom.
"Get out of that girl's body. Now."
"But I like this body." Seraphine's—no, the dead princess's—smile was twisted. "Young. Pretty. Powerful. And best of all, she invited me in."
"Liar."
"Am I?" Those black eyes studied me. "Ask yourself, Dragon King. How else would I be here? The real Seraphine wanted power so badly, she made a deal. My soul for her success. And when she brought me that dragon egg, I knew it was time."
Behind me, Elara gasped. "The egg. What did you do to it?"
"Nothing it didn't want, little fake." The thing wearing Seraphine turned its attention to Elara. "That egg was dying anyway. I just gave it new purpose. New magic. Dark magic."
The egg in Seraphine's arms pulsed with sickly black light.
Every dragon in the room recoiled.
"That's not dragon magic," Theron breathed. "That's death magic. Corruption."
"Smart boy." The possessed princess laughed. "Five hundred years I've waited in the space between life and death. Waited for someone stupid enough to bring me back. And finally, your precious real princess did exactly that."
I tightened my grip on her throat. "Why? What do you want?"
"What I've always wanted." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "To watch you suffer. To see your kingdom fall. To finish what I started."
"The curse."
"Was just the beginning." She smiled. "The real fun starts now."
She moved faster than should be possible. Her hand shot out, touching the corrupted egg.
Black magic exploded through the throne room.
I was thrown backward, hitting the wall hard enough to crack stone. My dragon roared inside me, but the dark magic held me down like chains.
Around the room, dragons screamed. Fae warriors collapsed. Even Lyra, powerful as she was, dropped to her knees.
Only Elara remained standing.
The golden marks on her hand blazed like fire. She ran toward Seraphine, not away.
"Elara, no!" I shouted.
But she didn't listen. She grabbed the corrupted egg with both hands.
The black magic and golden light collided. The room shook. Thunder cracked inside stone walls.
And Elara screamed.
Not in pain—in rage. Pure, furious rage.
"Get out of my sister!" she yelled.
Golden fire erupted from her hands, burning into the egg. The black magic shrieked and writhed, trying to escape.
For a moment, I saw two faces overlapping in Seraphine's body—the innocent princess and the ancient evil wearing her like a coat.
Then the dark magic shattered.
The corrupted egg crumbled to ash.
And Seraphine collapsed, her eyes returning to normal green.
The dark presence was gone.
I staggered to my feet, my dragon still snarling. "What just happened?"
"She burned it out." Lyra stood slowly, staring at Elara in shock. "Pure tamer magic against death magic. I've never seen anything like it."
Elara knelt beside Seraphine, checking her pulse. "She's alive. Unconscious but alive."
"We need to lock her up," Theron said immediately. "She made a deal with that thing. She's a traitor."
"She's my sister." Elara's voice was firm. "And she was manipulated. We find out what happened before we execute anyone."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to say that anyone who bargained with the dead deserved death.
But looking at Elara—exhausted, scared, but still defending the girl who'd tried to steal her life—I couldn't.
"Take Seraphine to the healing wing," I ordered. "Post guards. No one in or out without my permission."
As guards carried Seraphine away, I turned to Elara. "That was incredibly stupid."
"Probably."
"You could have died."
"But I didn't." She met my eyes. "I couldn't let that thing hurt you. Any of you."
Something in my chest tightened. Something dangerous.
"Why?" I asked quietly. "Why protect us? This isn't your kingdom. These aren't your people."
"Aren't they?" She looked around the throne room—at the dragons, the fae, the witches. "I've spent three months here. Learning your language. Studying your history. Healing your wounded. Maybe I started as a fake, but somewhere along the way..."
"What?"
"This started feeling real." She smiled sadly. "You started feeling real."
The throne room had gone silent. Everyone watching. Everyone listening.
I shouldn't care what she felt. Shouldn't care that she'd risked her life. Shouldn't care that when she smiled, something in my ancient, scarred heart wanted to—
"Your Majesty." A scout burst through the doors. "Emergency. The army outside—Seraphine's army—they're not leaving. They say they won't go without their princess. And their commander is demanding to speak with you."
"Let him wait."
"You don't understand, sir. Their commander isn't human." The scout's face was white. "He's fae. Old fae. And he says he knows you."
Ice flooded my veins. "What's his name?"
"Malachar Darkwind."
No. Not him. Anyone but him.
Theron grabbed my arm. "Kael, that's impossible. Malachar died in the curse. You saw his body."
"I saw *a* body." My mind raced. "What if it wasn't his? What if he's been alive this whole time?"
"Who's Malachar?" Elara asked.
"My brother," I said quietly. "My twin brother. The one who loved the human princess before I did. The one who swore revenge when I killed her."
Understanding dawned in Elara's eyes. "He's working with whoever possessed Seraphine."
"Worse." I started toward the door. "He might be the one who planned all of this. The swap. The fake princess. The curse. Everything."
"Then why reveal himself now?"
"Because Seraphine failed." I pushed open the throne room doors. "And now he's going to finish the job himself."
We walked to the battlements. Below, two hundred soldiers waited. And at their head stood a man who looked exactly like me—black hair, amber eyes, dragon marks.
My brother. My twin. The one I'd thought dead for five hundred years.
Malachar smiled up at me. "Hello, brother. Miss me?"
"What do you want?"
"What I've always wanted." His voice carried on the wind. "Your throne. Your kingdom. Your death. In that order."
"You'll have to take them."
"Oh, I will." He gestured, and the soldiers behind him shifted.
Not human soldiers. I'd been wrong.
They were constructs. Magical puppets made from corpses and dark magic. Dead things walking.
An army of the dead.
"You see, brother," Malachar called. "While you've been playing house with fake princesses, I've been busy. Building power. Gathering forces. And now I have something you'll never defeat."
"What's that?"
He smiled. "An army that can't die. Again."
The dead soldiers raised their weapons.
Behind me, Elara grabbed my hand. "Kael, what do we do?"
I looked at my brother. At the impossible army. At the kingdom I'd sworn to protect.
"We fight," I said.
"Against the dead?"
"Against anyone who threatens my home." I squeezed her hand. "Even family."
Malachar laughed. "Then let's begin. Attack!"
The army of the dead charged.
But before we could move, before we could fight, the ground beneath the citadel rumbled.
Not an earthquake. Something else.
Something waking up.
"No," Lyra breathed. "Please tell me that's not—"
The courtyard stones cracked. Split. Shattered.
And from beneath the citadel, something massive rose.
Bones. Ancient dragon bones buried centuries ago. The skeletons of dragons who'd died in the original curse.
They were moving.
Malachar's dark magic had raised them. Turned them into weapons.
Dead dragons with empty eye sockets and rotting wings rose into the sky, surrounding the citadel.
"He didn't just raise human dead," Theron whispered. "He raised our ancestors."
I watched in horror as the skeleton of my own father—the previous Dragon King—turned hollow eyes toward me.
Malachar's voice echoed across the battlefield: "Tell me, brother. Can you kill our father twice?"
The dead dragon king opened his skeletal jaws.
And roared.