Seraphina's POV
The door slammed open.
I jerked awake, my heart racing. I'd fallen asleep on the floor, the history book still open beside me. Morning light streamed through the window—I'd slept through the entire night.
Draeven stood in the doorway.
He looked different in daylight. Still terrifying, but more controlled. He wore dark clothes that made him look every inch the powerful lord. His white hair was pulled back. The scales on his neck and arms seemed to shimmer with their own light.
And his golden eyes were fixed on me with an expression I couldn't read.
"Get up," he said.
I scrambled to my feet, my legs stiff from sleeping on the stone floor. "What—"
"The Council meets in two hours." He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "Before you face them, you need to understand exactly what your family did."
"I've been reading—"
"Books don't show the truth." His voice was cold. "They sanitize it. Make it bearable. But what the Ashencrofts did wasn't bearable. It was evil in its purest form."
I pressed my back against the bookshelf. "Then tell me. Tell me what they did so I can understand why you hate me so much."
"I don't hate you."
The words shocked me into silence.
Draeven moved closer, and I saw something in his eyes that looked almost like pain. "I want to hate you. I've tried to hate you. But you're not them, are you? You're just a girl who had the misfortune of being born into a family of monsters."
"Then why am I here?" My voice cracked. "Why did you bring me to this fortress if you're just going to let the Council kill me anyway?"
"Because they deserve to see you." He gestured to the chains on my wrists. "The last Ashencroft. The end of a bloodline that should have been wiped out centuries ago."
"My family hurt you," I said quietly. "Didn't they? Personally, I mean. Not just dragons in general. You."
Something flickered across his face—raw, bleeding grief.
"Sit down," he said.
It wasn't a request.
I sat on the edge of the bed. Draeven remained standing, looking out the window at the mountains beyond.
"Three hundred years ago," he began, his voice carefully controlled, "your great-great-grandfather led a hunting party into dragon territory. We thought it was a diplomatic mission. We were fools."
He turned to face me.
"They came with nets made of enchanted silver. Weapons designed specifically to pierce dragon scales. And they came in the middle of mating season, when our families were most vulnerable."
My stomach twisted. "What did they do?"
"They slaughtered the adults first. Quickly. Efficiently." His jaw clenched. "Then they took the younglings alive."
"No," I whispered.
"Yes." Draeven's eyes burned with remembered rage. "They kept them in cages beneath Ashencroft Manor. Did you ever wonder what was in the dungeons, Seraphina? Did you ever explore those lower levels?"
"I wasn't allowed." My voice shook. "The servants said it was dangerous. That I'd get hurt if I went down there."
"They were protecting you from the truth." He laughed bitterly. "Or maybe protecting themselves from having to explain why your family kept dragons in cages like animals."
He moved to the bookshelf and pulled down a different volume—one I hadn't seen before. He opened it and held it out to me.
I didn't want to look. But I forced myself to take it.
The pages showed drawings. Detailed sketches of dragons in various stages of... experimentation. Their scales being removed. Their blood being drained. Their hearts being extracted while they were still alive.
I dropped the book like it burned me.
"That's what your family did," Draeven said quietly. "They didn't just kill us. They studied us. Used us. Turned our bodies into magical ingredients like we were nothing more than ingredients for potions."
Tears streamed down my face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"
"Sorry doesn't bring them back!" His voice cracked with fury. "Sorry doesn't undo three centuries of torture and death!"
He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. Not roughly, but firmly enough that I couldn't resist.
"Do you remember the library at your manor?" he asked. "The one where I found you?"
"Yes."
"Do you remember the decorations on the walls?"
I tried to think back through the smoke and fire. The library had been my sanctuary, but I'd never paid much attention to the decorations. There had been... hangings, I thought. Tapestries maybe.
"They weren't tapestries," Draeven said, reading my expression. "They were dragon scales. Hundreds of them, arranged in patterns, displayed like trophies."
Horror crashed over me. "No—"
"Yes." His grip on my arm tightened. "Your grandfather wore my sister's scales as a cloak. She was barely two hundred years old—still a child by our standards. They hunted her specifically because her silver scales were rare. Beautiful."
I was going to be sick.
"He skinned her alive," Draeven continued, his voice hollow. "Took her scales one by one while she screamed. And when he was done, when she was finally dead, he kept her heart in a glass jar on his desk like a paperweight."
I bent over and vomited. There was nothing in my stomach but the bread from last night, but my body heaved anyway.
Draeven didn't move. Just stood there watching me with those terrible golden eyes.
"Now you understand," he said quietly. "Now you know what the Ashencroft name really means."
I wiped my mouth with a shaking hand. "I would never—I could never do something like that—"
"I know." His voice softened slightly. "That's the problem. You're not like them. You're innocent of their crimes. But you're still an Ashencroft, and my people demand justice."
"Then kill me." I looked up at him through tears. "If my death will give them justice, then do it. I don't want to live knowing what my family did. I don't want to carry this blood."
"It's not that simple." Draeven pulled me back to my feet. "If I kill you, it has to mean something. It has to matter. A quick death in the night won't satisfy the Council. They want you to stand trial. To hear every crime. To understand the full weight of what your family took from us."
"And then they'll execute me."
"Yes."
I nodded slowly. At least it would end. At least I wouldn't have to live with this knowledge.
"Can I ask you something?" I said quietly.
"What?"
"Your sister. What was her name?"
Draeven's expression cracked. For just a moment, the cold mask fell away and I saw the grief beneath it—raw and bleeding and centuries old.
"Lyanna," he whispered. "Her name was Lyanna."
The same name as my half-sister. The irony was cruel.
"I'm sorry about Lyanna," I said. "I'm sorry about all of them. And I know that doesn't change anything, but I need you to know that if I'd been alive back then—if I'd known—I would have tried to stop it."
"Would you?" He studied my face. "Even if it meant betraying your own family?"
"Yes." I didn't hesitate. "What they did was evil. I would have tried to stop them, even if it killed me."
Something shifted in Draeven's eyes. Not forgiveness—I didn't deserve that. But maybe... understanding.
"The Council won't care about your intentions," he said. "They'll only see your blood."
"I know."
He turned toward the door, then paused. "Seraphina."
"Yes?"
"When you stand before the Council, don't beg. Don't plead for mercy. They'll respect you more if you face death with dignity."
"Why do you care if they respect me?"
Draeven's hand tightened on the door handle. "I don't know anymore."
He left, locking the door behind him.
I stood alone in the room, shaking. In two hours, I would face the Dragon Council. In two hours, they would sentence me to death for crimes committed by people I'd never met.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I walked to the window and looked out at the mountains. Somewhere out there was the life I might have had if I'd listened to Kaelen. If I'd run away when he begged me to.
But I'd stayed. I'd hoped for acceptance from a family that built their fortune on dragon corpses.
And now I would die for it.
I touched the chains on my wrists. They'd stopped burning constantly, but they still flared hot whenever I thought about escaping.
There was no escape from this. There never had been.
I was an Ashencroft. And Ashencrofts deserved to die.
The sun climbed higher in the sky. Minutes ticked past.
Then I heard footsteps on the stairs. Multiple footsteps. Heavy boots. The clink of weapons.
The guards were coming to take me to the Council.
My hands shook, but I forced them still. Draeven had said to face death with dignity. I could do that. I could be brave for just a little longer.
The door opened.
But it wasn't guards standing there.
It was Draeven—and behind him stood five dragons in human form. Ancient. Powerful. Their eyes glowed with inner fire.
The Dragon Council.
They'd come to my room instead of waiting for me in their chamber.
And the way they were looking at me—with hunger and hatred and anticipation—made my blood run cold.
"Seraphina Ashencroft," the eldest one said, his voice like grinding stone. "We've decided not to wait for a formal trial. The evidence of your family's crimes is clear. Your guilt is certain."
"No," Draeven said sharply. "I brought her here. She deserves—"
"She deserves nothing." The elder's eyes flashed. "And you, Draeven Nightscale, have broken your blood oath by keeping her alive this long. The Council has voted. She dies today. Now."
One of the dragons stepped forward, reaching for me.
And Draeven moved between us, his body shifting, scales rippling across his skin.
"If you want her," he growled, "you'll have to go through me first."