One walked through the gates of the dragon palace alone—and became the chosen: her blood awakened ancient, sleeping magic.
The other was carried there on the conqueror’s shoulder: by a ridiculous coincidence, she turned out to be the wife of the prince he swore he hated.
Two girls. Two dragons. And a life governed by rules written by neither of them.
***
“She will be my queen,” the elder said.
“She’s already mine,” the younger thought—but he said nothing.
Because dragons don’t get to choose.
There is only fire. And the ashes that remain after it.