The queen’s screams had barely faded when the king announced that her child was dead.

The attack began precisely at midnight.

There was no formal declaration of war, no grand herald blowing horns from the battlements. Instead, the massive iron portcullis of the outer gate exploded outward in a shower of sparks and shattered timber, blown open by a carefully placed charge of volatile black powder crafted in Orion’s forge.

King Aldric bolted upright in his royal bedchamber, the sound of distant steel and screaming guards shattering the silence of the night.

"What is happening?" he shouted, grabbing his sword from the bedside table as Lord Commander Vane burst through the heavy oak doors, breathless and bleeding from a gash across his forehead.

"The lower districts have risen, Your Grace!" Vane panted. "They’re storming the inner courtyard! And... and the queen—she leads them!"

"She's dead!" Aldric roared, his face twisting in frantic denial. "I saw her at the edge of the pit!"

"She lives, my king," a cool, clear voice echoed from the doorway.

Aldric and Vane spun around. Standing on the balcony threshold, framed by the smoky, orange glow of the burning outer courtyards, was Queen Elara.

She wore no torn white nightgown now. She was clad in hardened black leather and polished steel plating fashioned by master smiths, her long hair tied back, her eyes burning with an unearthly, fierce brilliance. Resting upon her shoulder, now the size of a hunting hound with fully spread, shimmering silver-gray wings, was Ignis. The young dragon opened its jaws, venting a continuous, low rumble of blue-white flame that illuminated the dark chamber.