Chapter 5 Blood and Blossoms

The moment Keith’s dragon blood sank into my skin, the room spun.

It wasn't a spark. It was a volcanic surge that set every nerve ending on fire. My hands shook, not with fear, but with a terrifying, untamed power that screamed to be released.

Keith didn’t step away. He stood flush against my back, his chest pressed to my shoulder blades, his large hand wrapping around mine to steady my aim toward the wooden bowl.

"Don't fight the burn, Wendy," he growled against my ear, his breath intoxicating and hot. "Dragons do not ask the earth for permission. We command it. Speak the words."

I choked on a breath, my heart hammering like a war drum. I looked at the three shriveled moon-orchid seeds.

“Flora surgere!”

This time, there was no chaotic violet smoke. No shattered glass.

A flash of liquid gold erupted from my fingers, washing over the soil. The dead brown seeds cracked open with a sound like snapping bones. Thick, emerald vines shot out of the dirt, twisting upward at impossible speed. Thick silver buds swelled, bursting open into three massive, luminous blossoms that glowed with an ethereal, starlit lavender radiance.

The petals were not ordinary. They were veined with ribbons of molten gold—dragon-infused moon-orchids.

The sweet, intoxicating scent of crushed nectar and celestial fire filled the cottage, instantly banishing the smell of dust and burnt wood.

I gasped, staggering backward. "I... I did that?"

"We did that," Keith murmured, looking down at the blossoms with a predatory gleam in his slit pupils. "A single petal of celestial-grade flora would sell for a small fortune in your mortal markets."

"Not just a small fortune," I breathed, my eyes wide. "These... these aren't regular orchids. They're royal grade. One stem alone could fetch a hundred silver at the grand apothecary exchange!"

"Then take them and pay off your parasite," Keith said smoothly, releasing my hand. His voice hardened, the temporary warmth vanishing behind an icy wall of arrogance. "And once this pathetic debt is settled, you will find the counter-curse to unbind us. I will not remain chained to a girl who plays with weeds."

His cold tone stung worse than it should have, especially after the way he had just held me.

"Don't worry, Your Majesty," I shot back, carefully cutting the three radiant stems with my silver shears and wrapping them in velvet cloth. "The second I’m free of your bad temper, I’ll celebrate."

I grabbed my cloak and marched out the front door, Keith falling into step right beside me. Because of the soul tether, he had no choice.

The bustling market of Oakhaven was alive with afternoon trade. Smells of roasted nuts, horse sweat, and cheap ale filled the cobblestone streets. But as we walked toward the Guild district, heads turned.

Women stopped in their tracks, staring openly at Keith. Even in a borrowed plain linen shirt and riding trousers, he walked with the devastating grace of a conqueror, his dark hair shifting in the wind, his sharp jawline set in stone. He ignored the stares entirely, his golden eyes scanning the rooftops with paranoid, calculated efficiency.

"They're looking at you like you're a fresh cut of beef," I muttered under my breath.

"Let them look," Keith said without glancing at me. "Prey always stares at what can devour them."

Before I could roll my eyes, a loud clatter of hooves shattered the market chatter.

Four black warhorses tore through the crowd, parting the villagers like cattle. The riders wore dark silver armor bearing an insignia that made my blood run cold—not the local Arcane Guild, but the imperial crest of the Black Sun Inquisitors , the Emperor’s elite witch-hunters.

In the middle of the street, riding alongside them, was Master Bramwell.

Bramwell had a triumphant, vile grin plastered across his face. He spotted us instantly and pointed an accusing finger.

"There she is!" Bramwell bellowed to the armored commander. "That is the cinder witch! She didn't just assault my men—she stole forbidden blood-reagents to brew illegal high-tier artifacts! Look at what she carries!"

The lead Inquisitor pulled his mount to an abrupt halt, his dark, armored mask fixing directly on the glowing velvet bundle in my arms.

"Wendy Thorne," the Inquisitor’s voice echoed mechanically through his helm. "You are accused of harboring forbidden primordial arcana and practicing high treason. Yield the contraband, or your companion dies where he stands."

Two of the riders drew heavy crossbows loaded with shimmering, cold-iron bolts—weapons specifically forged to paralyze and kill ancient beasts.

Keith stepped directly in front of me, shielding my entire body with his broad back.

A low, lethal vibration rumbled from his chest, making the warhorses whinny and rear back in absolute terror.

"Keith, don't!" I whispered in panic, clutching the back of his shirt. "Those are cold-iron bolts! If they shoot you—"

Keith didn't back down. Slowly, he raised one hand, the obsidian scales beneath his sleeves flashing with dangerous, suffocating heat. His golden eyes locked onto the Inquisitor, and a ruthless smile spread across his face.

"You brought iron to fight a dragon?" Keith whispered, his voice dri

pping with venom. "Mortal... you are not going to survive this day.”