18. Lyra

18

LYRA

I can't bear to see the look of defeat on Zoldryn's face as Nindre reveals my supposed betrayal. But was I ever truly on his side? Or was I just a means to an end, a tool for him to gain power? His eyes tell a different story, and I can't help but feel a pang of guilt.

"I have decided," the Elder says, rising from his throne and walking towards us. "The punishment for your insolence will be death."

My heart races as the Elder approaches Zoldryn, his obsidian scaled hand raised and ready to strike. I can't let this happen. I won't let this happen. But how can I stop him? I'm just a human, weak and powerless compared to these dragon shifters.

Look at his eyes!

That's when I see it. Despite his sentencing, despite everything, not once has Zoldryn looked away from me. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes, they've remained latched to me with an expression that I can only call heartache.

The same eyes that have watched over me, that have taught me his culture and history and listened to every bit of mine.

And the thought of the life draining from them is too much for me to bear.

"Stop!" I scream, my voice echoing through the throne room.

The entire room pauses, all eyes turning to me. I can feel the weight of their gaze, but I refuse to back down. I square my shoulders and meet Zoldryn's eyes, my voice shaking as I speak.

"I want to be the one to kill him."

Nindre laughs, a cruel and mocking sound that echoes through the throne room. "Oh, how delightful. Let the pathetic human kill the mighty dragon shifter. What a fitting end."

The Elder mulls over my request, his obsidian-scaled fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne. Finally, he gives a curt nod. "Very well," he agrees. "If you can kill Zoldryn, then you will have proven your worth to me."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the confrontation to come. My heart pounds like a war drum in my chest as I stride towards Zoldryn, my eyes locked on his. His own gaze is a tumultuous storm of fury and deception, never wavering from mine.

The three shifters behind him have him on his knees. He wears nothing but a loincloth—more than he usually wears—and his hair is partly tied back out of his face so that I can look at him.

"You manipulated me," I declare, my voice ringing with conviction. "You exploited me, all for the power you believed I possessed. You showed no mercy, no guilt."

Despite my accusatory words, I can't stop myself from taking in every inch of his face. He looks as though he was carved from obsidian stone, crafted by the Gods into a statue of magnificent, furious glory. His eyes glow through the dimly lit space, burning into my skin with a sensation I've come to know as pleasurable.

A cruel sneer twists Zoldryn's lips, full and lush. "Power, little human, is not inherently malevolent," he hisses. "If your parents had possessed some, perhaps you wouldn't have been born into bondage."

Even in his rage, I can't help but notice a flicker of anguish in his eyes. Could it be that he feels just as deceived as I do? Is it possible that Nindre is wrong and he, too…?

It doesn't matter. I've made my choice.

With unwavering resolve, I lift my chin. "You've been using me, Zoldryn, from the start."

In that instant, I hurl myself at him, my fingers clamping around his throat. I hear the sudden intake of his breath, his eyes ablaze with a sentiment so intense that I feel its tendrils coiling around my stomach. Our faces mere inches apart, I murmur my final query.

"Can you kill The Elder with the power contained within my amulet?"

Zoldryn's expression shifts through a range of emotions before he responds, "I thought you wanted me dead?"

I take a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. "I must be insane, I know..." My voice trembles slightly as I speak the unthinkable truth. "But I would rather be used by you than Nindre or the Elder. I'm not an idiot. I know they will never let me leave this place alive."

"Neither will I," he warns, a primal rumble underlying his words that sends a shiver racing down my spine.

His expression softens then, and he reaches out to caress my cheek with the back of his finger. I flinch instinctively at his touch, but that doesn't deter him from trailing his touch along my skin in a feather-light caress. The simple intimacy of the gesture causes my breath to catch in my throat.

Swallowing hard, I lift my chin defiantly and meet his gaze head-on. "I don't want you to," I say simply, the words feeling like a death sentence and a new beginning all at once.