Chapter 122: _ Let’s Go Get Her

REMUS DRAKARYN [Crown Prince of the Dragon Realm]

The letter from my father lay open on my desk, stamped with the imperial seal of the Dragon King. The ink was barely dry, but the words burned into my mind.

The apocalypse has officially begun. The realms are in danger. Send the full list of markless anomalies immediately.

I stared down at the document.

I knew I couldn’t hold off sending the report any longer. The Realm Council was demanding blood, and my father’s patience had run out. Slowly, I picked up my quill, dipped it in black ink, and finalized the roster of initiates suspected of carrying anomaly traits.

I wrote ten names. But as the quill hovered over the space where her name belonged, my hand froze.

Elira No-One.

If the Realm Council got their hands on her name, she would be dragged to the vaults under the High Citadel. If she turned out to be the anomaly linked to the apocalypse, the Council would execute her on the spot.

My jaw clenched. If she turns out to be a Borrowed... I will execute her myself, I reasoned, trying to satisfy the disciplined voice of royal duty inside my head. I will handle it with my own blade. But until then... the Council does not get her.

Until then, she was the girl who had haunted my mind for eight long years. Ever since I saw her again, I didn’t fully understand what this strange obsession was yet, but I knew one undeniable truth: I was not going to let them take her.

Vaela’s words from earlier still rang in my ears.

"Ivar marked her. Right there in front of everyone. He claimed her as his mate, dressed her in royal silk, and walked her through our courtyard..."

My hand tightened around the quill until the wood creaked under the pressure. When Vaela had spat those words at me, a sickening numbness had slammed into my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.

I had tried to make sense of it. I had tried to force my brain into logical submission.

Elira didn’t look like a cheap, opportunistic noble girl. She didn’t have the manipulative, hungry eyes of the women who constantly threw themselves at the royal wings. She looked better than that. Pure. Fierce. Unyielding.

But then again... do I really know her? I thought bitterly, staring blankly at the parchment. She grew up in the Stonewick trenches. Hardship and poverty do terrible things to people. Did the mud break her? Is she just another commoner using her body to buy royal favor?

And of all people... why Ivar?

I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes as memories of the past few days flashed behind my eyelids.

The brawl in the Great Hall. Prince Zev dragging her through the Dragon Wing, his hands wrapped possessively around her wrist, forcing me to physically brawl with the Tiger Prince until blood stained the marble floors.

And then I remembered the second day after her arrival—catching Ivar Wulfram using invisibility to track her every move like a hunter stalking prey.

My eyes snapped open the moment it all became clear.

Zev. Ivar.

Were those two playing some sadistic game with her?

I knew how Ivar operated. The Wolf Prince was a notorious, shameless glutton who preyed on female initiates, taking their mana under the guise of charm before tossing them aside like garbage. Zev was no better. Just like his friend, he was a calculated predator who treated the academy like a personal chessboard.

What if Elira hadn’t thrown herself at Ivar? What if Ivar and Zev were actively manipulating a markless commoner who had no idea how dangerous the royal houses truly were? What if they were using her vulnerability as leverage against the Dragon Wing?

The thought of those two arrogant bastards toying with her—making her feel weak, exposed, and disposable—sent a wave of dragon-fire roaring through my blood.

If I find out they are messing with her... I growled silently, pushing back from the desk, I will make them regret ever thinking she was prey.

I stood up, folding father’s ledger into my leather tunic. I wasn’t going to sit in this study and drown in speculation any longer. I needed answers. And I was going to get them directly from the source.

I pulled open the door and stepped out into the main suite.

The bedchamber was a complete disaster area. Veyra was slumped across the chaise lounge, currently surrounded by four petrified handmaids. One maid was dabbing her forehead with a damp napkin, another was holding a goblet of warm milk, a third was fanning her with peacock feathers, while the fourth timidly picked up the shattered pieces of the perfume bottle from the floor. Veyra wasn’t screaming anymore. She was now weeping silently with a face ruined with white clay mask and tears.

It hurt to see my sister in pain. Deep down, I cared for Veyra and Vaela—they were family, and I had spent years shielding them from our father’s brutal expectations. But they needed to learn. They were spoiled, reckless, and blind to the real dangers threatening the realm.

Wardmother Olda hurried out from the dressing room, clutching a stack of folded linens. She froze when she saw me heading for the outer doors.

"Remus?" Olda gasped, her old eyes widening. "Where are you going? Your father sent word. He doesn’t want his children out after patrol..."

"I will be back, Olda," I said flatly, not pausing my stride as I threw my cloak over my shoulders.

I marched out of the royal suite and went straight to Xanthos.

The moment he heard my boots, Xanthos turned his head toward me.

’You are radiating distress, little master. Your blood is boiling. Did the tiger prince return? Shall I burn his tower?’

"No, Xanthos," I answered aloud, stepping up to his shoulder and slinging the leather riding harness over his neck. "We are going to the West Annex."

Xanthos perked up instantly. ’The West Annex? To see the markless female? The small one who has made us restless every night?’

"Yes."

’EXCELLENT,’ Xanthos boomed mentally, letting out a huff of warm air that singed the stone floor. ’I have been bored. Let us retrieve her.’