The black walls of Citadel City loomed, dead and impassive. They ran a hundred feet into the sea on either side of the miles-wide peninsula, sharply dropping into the frothing Gulf of Graves. The Sun Blaze and Bronze Rage circled high above the sea, hunting no doubt.

The Young Conqueror Miah strode to his dragon after inspecting the towering fortifications. The Black Wraith extended his winged arm, forming a path: four wing bones, forearm, elbow, upper arm, shoulder blade, and then it was only a step to the gap in the armored dorsal plating. The Wraith’s wounded shoulder still bled, searing hot blood oozing like melted iron as he climbed. Miah cursed the damned old king and his suicidal charge, but the Wraith could still take wing.

“I’m sorry, my Wraithling,” he whispered as he settled into place. “Please, fly for me now.”

The iron-dark dragon shook his clattering neck, and with a sound like thunder and steel he leapt into the skies above Citadel City. The dragon’s two legs folded against the long, lanced tail, smoke and sparks trailing from the great jaws and wings. His assembled horde shouted in victory and pride, in their hundreds of thousands. He had forged them into one, great army by will alone. Even the dragons he had would be nothing without those men behind them, even if much of them were merely useful rabble. He turned his golden eyes towards the city as the dragon wheeled in the sky.

The broad, black wall that cut the peninsula off from the mainland was armed with great catapults, but the Wraith easily outflew their range. Beyond the hundred-foot walls, dusty red Citadel City was spread. Brick and red tile, cobbles of red, and flags of scarlet on rods of rusted iron, a spectrum of crimson. No men or women were to be seen, doubtlessly hiding in the event of a sack or dragonflame. They needn’t have worried. Miah didn’t plan to let his army run wild here.

In the distance, at the end of the broad peninsula, the Citadel proper loomed. It was huge, the great black wall that ringed it three hundred feet tall and forty thick. It was all glossy, seamless black stone, thirteen square towers grasping for the cloudless blue sky.

A deep pool, choking, suffocating, cruel laughter. 

He hated it.

Pain, hunger, cold.

It was a symbol of all he despised.

But the thousand-foot towers were also a symbol of power, and he needed power. On long wings black-red like rusted iron, the Black Wraith circled the Citadel. The tallest, he reckoned, was two thousand feet tall and more, all with a flat top perfect for surveying the surrounding lands. It was a monstrous fortress, possibly the largest he’d ever seen, roofs and walls studded with long spikes.

Miah circled the monstrous towers thirteen times, noting archers and ballista, catapults and trebuchets. Once he was satisfied, he took the Wraith down into the colossal inner courtyard. It could have held five dragons with room to spare.

That was good: he didn’t know how big dragons grew. Nobody did.

The Wraith’s talons sparked against the stone, and then found their grip. His vast wings furled with a sound like sheathed swords, magnified a hundredfold. The sound echoed off the sheer black walls.

“I am come,” the Conqueror shouted. “Let the lady of the castle come forth.”

***

Lady Larana swept her maids away with a gesture, and drew herself to her full height. The Conquering Lord had taken his sweet time getting to the Citadel, and now she’d let him stew for a while. But not too long. She strode into the courtyard dressed in Royal Purple, flanked by two guards. Two, her father had taught her, was a good number. It indicated strength, showed your enemies that you weren’t afraid and needed but a token force.

The effect was undermined by the dragon’s bulk.

The reddish-black beast was plated with natural armor, segmented and serpentine. It lay sprawled across her courtyard, flames churning in its smoking maw. The barbed jaw rested heavily on the stone, one glaring red eye burning into her like a lighted star. A trickle of molten blood ran from a wounded shoulder, and she allowed herself hope of the beast’s eventual death by infection. Conqueror Miah was seated between two black spines taller than a man, smiling insolently. She’d expected a tall, brutal warrior, scarred and monstrous. Miah was a slender youth, lithe and coppery, dressed in a golden riding tunic and polished breastplate. Pale blond hair hung almost in his eyes, straight and well-groomed. Miah’s eyes were shimmering gold, sharply piercing, his face smooth and crisp. Almost feminine.

She had to admit, if he weren’t a murdering conqueror she would have found him lovely. Larana gazed solidly into those foreign eyes, her own violet eyes refusing to look away. The Conqueror was utterly at ease, staring unblinkingly at her. In the end, she was the one to blink first. Miah smiled, baring gleaming teeth.

“I expect you to surrender the Citadel and all its lands immediately. I expect you to have all your men present in the outer courtyards for my appraisal, no matter their rank. I expect to see cooks, dancers, soldiers, men of coin and men of ships, all of them. And I expect to see every prisoner within my dungeons,” Miah said impetuously.



“Your dungeons?” The Lady asked.

 

“Yes,” Miah said bluntly. “Your armies are gone. Your father is a bloody ruin, your brother is ashes, and you have no allies. The original rulers of the Realms are all dead, and they have no free heirs. I rule everything on this continent.”



“You’ll never see out the year,” the Lady swore. Her father and brother- dead. It was sobering. “Nobody will accept you on the High Throne.”



“You underestimate me yet again,” Miah said, in a manner that suggested he’d said it a hundred times before. “That’s how your fool brother died: charging into the Wraith’s fires. I wanted to bring you what was left of him, but his ashes are scattered far and wide now. Likely they’re mixed with the mire of ash and blood that’s the battlefield. He won’t be able to be properly buried with his ancestors, will he?” Larana’s mouth tightened. “Oh, well. He was a valiant man.”

“I’ll never yield to you,” the Lady said, teeth gritted. One tooth cracked.



“Can your men say the same? If you don’t yield by dawn, I’ll obliterate this castle and raze every inch of this city, just like I did to Portus. There’ll be nothing left but dust. Consider that, my Lady. You too, guards, I see you there. Until tomorrow, My Lady!”

The Black Wraith screamed, and leapt with a rattle and a ring of barbed tail on stone. With three wingbeats, he vanished into the skies. The Lady glared into the blue. Anger and sorrow ripped through her chest, warring. Die burning, or live to see another day? If it was solely her life, she would’ve made the decision instantly. But her men were on the line. A good king, as her father said, didn’t throw his men’s lives away without cause. And they couldn’t really kill the dragons with what they had. But perhaps she could keep a position in the Conqueror’s court.

“Order a surrender,” she spat to one guard. “And make it fast.”