Ragnarok’s scales gleamed in the torchlight as Pryce approached. The massive dragon pulled against his chains, but in his eyes now—not just fury, but a wary assessment.

“Closer,” Kestrel commanded from behind Pryce. “Show no fear, or he’ll sense it.”

Pryce took another step forward. The dragon’s head snaked down, bringing one fierce eye level with Pryce’s face. This close, Pryce could see old scars beneath the scales, likely from previous “training” attempts.

“That’s close enough,” Kestrel said. He gestured to several handlers who carried heavy leather restraints. “We’ll need to muzzle him before moving him to the training yard.”

Jorr stepped forward, he held out a massive muzzle reinforced with metal bands. “Easy now,” he said, though whether to Ragnarok or Pryce wasn’t clear.

“He’s never let anyone this close before,” Raven whispered from somewhere behind them. “Not without trying to burn them.”

“Perhaps he’s finally broken. About time,” Thane said.

Ragnarok’s growl resonated through the cave, but he kept his eyes on Pryce. There was intelligence in that gaze, and something else—a deep, smoldering resentment that wasn’t directed at Pryce himself, but at what he represented.

“I’m not here to break you,” Pryce said softly, pitching his voice so only Ragnarok could hear. “But I need you to work with me, just for now.”

The dragon’s nostrils flared, releasing a thin stream of smoke. But he didn’t pull away when Pryce reached for the muzzle in Jorr’s hands.

The muzzle was heavier than Pryce expected. He held it carefully, letting Ragnarok see it, smell it.

“Get on with it,” Thane snapped. “He’s not some pet needing coddling.”

Ragnarok’s muscles bunched, scales rippling with tension. Pryce shot Thane a warning look. “Maybe if you’d tried coddling instead of breaking, you wouldn’t have failed.”

Silence fell in the cave. Even Kestrel raised an eyebrow at Pryce’s boldness.

Jorr cleared his throat. “The chains, young master? We should secure them before—”

Ragnarok lunged. Not at Pryce, but toward Thane. The old chains groaned against stone as the dragon’s massive head snapped forward. Pryce stumbled back as handlers rushed forward with poles and hooks.

“Control him!” Kestrel shouted.

But Pryce stepped between the handlers and dragon. “Wait! Let me—” The words died in his throat as Ragnarok’s head swung toward him. Those eyes fixed on him with frightening intensity.

“Remember what you are,” Thane said. “A fisherman’s son playing at being a dragon rider.”

Something shifted in Ragnarok’s gaze—recognition, perhaps, of another soul who’d been judged and found wanting by the Dragonkin. The dragon lowered his head, not in submission, but in what felt like a temporary truce.

Working quickly, Pryce secured the muzzle. The handlers attached guide chains, and slowly they led Ragnarok toward the cave’s outer chamber. The dragon moved with coiled grace.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows as they reached the training yard. Pryce’s heart hammered as handlers removed the muzzle, replacing it with a lighter battle bridle. This was the moment of truth.

“Mount up,” Kestrel ordered. “Show us this special bond you supposedly have.”

Pryce grabbed the guide rope, using it to pull himself onto Ragnarok’s massive back. For one breath, everything was still. Then Ragnarok exploded into motion.

The world became a blur of sky and stone as the dragon bucked and twisted. Pryce clung desperately to the rope, his muscles screaming. Each impact rattled his teeth. A particularly violent twist nearly sent him flying.

“Stay with him!” Kestrel’s voice seemed distant. “Assert your dominance!”

But dominance wasn’t what Pryce wanted. As Ragnarok reared again, Pryce leaned forward, pressing his palm against the dragon’s scales. “I know,” he said. “I know they hurt you. But I’m not them.”

The dragon’s movements became less violent, though still far from calm. That’s when Pryce caught a flash of white from the corner of his eye.

Princess Seren stood at the yard’s edge, her presence like a beacon in the chaos. He sensed something cold in her eyes before being replaced by warmth so quickly Pryce wondered if he’d imagined it. Their eyes met, and something shifted in his chest. He had to succeed. Had to prove himself worthy.

Ragnarok must have sensed the change in Pryce’s determination. The dragon’s next move was almost playful—a half-hearted buck that Pryce easily rode out.

“Enough for today,” Kestrel called as darkness crept across the yard. “A promising start.”

As handlers rushed to secure Ragnarok, Seren approached Pryce. “Walk with me,” she said, her voice soft but commanding. “We have much to discuss about Crystal Shores’ future.”

Pryce’s legs trembled as he walked beside Seren. His muscles ached from the battle with Ragnarok, but he straightened his spine, not wanting to appear weak.

“You have a remarkable gift,” Seren said, leading him toward a balcony overlooking the training yards. Below, handlers guided Ragnarok back to his cave. The massive dragon glanced up at where Pryce stood.

“He fought me every step of the way,” Pryce said, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

“And yet you stayed on.”

Seren turned to face him, close enough that he could see the subtle shimmer of scales along her temples. Her hand touched his arm with a grip that felt more reptilian than human.

“Do you know how many riders Ragnarok has thrown? How many he’s injured?” She reached up, her fingers ghosting over a scrape on his cheek. “But with you, he shows . . . restraint.”

Pryce’s skin tingled where she touched him, though whether from attraction or unease, he couldn’t tell. “Maybe he’s just tired of fighting.”

“Or maybe he senses what I do.” She produced a heavy pouch that clinked with coins. “Your worth to us. To Crystal Shores.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our scouts report increased Seadrake Corsairs activity near your village. The Corsairs grow bolder.”

Her violet eyes held his with an intensity that should have warned him, but he was already falling.

“Time grows short, Pryce. We need Ragnarok ready, and you’re the key to controlling him.”

“I don’t want to control him. I want to—”

“To work with him? Of course.” Seren smiled. “That’s exactly why you’re perfect for this task.” She pressed the coin pouch into his hands. “I’ve had you moved to better quarters. Closer to mine.”

Pryce’s heart raced at her proximity. “Princess, I—”

“Seren,” she corrected, stepping closer. “When we’re alone, call me Seren.”

The kiss caught him off guard—soft at first, then deepening with an intensity that made his head spin. When she pulled back, her eyes seemed to glow in the gathering darkness with a predatory gleam he chose to ignore.

“Your family will be protected,” she whispered against his lips. “Your village will prosper. All you have to do is trust me.” She kissed him again, briefly. “Trust us.”

As Seren’s footsteps faded down the corridor, Pryce touched his lips. Below, Ragnarok let out a low rumble that might have been a warning. But all Pryce could think about was Seren’s kiss, and the promise of glory it held.

That night, Pryce’s new quarters felt luxurious after his previous sparse room. Moonlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting dragon-shaped shadows across a bed large enough for three. Ash curled contentedly on a velvet cushion while Skye perched on an ornate stand near the balcony.

He emptied the coin pouch onto a desk. More money than his father made in a year of fishing. His fingers found his mother’s pendant, warm against his chest.

“We’re doing the right thing,” he told his pets. “Protecting Crystal Shores from the Corsairs.”

Ash’s ear twitched, but the cat didn’t look convinced.

A distant roar echoed through the night—Ragnarok, still restless in his cave. Pryce walked to the balcony, looking out over the moonlit training grounds. Tomorrow they’d work together again, and this time . . .

His hand drifted to his lips, remembering Seren’s kiss. She believed in him. Saw his potential when everyone back home had dismissed him as just another fisherman’s son.

A knock at his door startled him. “Enter.”

Jorr stepped in, carrying fresh training leathers. “Begging pardon, young master. For tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Pryce noticed how the young handler’s eyes kept darting toward the shadows. “Something wrong?”

Jorr hesitated. “It’s not my place, but . . .” He lowered his voice. “Be careful with Ragnarok. The last rider who got close . . . Master Kestrel said it was an accident, but . . .”

“What happened to them?”

“No one knows. They just . . . disappeared.” Jorr backed toward the door. “Some say Ragnarok’s not meant to be tamed. That he knows things. Secrets about—” He cut off as he walked into the hall. “Good night, young master.”

After Jorr left, Pryce stared at his reflection in a mirror. His father’s eyes stared back, but everything else had changed. The Dragonkin leathers suited him now. He looked stronger, more confident.

“I won’t disappear,” he said to his reflection. “I’ll succeed where others failed. For Crystal Shores. For Seren.”

But as he turned away, Stormwing’s worried chirp carried from her stable, harmonizing with Ragnarok’s distant call. The sounds merged into something that might have been a warning, or a lament.

Pryce closed the balcony doors, shutting out the night as Seren’s kiss burned on his lips like a brand.

Like a promise.

Like a chain.