The Dragon King and His Fallen Star novel Chapter 97

Chapter 97: The Voice in Her Headi

MIRAEL

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The tavern reeked of spilled ale, sweat, and a sour trace of piss that clung to the wooden beams

like rot.

Mirael sat hunched in a shadowed corner booth beneath the flickering glow of a lantern, her hood

drawn low over half her face. A chipped mug of cheap ale sat untouched before her, though she’d

already had enough earlier to blunt the sharp edge of her rage.

She cursed her current condition. The clothes she wore were plain and coarse, her boots muddy from travel, her once-meticulously painted nails chipped and dulled. She could’ve afforded better, deserved better. There were finer inns in the area, private estates, manors even, where her face

would be greeted with wine and warmth.

But those places knew her name. And right now, anonymity is worth more than luxury.

She needed to be far from Altierra. Far from Solmere. Far from Kierygan’s court.

Until the tide of suspicion ebbed-until she was certain her name wouldn’t be the next whispered

in treason-this nameless backwater would have to do.

Her fury simmered again. It always did when her thoughts circled back to the reason she was here.

Eirlys.

Because after everything, after what should have burned that girl to ash, she still breathed.

Mirael clenched her jaw. She still couldn’t believe it. She’d watched it-watched the flames rise, watched the smoke thicken-and yet, the girl emerged. Unscathed. Perhaps dazed. Concussed.

But whole.

It made no sense. No one walks away from dragonfire.

And that impossibility gnawed at her like a rat beneath the floorboards.

Mirael shoved the mug aside and stood on unsteady legs. The tavern spun briefly. She’d had too much. Or not enough.

She climbed the creaking staircase to her rented room above the inn, the key already clutched in her fist. It was a dingy hole of a space with a single cot, peeling walls, and a window that didn’t close all the way. The kind of place where no one asks your name and everyone minds their own business.

She bolted the door behind her, drew the thin curtain closed, and sank onto the bed.

She exhaled sharply through her nose and stared at the ceiling-cracked, yellowed, stained by

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years of smoke and rot. The room tilted slightly. She shut her eyes, but the dark did nothing to quiet the storm inside her.

Then it began again. The whispers.

She’d been hearing that voice for some time now.

At first, she thought it was her own mind turning on her. Guilt, maybe. Or madness-the price of

failure.

It had started softly, barely-there murmurs threading through the corners of her thoughts. But lately, it had grown bolder. Sharper. And now, impossible to ignore.

“What the hell do you want?” she hissed at the empty room.

“Come to me,” it coaxed now, like a lullaby dragged through broken glass. “We want the same thing,

you and I.”

Mirael’s eyes snapped open.

“Leave me alone,” she rasped, gripping the edge of the bed as if the wood might anchor her.”

You’re not real. You’re not.”

“Oh, but I am,” the voice said. “And I’ve been waiting.

Her breath caught.

“I can give you what you want.”

Mirael’s jaw clenched. “You don’t even know what I want.”

The voice chuckled, low and knowing. “Oh, but I do. You want Kierygan. All to yourself.”

“And you want the girl gone.”

“I can make that happen.”

Mirael’s breath grew shallow. “Who are you?”

The voice coiled around her like smoke. “If you truly want to know… all you have to do is listen. Come to me. And I’ll give you everything.”

The voice had weight. Presence. It wasn’t echoing in her head like memory or hallucination-it was tethered to something outside herself. Something. distant. Yet drawing closer.

Mirael sat up, her heart thudding unevenly against her ribs. Her temples pounded, her stomach swirled with too much alcohol and too little food, but still-she stood. The cloak draped over the bedpost caught her eye, and with fumbling fingers, she yanked it over her shoulders.

The wind outside howled between the warped wooden slats of the tavern walls, but Mirael barely heard it. Her legs moved on instinct, leading her out the crooked door, down the creaking stairs,

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Chapter 97: The Voice in Her Head

and out into the night.

“That’s it,” the voice purred. “You’re ready now.”

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She untied her horse from the crooked post behind the inn. The beast snorted, uneasy under her

touch. Mirael swung into the saddle and set off, the tavern disappearing behind her.

The road was merciless. Her path twisted from cobbled lanes into a forest choked with shadows,

the moon smothered by drifting clouds. Gnarled roots clawed at her boots. Thorns tore at her

cloak. Still, she pushed forward.

The voice no longer spoke. It pulled, silent and relentless. A thread winding tight in her chest,

impossible to ignore.

By the time the sky began to pale, she reached it: a jagged cove where the cliffs dropped like a

blade into the sea. Waves battered the rock below, spray rising like ghosts in the wind. The scent

of brine filled her lungs as she dismounted, boots crunching on broken shells and slick stone.

Then a woman stepped through the mist.

Not imagined. Not conjured. She’s very real.

And unmistakably familiar. Too familiar.

Mirael froze, cold fury locking her limbs in place. “You,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous.

This woman has been her enemy. The one she’s been sent to hunt. The kingdom’s enemy. Her

enemy.

And yet here she stood in front of her. Calm, composed, smiling as if she’d been expecting her.

“Morwenna.”

Morwenna’s smile curved like a blade. “We meet at last,” she said smoothly. “Mirael.”

Mirael took a wary step back toward her waiting horse. “This is a mistake,” she murmured. “I would never betray Kierygan.”

Morwenna laughed, low and taunting. “Wouldn’t you?” she said, advancing slowly. “Loyalty to a man who discarded you the moment he found someone younger. Prettier. Unspoiled.”

The words struck like a slap, and for once, Mirael had none to give in return.

Morwenna’s voice softened, poisonous with pity. “You go crawling back to him now, and then what? Think he’ll look at you the same? Look at you the same way he looks at her?”

Mirael’s hands clenched at her sides.

“He’s already chosen, Mirael,” Morwenna went on, circling. “And it wasn’t you.”

Morwenna’s smile curved wider, slow and snake-like. “I can change all of that, you know. Make him

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hapter 97. The V

Chapter 97 The Voice in Her Head

want you again.”

Mirael flinched.

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