Day 3 dawned with a brutal, biting frost that coated the stained-glass windows of the Iron-Wood Manor in thick, jagged sheets of ice.

Inside the master suite, Roxy slowly pushed herself up against the headboard. The deep, throbbing ache in her lower abdomen had finally begun to recede, replaced by a lingering, manageable soreness. Her transmigrated core was slowly stitching itself back together, pulling ambient magic from the heavily warded walls of the estate.

She looked toward the hearth. Iris was sitting on the woven rug, meticulously braiding Tanith’s dark hair. The young snake-shifter had been cleared to leave the medical wing late last night, her magical core stabilized, though she was still under strict orders to rest.

"Good morning, Mama," Iris chirped, her violet eyes bright.

Roxy managed a soft smile. "Good morning, my sweet girls. Where is everyone else?"

"Axel and Onyx are in the kitchens," Tanith replied, her golden-green eyes sharp and observant. "Tyara and Zale are in the nursery. But Drax is in the courtyard. He is leaving."

Roxy’s heart violently skipped a beat. "Leaving? Leaving for where?"

"The Dragon Peaks," Iris supplied, tying off Tanith’s braid with a silken ribbon. "He told the elite guards that since the Kings are completely emotionally compromised right now, the borders still need a Vanguard commander. He is officially stepping up into his role as heir to oversee the aerial patrols until Papa Zarek gets his head on straight."

Panic flared in Roxy’s chest. Drax was leaving. The teenage drake, who had carried the agonizing weight of the pack’s survival on his broad shoulders, who had been so devastated by her sacrifice that he had called her selfish and walked out of the room, was leaving the Manor. She had not spoken a single word to him since that horrific argument. She could not let him fly off to the freezing, treacherous peaks carrying that heavy, festering anger in his heart.

Roxy didn’t care about the lingering weakness in her muscles or the freezing temperature outside.

She threw the heavy dire-wolf pelts aside. She stood up, her bare feet hitting the floorboards, and bypassed her usual terrestrial-inspired dresses for the thickest, heaviest Northern furs she possessed. She wrapped a massive, fur-lined cloak tightly around her shoulders, entirely enveloping her sheer white nightgown.

"Mother, you shouldn’t be out of bed!" Tanith warned, scrambling up from the rug.

"I have to see him off," Roxy insisted, her voice tight with absolute maternal determination. "I am fine, Tanith. Stay by the fire."

She didn’t wait for her daughters to argue. Roxy hurried out of the master suite, her footsteps echoing down the freezing stone corridors. She bypassed the grand staircase, taking the quickest route toward the heavy iron-wrought doors that led out to the Manor’s expansive training courtyard.

She pushed the heavy doors open, and the biting winter wind violently whipped across her face.

The courtyard was a flurry of highly disciplined, tactical movement. A dozen elite Vanguard guards, clad in heavy winter armor, were securing supplies to the massive, leather saddles of the terrestrial wyverns.

Standing in the center of the organized chaos was Drax.

The teenage dragon was dressed in his sleek, dark combat armor, a heavy draconic broadsword strapped securely to his back. He was issuing sharp, authoritative commands to the seasoned soldiers, his jaw clenched, his posture completely rigid. He looked incredibly imposing, effortlessly channeling the terrifying, dominating presence of the Dragon King. He was trying so desperately to act like a hardened, untouchable Vanguard general.

"Drax!" Roxy called out, her voice carrying over the whistling wind.

Drax froze. The authoritative command died instantly in his throat.

He spun around, the heavy dark cloak billowing behind him. When his dark green eyes locked onto Roxy standing in the snow, the fierce, rebellious, untouchable teenage facade completely, catastrophically shattered.

He didn’t see the Vanguard Matriarch. He saw his mother—standing in the freezing courtyard, her skin still terrifyingly pale, dark circles bruising the skin under her brilliant green eyes, shivering beneath the heavy Northern furs just to come and see him off.

"Mother," Drax breathed.

He didn’t walk. He ran.

Drax crossed the snowy courtyard in three massive, desperate strides. He completely abandoned his Warlord composure in front of his elite soldiers. He dropped to his knees in the snow directly in front of her, throwing his heavily armored arms entirely around her waist. He buried his face into the thick furs of her cloak, holding onto her with the sheer, blinding desperation of a child who had thought his entire world was gone.

"I am so sorry," Drax choked out, his broad shoulders violently trembling as a ragged, devastating sob tore from his throat. The smell of draconic smoke and hot tears filled the freezing air. "I am so sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean it. You aren’t selfish. You are the bravest person I know. I was just so angry. I was so absolutely terrified of losing you!"

Roxy’s heart melted into a puddle of pure, unadulterated love. The heavy, agonizing guilt she had carried for two days completely evaporated in the blinding warmth of his forgiveness.

She dropped to her knees in the snow right beside him, completely ignoring the freezing dampness seeping through her nightgown. She wrapped her arms securely around his broad, armored shoulders, pulling his head against her chest.

"Oh, my sweet boy," Roxy whispered, tears streaming freely down her flushed cheeks. She buried her face in his dark hair, her fingers gently stroking the small, hardened dragon scales at the nape of his neck. "I know, Drax. I know. I was never mad at you. Never for a single second. You have every right to be angry with me. I am so incredibly sorry I lied to you."

Drax squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling the sweet, comforting, distinctly terrestrial scent of his mother. It was the scent of home.

"You held the pack together," Roxy murmured fiercely, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You protected your siblings. You stood up to the Kings. I have never, ever been more proud of you than I am right now. You are going to be a magnificent King, Drax."

Drax let out a shaky, watery laugh, wiping his face roughly with the back of his armored gauntlet as he pulled back to look at her. His dark eyes were red-rimmed, but the heavy, festering agony was completely gone, replaced by the fierce, unyielding Vanguard loyalty he was born with.

"I have to go to the Peaks," Drax said, his voice dropping back into a rough, adolescent rumble. "But I will be back in a few days."

"Be careful," Roxy urged, reaching out to cup his cheek. "And don’t pick fights with wyverns just to show off."

Drax smirked, a flash of his usual draconic arrogance returning. He stood up, towering over her, and offered his hand to gently pull her up from the snow.

He looked down at his mother. Then, his dark eyes subtly shifted, glancing up toward the high, shadowed balconies of the Iron-Wood Manor. Roxy didn’t have to look to know what he was staring at. The Warlords were up there. Zarek, Kaelen, and Torian were watching the courtyard like brooding, silent gargoyles, completely unable to tear their eyes away from her, yet far too stubborn and wounded to come down.

Drax let out a low, deeply amused huff of smoke.

He looked back down at Roxy, a remarkably mature, tactical gleam sparking in his dark green eyes.

"You are playing this all wrong, you know," Drax said softly, leaning in close so the elite guards couldn’t hear him.

Roxy blinked in surprise. "Playing what wrong?"

"The waiting game," Drax stated, crossing his arms over his armored chest. "You are sitting in that room, crying, waiting for them to process their feelings and come to you. Mum, they are Alphas. They are territorial, aggressive apex predators. They don’t process trauma rationally. They just sulk in their caves."

Drax reached out, gently tapping the thick fur of her cloak.

"Stop waiting for them to be reasonable," Drax advised, his voice dropping into a low, conspiratorial whisper. "They are biologically wired to obsess over you. It is in their blood. Right now, their pride is fighting their instincts, and you are letting their pride win by staying locked away." 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Roxy stared at her teenage son, absolutely dumbfounded by the terrifyingly accurate psychological breakdown of his own fathers.

"What are you saying I should do?" Roxy whispered.

Drax offered a wicked, fiercely draconic smirk that looked exactly like Zarek’s.

"Do what you always do," Drax challenged, his eyes gleaming with mischievous intent. "Make them lose their minds."

Before Roxy could even process the absolute audacity of the advice, Drax stepped backward. He gave her a sharp, perfectly executed Vanguard salute.

Then, the teenage drake violently threw his shoulders back. The sound of shifting bones echoed through the courtyard as Drax exploded into his massive, terrifyingly beautiful draconic form. The sheer concussive force of his heavy, leathery wings unfurling sent a massive gust of snow swirling across the stones.

With a deafening, triumphant roar that shook the frost from the windows, the Dragon heir launched himself into the pale winter sky. The elite guards cheered, mounting their wyverns to follow him into the clouds.

Roxy stood completely alone in the center of the snowy courtyard, the winter wind whipping her dark curls around her face. She tilted her head back, watching the magnificent silhouette of her son disappear into the horizon.

The heavy, suffocating blanket of guilt that had been drowning her for three days completely burned away.

Drax was absolutely right. She was the Vanguard Matriarch. She was Roxann, the woman who had tamed the most dangerous beasts on the continent. Why was she acting like a fragile, terrestrial victim waiting for her husbands to validate her existence? If they wanted to play a game of stubborn isolation, she was going to completely obliterate their playing field.

Roxy slowly lowered her gaze. She looked up at the high balconies of the Manor. She could feel the heavy, oppressive weight of three pairs of Warlord eyes burning into her skin from the shadows.

A slow, brilliant, and incredibly dangerous smile spread across her face. She raised a delicate hand, her fingertips gently brushing against her own lips as a new, mischievous, and fiercely determined spark ignited in her brilliant green eyes.

"That actually sounds like a better idea!"