The citadel was alive with heat, a living organism of molten stone and swirling smoke. Even the corridors seemed to pulse with the dragon lord’s power, and she felt it in her bones, in her skin, in the ache of her blood. Ariella—though she still fought the name Kaelion had whispered to her in the night, the name that bound her to him—moved cautiously along the obsidian floor. Her wrists bore faint bruises from the bonds that had once held her, reminders of the night she had surrendered to ...