Keeley POV:

I was given a room in the most remote attic of the estate. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light from the grimy window, and the air was thick with the smell of mildew.

I pushed the window open. In the distance, the black peaks of the mountains marked the border of the Stark territory, Ironwood. Legend said the very trees there had turned to iron-gray under the weight of the curse.

My gaze swept over the gloomy mountain ranges and settled on the distance. Kamilah—my sister, the only one in this family who had ever brought me warmth. Her laughter, her kindness—all had vanished with the wind, leaving behind nothing but an unsolved mystery and endless grief. I had come here, precisely for her.

From my worn satchel, I took out a small metal case. Inside, nestled in velvet, were rows of herbs that shimmered with a faint light, alongside a set of delicate surgical tools. The tools of Pharmacist X.

My mission was to investigate my sister Kamilah's death. House Stark was my primary suspect. Marrying into the family was the only way to get inside the beast's den. But I had to do it on my own terms.

My thoughts were interrupted by the door being shoved open. Marian stood there, flanked by two servants carrying a wooden chest. Her face was still pale, but her eyes burned with a venomous, triumphant hatred.

She gestured for the servants to open the chest. Inside were my mother's things—jewelry, books, and a small, elegant harp. Lady Elara's legacy.

"I admit, Keeley, you have some brute force and a bit of low cunning," Marian said, her hand caressing the harp. "But in this house, you are still nothing."

She picked up a string of pearls, dangling it in front of me. "Your mother's things. Beautiful, aren't they? But if you don't obediently marry the Lord Stark, these items, along with everything else she left you, will be sold off, piece by piece, to fill the family's coffers. You will have nothing."

The threat was a physical blow. I looked at the items, each one a memory, a piece of my past. It was the only leverage she had over me.

My fists clenched. "You wouldn't dare."

Her smile was victorious. "Watch me. Either you marry him, or you watch your mother's last memories be auctioned off to the highest bidder. The choice is yours." She swept out of the room, leaving the open chest in the middle of the floor like a silent ultimatum.

Not long after, there was a knock. My father, Alistair Mccarthy, stood in the doorway. He was impeccably dressed, but his eyes were tired and evasive.

He glanced at the dagger I hadn't bothered to hide. "Put that thing away. Marian told me everything. You've become a savage."

A cold laugh escaped my lips. "If not for this 'savage' tool, I'd likely be gift-wrapped and on my way to the Stark's dragon den by now."

Alistair sighed, stepping into the room. "Keeley, the family business is in serious trouble. We need the capital from the Starks. This is your duty to the family."

"My duty?" I cut him off. "When I was exiled, left to fend for myself, where was the family's duty to me?"

He was speechless, his face flushing.

I looked at him, my voice flat. "I'll marry him. But I have conditions."

Surprise, then suspicion, flickered in his eyes. "What conditions?"

I held up three fingers. "First, my mother's entire inheritance, including the estate south of the city, is to be returned to my name immediately."

His face changed. "Impossible! That estate has been mortgaged!"

My eyes narrowed. "Then find a way to buy it back. Otherwise, you can explain to the Starks why their bride has vanished before the wedding. I don't imagine a cursed Dragon Lord enjoys being embarrassed."

I continued, "Second, my dowry. It will be half of the Mccarthy family's annual income, paid to me in cash. I want to see the money before the wedding."

Alistair stared at me as if I were a stranger. "Are you mad? The family can't afford that!"

"That's your problem," I replied coldly. "Isn't a 'Dragonless' daughter marrying a Dragon Lord worth that much?"

I held up my third finger. "Finally, the family will cooperate fully with my reinvestigation into my sister Kamilah's fall from the cliffs. No obstruction."

Alistair was silent. He looked at me, his eyes a complex mix of shock, anger, and a weary, powerless acceptance. He knew I was no longer the girl he could easily control.

After a long moment, he spoke, his voice hoarse. "The inheritance... I'll see what I can do. The dowry... it's too much. One-third, at most."

"Forty percent," I countered immediately. "Not a penny less. Or the deal is off."

We finally reached an agreement. Alistair drafted a contract on a sheet of parchment bearing the Mccarthy family's dragon crest, a symbol of its binding legal power in the kingdom.

I signed my name, watching as he stamped it with the family seal.

He folded the contract, his gaze heavy. "I hope you don't regret this, Keeley. Cornelius ... he is not a man you can control."

A cold smile touched my lips. I didn't need to control him. I just needed to use him to find the truth. Then he, and everyone who had a hand in Kamilah's death, could go to hell.

After he left, I went to the window, looking toward Ironwood. I pulled out a worn silver bracelet, Kamilah's only memento she'd left me. I traced the patterns on its surface. Wait for me, sister.

I needed the money. I needed to contact my informant in the black market, Rhys Porter. I needed everything there was to know about Cornelius.

To hunt, I first had to arm myself. Money and land were my weapons.

Keeley POV:

The next morning, after the first transfer of funds appeared in my secret account, I changed into a set of dark, practical riding clothes.

I slipped out of the manor unnoticed, a shadow leaving through a back gate.

I'd "borrowed" a swift horse from the stables and was now racing toward the cliffs where Kamilah had died. They marked the jagged border between Mccarthy and Stark lands.

The official story was that she had argued with someone and lost her footing. I didn't believe it.

I reached the cliff's edge and tied my horse, the wind whipping my hair across my face.

I began to search the area like a hound, my years of survival in the wild and my training as Pharmacist X making my eyes sharp to any disturbance.

Soon, I found it. At the base of a thorn bush, a tiny scrap of fabric snagged on a root. It wasn't ordinary cloth. It bore a specific, embroidered crest.

I carefully plucked it with a pair of tweezers and sealed it in an evidence bag. The crest... a snake entwined with a sword. I'd seen it before, but couldn't immediately place it.

As I stood to leave, a powerful, suffocating pressure slammed into me.

It was a presence that originated deep in the blood, the shadow of a great dragon falling over the land. As a Dragonless, it felt like my very blood was turning to ice.

My body went rigid. I spun around, my dagger already in my hand.

A tall figure stood not far behind me, materializing as if from the air itself. He wore black riding gear, his form straight and imposing. A wide hood shadowed most of his face, but it couldn't hide the aura of cold, solitary power.

It was him. Cornelius. I had never seen him, but that unique Dragon's might, a mix of death and power that belonged only to the Lord of Ironwood, was unmistakable.

Why was he here? A coincidence? Or was he here to clean up the scene?

My heart sank. My grip on the dagger tightened as I fell into a defensive stance.

His gaze dropped to the evidence bag in my hand. From beneath the hood, I felt his eyes sharpen like a blade.

Cornelius didn't speak. He simply started walking toward me. Each step was a hammer blow against my heart, the pressure of his Dragon's might making it hard to breathe.

I gritted my teeth, fighting the instinct to flee. Show weakness, and he would tear me apart.

The moment he stepped into my attack range, I did not retreat—I struck.

My dagger flashed, aiming for his wrist and the evidence bag he was trying to seize.

Cornelius seemed startled that a "Dragonless" would dare resist; a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. But he was impossibly fast, twisting his wrist to easily deflect my blade.

His hand clamped onto my wrist like an iron vise, the force overwhelming, and I could not break free.

Sharp pain shot up my arm, and my dagger clattered to the ground. We grappled.

I threw every fighting technique I knew—kicks, knee strikes, elbows—but my attacks were useless against his brute strength.

He did not seem to want to hurt me, only to subdue me and take the evidence.

In the struggle, Cornelius slammed me against a rock by the cliff edge.

His chest pressed flush against my back, his body heat searing through my thin tunic, making my skin tingle.

I could smell his distinctive draconic scent—cedar and sulfur—an overwhelming aggression. I felt his hand reaching for the pouch. In desperation, I snapped my head back, slamming it into his chin.

Cornelius grunted in pain, and his grip loosened for a moment. That was all I needed. I slipped free like an eel and kicked at his knee. We separated and faced each other again. In the struggle, his hood fell back, revealing his face.

It was a face so handsome it was breathtaking, with lines as hard and cold as if carved from ice. But his skin was unnaturally pale, and his deep gray eyes swirled with a controlled pain and the fury of being disturbed.

My heart clenched.

I didn't press the fight. I feinted, snatched my dagger from the ground, and scrambled back to my horse. I leaped onto its back and galloped away without a backward glance.

Behind me, Cornelius didn't follow. He just stood there, his cold gaze a physical weight on my back.