Ameira remembered that day as clearly as though it was yesterday.

---

She had been standing in her scrying chambers, as she did each day, watching the most recent battle on the Cermaen front, a light smile playing on her face. The swirling haze in front of her held the image of some great warrior, impaled by a giant spear. His hand reached out, apparently begging for aid, only for another spear to strike him.

Her soldiers never showed mercy.

She heard Prokiven coming down the stairs behind her, his grey scales scraping the stone in a pleasant screech, a good accompaniment to the muted screams and clashing metal coming from the haze in front of her.

"Hello, dear husband," she said over her shoulder. "The carnage today is quite entertaining. Don't you think?"

She felt his hot breath against her back as he looked over her shoulder. "Again with the Cermaens?" he said. "I would much rather see what is happening in Trakel."

She gave an exaggerated sigh. Dragons could be so boring, sometimes. "Very well," she said, raising her arms and staff to cast the spell to alter the focus of the haze.

Just before she finished gathering her power, she felt Prokiven touch her shoulder with his snout. She could no longer move. "Now I will rule alone," she heard him say as he walked back up the stairs, leaving her to watch the haze of Cermaen.

---

It had been many years since then, and still she watched that haze, her arms outstretched for an uncast spell. Someday, she would find a way to break out of Prokiven's spell. She would make him pay.

Until then, she was nothing but a statue.