Crowned in Flame and Storm (Scentmarked #2)

Author’s Note:

Welcome back to the world of Scentmarked! ⚡🔥

This book is the second in the series and continues the story that began in Scentless Sovarielle, so make sure to read that one first to fully understand the journey, the bonds, and the storms ahead.

To enrich the story and bring the world of Eiratheon to life, I’ve created The Scentmarked Archive—a companion space for readers who enjoy exploring the lore beyond the page. Within the archive, you’ll find codices, artwork, and an interactive map introducing the regions, dragon hordes, mythical races, and human cities featured throughout the story.

As you read, you’re welcome to explore the map to:

Learn more about the lands the characters travel through.Discover the ancient lore behind dragon hordes and siren alliances.Uncover how humans, shifters, and magical creatures shape the world around them.

The archive and map are designed to deepen your experience, whether you explore them before reading, alongside the story, or return to them as the plot unfolds.

You can find the link to the Scentmarked Archive and interactive map in my bio.

Let yourself wander—every corner of Eiratheon has a story to tell.

Now, dive in and enjoy the next chapter of Crowned in Flame and Storm.

Part 1 - Stormbound

Esoti’s POV

The battle had ended in snow and silence.

First came the chaos—magical creatures, once imprisoned and weaponized by the human king, released upon the battlefield in a desperate last move. They were furious, twisted by years of confinement, their pain turned outward. Griffins, wyverns,—each turned loose without purpose but vengeance. Soldiers had fallen. Mages too. And the only thing that stopped it from becoming a massacre was the dragons.

And Elle, my friend.

When the tides turned, when hope thinned, she and Vesk had risen—dragon and instinct, ice and sound. She’d flown to the mountain’s edge, listening for faultlines, humming to the stone. Then she struck. The avalanche came like thunder, roaring down the slope with Vesk riding its crest, ice dragons beside him. It buried the battlefield, silencing the screams.

In the quiet that followed, the dragons did not leave. They dug. They healed. They fed the survivors.

But there were terms.

The dragons would not forgive so easily. And they would not stay neutral in the rebuilding.

If the humans wanted peace, they would need a ruler who sought it too.

That was the agreement.

And so, I walk.

We’re days from the capital, marching through cold spring sunlight. The soldiers who survived now walk beside mages who once fought to command them. I walk among them—mage, noble-born, war-worn—and I carry the weight of a promise I helped shape.

Beside me walks a dragon.

Zavi Voltren. Lightning-wrought and sharp as a sky-split scream. She walks in human form, cloaked in pale leather and golden threads, her molten hair twisted high, eyes bright with electric thought. She is the dragons’ voice in this journey, and maybe their challenge too.

Together, we return to Eiradorn.

To a crown with no heir.

To a council with too many voices.

To a vote that will shape everything that comes next.

“So,” Zavi said beside me, breaking the steady rhythm of our footsteps, “what exactly are we walking into?”

I glanced at her, then back to the road. “A mess.”

She arched a golden brow. “More specific, please. Humans have a flair for complications.”

“You’re not wrong,” I said with a tired breath. “Our kingdom is ruled by a king. Or—it was. Below the crown is the Council of Advisors. They’re supposed to guide the monarch. Each one comes from a different region or guild or faction. Some are powerful mages. Some are politicians. Some are worse.”

“And what about the ones who control the cities?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “The ones who aren’t on the council?”

“Dukes, each city has one. They control the surrounding territory and report to the crown. Technically, they serve the king. In reality, most of them serve their own interests.” I hesitated, then added, “It’s a fragile system. And right now, it’s cracked wide open.”

Zavi hummed, her gaze drifting to the horizon, where the clouds hung low like they were waiting for something. “That’s already more structure than we use. Dragon hordes are… separate. Independent. We don’t have a council or a king. We have leaders of our hordes, and that’s it. Decisions are made among our own, and even then, only when necessary. No one commands all of us. Not really.”

She looked at me, something flickering in her golden eyes. “It works because we don’t pretend unity where there isn’t any. You humans… you bind yourselves into knots of loyalty and power and hope someone strong enough will pull the threads together.”

I didn’t answer right away. I was thinking of the king’s empty throne. Of the silence it left. Of the people already circling it like vultures.

“So who will be fighting for the crown now that it’s empty?”

“Some of the council,” I said. “A few dukes. And more than a few powerful mages who think leadership is just another element to bend to their will.”

Zavi let out a short, eager laugh. “This is going to be fun.” Her eyes sparked like a storm building behind them. “I’ve always been interested by humans—and now I get to help choose their next leader.”

I gave her a sideways look. “Try not to electrocute anyone—or glow menacingly. Humans tend to panic when lightning crackles around their new guests.”

She grinned, and a flicker of light crackled along her fingertips. “No promises. You know I like to let my eyes glow a little when I’m excited. Maybe throw a few sparks—just for fun.”

And gods help me—I wasn’t sure if I was worried or relieved.

Zavi stretched her arms above her head and groaned. “Are we almost there? I still don’t understand why we had to walk the whole way. I could’ve flown to Eiradorn and back twice by now.”

“I’m sure you could’ve,” I said. “But landing in the capital in dragon form might’ve made for a poor first impression.”

“Pity,” she said, grinning. “Would’ve cleared the courtyard nicely. But I guess showing up alongside the rest of your army is safer. They might not believe you—or welcome us—without seeing the survivors.”

“Exactly,” I said. “They need to see that what we did actually happened. That dragons helped. That we helped. Without the army at our backs, we’re just a mage and a lightning storm asking for an audience.”

She looked at me again, more serious this time. “So, where do we start? Are there rules for this sort of thing? Trials? Declarations? Sword fights in the throne room?”

I let out a breath. “Honestly? I have no idea. I do not know of the official process for choosing a new ruler. This hasn’t happened in centuries. But I do know one thing. People are going to look at me differently now. I fought beside dragons. I helped Elle. I walked out of that mountain with you. That’s not something they’ll forget.”

Zavi’s smile faded, but her gaze stayed steady. “And me? Will they even let me in the room?”

“They’ll let you in,” I said, more certain than I felt. “Some of them will be too afraid not to. They’ve seen what dragons can do. What we did. They might hate it—but they won’t ignore it.”

She arched a brow. “So I get in because they fear the wrath of my kind? Comforting.”

“And because I have a little backup,” I added. “My uncle’s a duke. Redmere. I’m confident I can win his support. He’s not a man easily swayed by fear, but he listens to reason. If he backs us, it’ll be enough to keep the others from shutting the door in our faces.”

Zavi’s grin returned. “A dragon and a noble mage walk into a royal crisis… sounds like the start of a bad joke.”

“You haven’t heard the punchline yet,” I muttered. “We’re living it.”

We walked until the sun dipped low behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the trail. As the air cooled and twilight stretched over the path, the column of soldiers and mages began to break, settling into a temporary camp beside a bend in the road. Tents were pitched, quiet orders passed, and fires sparked to life like stars blooming against the dark.

As we walked, I continued explaining what I could about the capital, its politics, and the people who would be vying for the crown. Zavi listened with that sharp attention of hers, the kind that made you feel like lightning could strike at any moment—not because you were wrong, but because she was already ten steps ahead.

When we finally settled, we found a quiet fire near the edge of the camp. The wood cracked softly, sparks drifting upward like forgotten thoughts. Zavi leaned back on her hands, molten hair catching the glow, playing with flickers of lightning between her fingers like it was nothing more than thread.

I watched her for a long moment, then said, “You know, if you’d told my younger self that I’d one day fight alongside dragons—and now be walking side by side with one—I think I would’ve laughed. Or run. Probably both.”

Zavi tilted her head, her smile curling with curiosity. “Why?”

“Because I’m from Redmere,” I said, letting my eyes drift toward the fire. “It’s a place built on red dust and stubbornness. Hot winds, hotter tempers. And always, always the looming shadow of Pyraethen to the south. That volcanic range isn’t just a landmark—it’s a warning. We don’t talk about it. We don’t look toward it. We certainly don’t climb it.”

Her sparks slowed. “Because of the dragons?”

“Because of fear,” I said. “The legends say the dragons there can pull lava from the stone, blind men with a flare of their wings. We don’t honor or ignore them like some cities do. We endure them. We hope they stay in their sacred caldera and forget we ever existed. Redmere survives by pretending it’s alone.”

Zavi was quiet for a beat. Then: “What was it like, growing up in a place like that?”

I smiled faintly, but there was no humor in it. “Hot. Harsh. Heavy. You learned to keep your head down, even when the air burned. I didn’t question the fear—it was in the stone, in the water. Even the mages from Eiradorn stayed away.”

“So how,” she asked, sparks beginning to dance again across her knuckles, “did you end up walking with dragons?”

“Most mages get brought to Eiradorn once their magic shows,” I said, the words slow with memory. “Especially if they have strength. Fire, ice, air—it doesn’t matter. If the kingdom sees promise, they take you in. Train you. Shape you. Turn you into something useful.”

I let the firelight flicker across my fingers, as if the heat could draw the past closer. “My magic manifested when I was fifteen. Fire, naturally. Burned through the side of my uncle’s barn without even meaning to. Two weeks later, men from the capital arrived. Offered my family a place in history. Promised I’d be safe, powerful, respected.”

Zavi raised an eyebrow. “Were they right?”

“About the power, yes. About the rest? That’s harder to answer.”

I shrugged. “They taught me how to control it. How to serve. I wore the king’s colors. Followed orders. Did what I was told. I never thought twice about what I was doing—not really.”

Zavi was quiet for a long moment, watching me through the flicker of the firelight. “So how do you feel about it now? The king’s death. Fighting magical creatures who were never really our enemies. Does it sit right with you?”

Her voice wasn’t accusatory—it was gentle. Searching. Like she already knew the answer and just wanted to hear it from me.

I stared into the flames. “No. It doesn’t sit right. Not anymore. Back then, it was easy. You’re told what’s dangerous, what to destroy. You don’t question it, because questioning it makes everything else unravel. But once I started seeing the creatures not as threats, but as people… everything changed.”

She nodded slightly, encouraging without pressing. Her eyes—sharp, bright, unsettlingly knowing—never left mine.

“And the king?” she asked softly.

I drew in a slow breath. “He trained me. Fed me. Gave me a purpose. But he also used me and tried to kill me. Used all of us. And in the end, he tried to turn the world into a weapon.”

Zavi didn’t say anything. She just reached forward and tossed a dry stick into the fire. It cracked like thunder. Then she leaned back again, lightning still dancing between her fingers.

And for the first time, I realized—she saw through me in a way no one else had.

She let out a slow breath, then said, “I need sleep. I’ve never walked this much in my life. My wings are going to atrophy at this rate.”

I snorted. “Poor you. Forced to endure peasant travel with the rest of us.”

“It’s barbaric,” she said with a mock glare before pushing herself to her feet. She stretched like a cat—long, fluid, and glowing faintly in the firelight.

We were camped on the edge of the group, not quite part of the whole. Soldiers and mages kept their distance. Conversations dimmed when we passed. Eyes lingered longer than they should.

Zavi stepped away from the fire and with a breath that shimmered in the air, her form shifted. Magic rippled through her as she transformed—molten gold giving way to brilliant lightning-slick scales. She curled up gracefully, tail wrapping around her body in a smooth loop. Even at thirty feet long, she somehow made herself small. Contained.

She lowered her head to the ground beside me, her gold-veined wings folding close.

I blinked. “You’re sleeping like that?”

One golden eye opened. “I can smell the fear. The unease. They don’t trust me.”

I looked around the camp. She was right. Most kept their backs to us or glanced in our direction like they expected fire or thunder.

“My scales are stronger than my skin,” she murmured. “If one of them decides to be brave… this form gives me time to wake.”

I sat silently, watching the soft gleam of lightning pulse faintly beneath her scales.

Of course. Dragons smelled everything—fear, intent, emotion.

I’d known they were uneasy. But to Zavi… it was more than a feeling. It was a warning. A truth carried in the scent of the air.

And it hit me—there was more fear and hate in this camp than I’d let myself believe.

I shifted closer to the fire, laying my bedroll down between Zavi and the rest of the camp. If anyone got brave in the night, they’d have to go through me first.

The fire crackled low, throwing shadows against her golden scales. I watched the way her breathing slowed, steady and deep, the hum of restrained power still flickering in the quiet.

And then I let myself drift down beside her, the heat of the flames on one side, the quiet strength of a dragon on the other.

Sleep found me before I had time to think twice.