Curse of the dragon flames

Hazel's POV

The aroma of sizzling peppers and warm spices wrapped around me like a familiar hug as I stood beside my mother in our tiny kitchen. Morning sunlight streamed in through the cracked window, casting gold lines across the tiled floor. I stirred the pot in slow circles, letting the steam rise and brush against my cheeks. My mother hummed softly beside me, her hands moving with the grace of someone who had spent her entire life cooking for the people she loved. "You're burning the stew, Hazel," she teased gently. "I'm not!" I shot back, sticking my tongue out. "I'm perfecting it." She laughed a bright, soft sound that always made me feel safe. Mom's laughter was the kind of sound that made even the worst days feel bearable. She wasn't rich, but she carried joy like a crown. Behind us, in the sitting room, my father sat in his faded armchair with his usual morning companion an old magazine and a cup of steaming coffee. His brows were drawn in concentration as he flipped a page, pretending not to listen to our chatter. But the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. I was their only child. Not by choice, but by fate. Yet they never let me feel alone or lacking. Even though our home wasn't filled with wealth, it was overflowing with love. "Hazel, pass me the pepper," Mom said, reaching for the spoon. I handed it over, watching her taste the food with that familiar thoughtful expression she always wore before judging a dish. "Mmm," she hummed. "Perfect. My daughter is learning." I grinned proudly. "Of course. I have a master chef for a mother." She tapped my forehead with the spoon. "Flattery won't save you from chores." We cooked together until the entire room smelled heavenly. Soon, we were setting the table simple plates, mismatched cups, and a woven cloth Mom had made years ago. Dad joined us, placing his magazine aside. Breakfast was loud and full of laughter the way it always was. We talked about everything and nothing: the stubborn chickens behind the house, the market gossip, the weather, and my mother's constant reminders that I needed to eat more, sleep more, and marry "sometime before she got old and gray." I rolled my eyes every time, and she cackled like it was the funniest joke in the kingdom. I didn't know it would be the last time I'd hear her laugh freely. Just as my father reached for his second helping, a sharp knock echoed through the house. My mother looked up. "Hazel dear, please check who that is." "Okay, Mama." I wiped my hands on my skirt and hurried to the door, fully expecting it to be our neighbor coming to borrow sugar again. But the moment I swung the door open, my heart dropped to my stomach. Standing there were four palace guards their armor gleaming silver-blue, their expressions cold and unreadable. Their