Page 23 of Dragon King’s Bullied Mate

“That alone makes me interested.”

Mikael leaned back slowly and ignored the dull ache that still lingered through his body.

“There was a woman,” he said quietly. “I can’t remember her face. I barely remember anything at all, but I know she was there.” He could feel a soft kiss on his forehead.

Malaya watched him for a long moment. Because she knew him better than almost anyone alive, her expression shifted subtly as realization settled in.

“This is serious,” she murmured.

Mikael looked toward the darkened window where snow drifted silently beyond the glass, while deep inside him his dragon stirred again with restless aching fury.

“Yes,” he said softly.

It was.

Chapter 10

Lyra

The winter market stretched brightly across the center of the village square beneath strings of lanterns and drifting banners. The cold air carried the mingled scents of roasted chestnuts, mulled cider, pine garlands, and fresh bread warm enough to fog the windows of the bakery at the corner.

For the first time in days, Lyra felt some of the tightness in her chest begin to ease beneath the familiar comfort of ordinary life. Snow crunched steadily beneath boots as villagers moved from stall to stall while their laughter rose warmly through the sharp mountain air. Children darted between tables with sticky fingers and flushed cheeks.

Iskavard winters were brutal enough to kill travelers who underestimated them, yet the markets always felt strangely alive during the coldest months, as though the people fought back against the harshness simply by filling the square with warmth and noise.

Their flower stall sat near the fountain at the center of the square. Beckett hovered beside Lyra with the restless excitement of a young kid trying very hard to behave responsibly. He handed her bouquets from the baskets while she arranged the bundles of winter blooms on the wooden table in neat rows, all carefully bound with twine and evergreen sprigs.

Once everything was set up, Lyra set up a small work area for Beckett. It had become tradition that he stood proudly behind the display and arranged loose blooms. It brought attention to their booth while it taught him a skill. She watched as he worked with intense concentration, which soon caught the attention of elderly women who fussed over him affectionately.

“You’ve gotten faster with your wrapping,” one of them told him with a smile.

“Each month you get better with the arrangements,” the other commented.

“I’m better than Lyra now,” he declared immediately.

Lyra snorted softly while tying another bouquet. “That is a dangerous amount of confidence for someone who still ties crooked knots.”

The first woman laughed outright at that and pressed an extra coin into Beckett’s hand before shuffling away with flowers tucked carefully beneath her arm. The sight tugged unexpectedly at Lyra’s chest. This was the life she understood. Simple routines and familiar faces.

More importantly, Beckett felt safe here and made the most of it.

Lyra watched him pocket the coin with exaggerated secrecy before leaning closer to her. “Can I finally get candy now?”

“You’ve been thinking about candy since breakfast.”

“Because breakfast didn’t have candy.”

“That is generally how breakfast works.”

“But I saw the cinnamon drops,” he pressed. “And the caramels. I saw them when we came in.”

Lyra pretended to consider while Beckett watched her with enormous pleading eyes that would have been far less effective if she had not already intended to say yes.

“You can get one of each,” she said finally.

Beckett let out a victorious cheer loud enough to startle nearby shoppers before immediately darting around the table to throw his arms around her waist. “You’re the best.”

“You better remember that.”