Page 34 of Dragon King’s Bullied Mate

Dag leaned back against the lockers with effortless confidence, tall and broad-shouldered even then, and grinned while two boys beside him snickered loudly enough to encourage the performance further.

“Careful, you know trash belongs in the dumpster, not the hallway,” he mocked as Lyra crouched to gather her papers with shaking hands. “And I don’t mean your books.”

More laughter followed.

Not everyone joined in, but that almost hurt worse because the ones who stayed quiet still watched. They always watched.

Heat burned behind Lyra’s eyes as she scrambled to collect loose assignments before someone stepped on them. Her fingers were clumsy from panic while whispers drifted around her like gnats she could never escape. No matter how many times it happened, she still felt the fear and isolation.

Low-Life Lyra. Loser Lyra. Lyra the Lame.

She knew most of the others didn’t approve of Dag’s cruelty but were just too afraid to step in. Many had suffered the same fate, but for whatever reason, she was his favorite to bully.

Dag had spent years turning her existence into his personal, sick entertainment. He had already stripped pieces of her self-worth both publicly and repeatedly until people no longer looked at her like a classmate at all. She had her own role inside the school ecosystem. She was the girl everyone pitied privately and abandoned publicly because standing beside her carried risk.

And through all of it, Mikael stood only a few feet away from his best friend. Even now, years later, that memory hurt more sharply than Dag’s voice ever could.

Mikael had been leaning against the wall near the trophy case, handsome in that effortless way some people simply were. He was admired by teachers and athletes, and girls trailed after him between classes like ships caught in a tractor beam. He had looked directly at her while Dag mocked her, his expression unreadable, his hands shoved into the pockets of his letterman jacket.

Everyone knew he was in line to be king one day. And for one terrible second, sixteen-year-old Lyra had thought he might step in. She thought he might tell Dag to stop.

Instead, Mikael only shook his head faintly with the corner of his mouth twitching with restrained amusement before he glanced away entirely as though the scene bored him.

That had been the moment something inside her truly folded inward. Not because Dag hated her, but because Mikael watched her drowning and chose not to move.

After that day, Lyra learned how to make herself smaller. She stopped raising her hand in class even when she knew answers better than anyone else. She timed bathroom trips carefully to avoid crowded hallways. She ate lunch alone whenever she could because isolation hurt less than public humiliation.

Little by little the loneliness wrapped around her so tightly she could barely remember what it felt like to breathe without fear. There had been nights during those years when she lay awake staring at her bedroom ceiling wondering if anyone would notice if she simply disappeared altogether.

And sometimes the worst part was knowing Dag had not destroyed her alone. Mikael’s silence had helped do it.

The truck hit a rut in the road and bounced her out of her spiral.

She was not that girl anymore. The realization came fiercely enough that Lyra straightened slightly in her seat and forced air back into lungs that suddenly felt too tight. She couldn’t afford to drown in old memories right now while Beckett needed her.

The past could wait, but the little boy could not.

So she pushed Dag and Mikael and every ugly memory back down where they belonged and focused instead on the snow-covered roads ahead. She silently counted every minute until the truck finally rolled into the village several hours later beneath thick swirling snowfall.

“Bakery open this early?” the driver asked casually while slowing near the center square.

“It will be soon.” Lyra nodded quickly. “Thank you for the ride.”

The man only tipped his head once before she climbed out into the cold. His tail lights hadn’t even vanished in the gloom before she was headed down the nearest alley.

“Beckett!”

She knew the chances of him being close by were slim, but she had to try. She had no idea if or where the guards had searched, and she was certain the boy would have hidden from them anyways.

She walked several blocks calling for him before she hurried across the square. Snow crunched hard beneath her boots and panic had become a permanent resident in her chest.

Warmth and the smell of fresh bread hit her immediately when she stepped inside the bakery. The familiar comfort of it barely registered because the baker looked up from behind the counter with instant alarm the second she saw her.

“Lyra. You’re back. How are you?”

“Hi, Maren, I’m fine.” Her pulse jumped. “Have you heard anything about Beckett?”

The older woman’s expression tightened with sympathy. “Not yet.”