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9

Kaelen

She's warm.

That's what I keep coming back to. Elara is lying on my chest, warm and soft and boneless, her cheek pressed over my heart and her hair spilling across my arm. I can feel her heartbeat against my ribs. Slow. Easy. Happy.

I'm happy, too.

I'd forgotten what it felt like. It's been so long. Centuries of fighting and ruling and holding my dragon on a chain so short it choked us both. Centuries of wanting something I couldn't name.

And now she's here. In my arms. In our bed.

For a few minutes, I let myself believe it's going to last. Then Zarek says it. There's something we need to talk about. And the cold comes back.

I've faced armies. I've fought dragons twice my size in the sky with fire pouring down around me. I've stood in front of things that would make most men piss themselves and run.

Never have I been afraid like this.

My arm tightens around her before I can stop it. I make myself loosen it. I stroke her hair instead. Slow. Careful. Like if I'm gentle enough, she won't notice my hands are shaking.

Zarek tells her.

He doesn't dress it up. That's not his way. He says it plain, in that calm voice of his, and every word lands like a stone.

"We haven't been honest with you," he says. "Not completely. We're not just noblemen, Elara. We're royalty."

She goes still against me.

"And we didn't find you in the forest because we heard you screaming," Zarek goes on. "We caught your scent. All three of our dragons did. It reached us through the storm, from miles away, and it pulled us to you." He pauses. "We knew you were our mate before we ever saw your face."

My heart stalls.

"Since the moment we brought you here," Zarek says, "we've been completely captivated by you. All of us. We want you to be our wife."

There. It's out.

Elara sits up.

Slowly. She pulls away from me, out of my arm, and the cold rushes into the place where she was. She gathers the blanket around herself and looks from Zarek to Rhydian to me.

Her face is unreadable.

"You're royals?" she says. "Actual royals?"

"Kings," Rhydian says quietly. No smile. No joke. "Three dragon kings. Each of us rules his own kingdom."

Her eyes go wide.

"Dragon kings," she repeats. "Then you can..." She swallows. "You can turn into dragons."

She's looking at me when she says it.

"Yes," I say.

My voice comes out like gravel.

I wait for it. The anger that we weren’t honest. The troubling realization that maybe she can’t trust us.