"I was watching the temple." The words tumbled out of him like he'd been holding them back by force of will alone. "Have been for weeks. The Dragon Council couldn't act directly without understanding the threat—The Unnamed operates on rules older than us, older than anything should be. Every move had to be calculated, documented, justified." His hands were still on my arms, thumbs tracing the cloud patterns that marked my skin. "I was gathering intelligence when I felt you."
He paused, and through the bond I felt him searching for words that could contain what had happened.
"Your will to survive sang through the air like lightning before a storm. The moment before you jumped, your defiance blazed so bright I could taste it from a mile away. And when you chose death over surrender—" His voice cracked. "I couldn't not catch you. It was like trying not to breathe."
Before I could respond, before I could even process that this legendary being had been desperate to save me, doors I hadn't noticed opened in the tower's wall. Servants emerged—peoplewith genuine smiles and warm greetings, moving toward us with easy familiarity.
"My lord!" An older woman with silver-streaked hair bound in practical braids approached first, her brown eyes crinkling with what looked like relief. "We felt the bond-light from the kitchens. Tam nearly dropped an entire tray of morning pastries."
She turned to me, and instead of the calculation I expected—assessing whether I was worthy of her master—her face softened with maternal concern. "Oh, you poor dear. You're skin and bones, and—are those cuts on your feet? My lord, why is she barefoot?"
"Meredith—" Caelus started, but she was already ushering me toward the doors, clucking disapproval.
"Millennia old and still no sense," she muttered, loud enough that he was clearly meant to hear. "Brings home his bonded mate looking like she's been through a war, doesn't even think to—you are his bonded mate, aren't you, dear? The marks are right there, clear as day."
I managed a nod, overwhelmed by her casual warmth, by the way she touched my arm without flinching, by how she called this dragon lord out like a mother scolding a thoughtless son.
"Let's get you inside before you catch your death," Meredith continued, guiding me through doors that opened onto a corridor of impossible beauty. White marble veined with what looked like captured storms, crystal fixtures that cast rainbow patterns on the walls, windows that showed nothing but sky and cloud.
Behind us, other servants surrounded Caelus, their voices overlapping in cheerful chaos: "—finally happened—" "—thought you'd wait another millennium—" "—she's lovely, my lord, even half-starved—" "—Tam is already planning a feast—"
And through it all, I felt his emotions through the bond: embarrassment at his servants' enthusiasm, fierce protectiveness every time someone looked at me, and underneath, a joy so tentative it made my chest ache.
These people loved their Dragon Lord. Really loved him, not the terrified worship I'd expected but something warm and familial. When a young servant girl darted forward to touch his sleeve, asking if the "pretty lady" was staying, he knelt without hesitation to speak to her at eye level, his voice gentle in a way that spoke of long practice.
This wasn't the cruel master from stories whispered in the dark. Or if there was cruelty in him, it wasn't shown here, wasn't given to these people who called him 'my lord' the way you might call someone 'grandfather'—with respect born of affection rather than fear.
Walking through those corridors with Meredith's steady stream of commentary, servants smiling and bowing and already discussing what rooms to prepare, I felt something crack in my chest.
I was safe. The thought hit me like vertigo, making me stumble. Meredith's arm came around my waist immediately, supporting me with surprising strength.
"None of that now," she said firmly. "You're home."
Home. The word sat strange in my mind, too big and too small all at once. But when I looked back at Caelus, trailing behind us with that mix of awkwardness and longing painting his perfect features, I thought she might be right.
Theguestchamberswerein the east wing, through corridors that grew progressively quieter until even our footsteps seemed like an intrusion. Caelus opened doors thatlooked like crystallized mist given form, revealing a space that stole what little breath I had left.
Pale blue walls rose to a ceiling painted with clouds that moved—actually moved, drifting across the plaster in lazy patterns that made me dizzy to track. The bed alone was larger than my entire cell had been, piled with blankets that looked softer than anything I'd touched in my life. Windows dominated one wall, floor to ceiling, showing nothing but endless sky and the occasional drift of cloud that pressed against the glass like curious ghosts.
Everything was beautiful. Everything was expensive. Everything was utterly impersonal, like a room in a museum where no one had ever actually lived.
Caelus moved through the space with practiced efficiency, checking things I wouldn't have thought to look for—the ward lines carved into the window frames, the temperature of the bathing chamber, the freshness of the water in the crystal pitcher. As he moved, something shifted in him. The desperate warmth from the landing platform cooled, replaced by a formal distance that sat on him like armor.
"You'll be safe here," he said, adjusting a curtain that didn't need adjusting. His voice had lost its earlier crack, smoothed into something diplomatic. "The monastery is warded against intrusion. No one can enter without my permission, and the servants will attend to anything you need."
Through the bond, I felt the effort this distance cost him—like watching someone build a wall brick by brick while their hands bled.
"I need to contact the other Dragon Lords about your rescue," he continued, still not quite looking at me. "The Council will want to know about the temple's activities. We've been aware of the cult for some time, but this level of organization, the systematic hunting of potential brides—"
"I found their Archive Chamber while I was escaping. They had jars—obsidian jars filled with light. Thousands of them, all labeled with names and dates."
His knuckles went white where he gripped the curtain.
"Penny's was still warm. She'd just died and her jar was still warm and it had her name on it—Penelope Marsh, Age 16, Lowland Territories, Harvest Complete." My voice cracked on 'complete,' remembering how the light inside had been fading even as I watched. "Merit was there too. All of them were there, twenty years' worth of girls reduced to bottled potential."
Through the bond, his rage built like a storm on the horizon—controlled but massive, held back only by enormous will.
"There were maps," I continued, needing him to understand the scope of it. "Detailed maps of all seven dragon territories. Three were crossed out in red—Davoren of Fire, Sereis of Ice, Garruk of Stone. They'd written 'Bonded, Neutralized, No longer viable.' The other four territories, including yours, were covered in pins. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, each one marking a potential bride they'd identified."
