See him staring at his hands like they belong to someone else. Like the pieces are clicking into place too fast for him to process.
His face is pale. “I did not know—”
“You couldn’t have known.” Caleb’s voice softens. “You didn’t remember what you were. Your dragon was operating on pure instinct. Survival mode.”
Silence falls.
“Fuck,” says Dorian. “That’s what Luke and Ember felt when they were out here. Something alive in the mountains. You took their power.”
“The mountain fed me,” K says. “I did not choose it.”
“But you helped them,” says Caleb. “When they were in trouble. It was you.”
K inclines his head. “Yes.”
I look between them—the Craven twins looking humbled, K standing in silence, and me trying to make my brain accept the impossible.
K is Kael Craven.
The Dragon King from four hundred years ago.
The one Lyria Rossewyn died for.
Lyria.
The name he called me.
Understanding crashes down in a rush.
He wasn’t imagining me as some random lost love.
He was rememberingher. His mate. The woman who gave her life to save his bloodline.
The woman Elena is descended from.
And I—
I look nothing like her. Share no bloodline. Have no connection except proximity and circumstance.
I was never going to be anything but a placeholder for a ghost.
The realization shouldn’t hurt this much.
It does anyway.
“Mara?” K’s voice. Concerned. He takes a step toward me. “You are pale. Are you—?”
“I’m fine.” The lie comes automatically. “Just—processing. This is a lot.”
“Yes.” He looks at the Craven brothers, still kneeling. “This is… I do not—” He stops. Starts again. “I am not your king. It has been too long. I am just—”
“You are Kael Craven.” Caleb’s voice is firm. “Whether you like it or not. The blood knows. The power knows.” He pauses. “We know.”
K shakes his head. “I am K. That is all I—”
Then he stops.
“I did not ask for this.” His voice is muted.
