Weird. You’d think that finally getting your memory back and finding out you’re some kind of hero-king would make you pretty pleased with yourself.
He just looks… crestfallen.
“You are the Dragon King,” Dorian says quietly. “And we are honored to be in your presence.”
More dragons approach. Talon, Riven, others I don’t recognize.
All of them stop when they see K.
All of them lower their heads in respect.
K looks overwhelmed. Lost. Like he’s drowning in recognition he didn’t ask for.
His eyes find mine. Hold.
And I see the question there:Did you know?
“Mara?” he says.
I shake my head. “I had no idea. I knew the legend. But I didn’t know—” My voice breaks. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“The legend.” He says it like the word tastes strange.
“Who went into magical sleep four hundred years ago.” My voice is shaking now. Can’t help it. “After his mate died. After Lyria Rossewyn—”
His whole body jerks at the name.
“Lyria,” he breathes. “That is… She was—”
“Your mate.” The word scrapes out. “The woman you loved.”
His expression shifts. Grief so profound it makes my heart stall.
“I remember,” he whispers. “I remember her. More clearly than anything.”
Of course he does.
Of course she’s the memory that survived best.
Not me. Not the woman standing in front of him. But the ghost he’s been mourning without knowing it. And now, he’s himself again. Ready to take on the role he was born for.
A role that could never have room for me.
I take a step back. Then another.
And then I turn to leave.
Chapter 23
Kael
I stare after Mara as she moves across the chamber, and everything in me wants to go after her. But the memories hit like a flood breaking through a dam, leaving me reeling.
A throne room. Vast stone pillars carved with dragon-wing motifs rising toward a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. My voice—myvoice—speaking with absolute authority. Dragon warriors kneeling in formation. The burden of command heavy… suffocating.
I stagger. Catch myself against scorched earth.
A woman’s hand in mine. Dark hair catching firelight. Eyes like storm clouds. Her laugh—warm, genuine, the only sound that made it all seem bearable.
