Because somewhere along the way, my curvy little princess became my whole fucking world.
But how do I say that? How do I prove it—when I’m not even sure myself when it changed?
I take some control of my Drake and glance back as much as I can without losing control of our flight. She’s hunched slightly, hands gripping the ridges of our scales, her head bowed against the wind.
“Irena,” I rumble in my Drake’s voice, though I know she can’t hear me. “Sweetheart…”
The wind steals my words.
I have only a few more hours of flying before we reach her kingdom. A few more hours to figure out how to bridge this rift—how to make her believe that I love her. That I would choose her, collar or no collar, crown or no crown.
Because if I don’t…
I don’t think my Drake—or my heart—will survive losing her.
And that, more than any poison wind or desert, is what truly terrifies me.
72
IRENA
Valen’s Drake lands in the same secluded glade where everything began.
The familiar ring of trees closes around us, the mossy earth making now sound beneath his massive claws. For a moment, the world feels suspended—caught between what was and what might have been. The air smells the same…the birds sound the same. And yet nothing is the same at all.
It’s only been a handful of days—less than a week since I crept down into the dungeon to bargain with a chained beast.
And yet it feels like a lifetime ago.
I slide carefully from his back, my legs trembling as my feet hit the ground. My heart feels too big for my chest—too full and too hollow all at once. I can barely breathe around the ache lodged beneath my ribs.
Behind me, the Drake Shifts.
The familiar crackle of magic fills the glade—bone and sinew reshaping…wings folding away…scales melting into skin. When I turn, Valen is standing there once more, tall and naked and terrible in his intensity.
He doesn’t speak…neither do I.
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. His blazing eyes search my face as though he’s memorizing it—every line, every shadow. I want to reach for him. I want to tell him something—anything—but the words stick in my throat.
“Well…thank you,” I begin awkwardly at last, hating how small my voice sounds. “I guess our deal is over now, so let me take off the collar.”
I step closer, rising onto my toes, reaching for the silver band at his throat—only I can remove it while I wear the ring. My fingers tremble as they near the metal.
But he steps back.
“No,” he says shortly, shaking his head. “The collar stays on.”
I stare at him, wide-eyed.
“What? But that was our whole deal—you help me get the Healing Draught for my mother and I set you free of the collar.”
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” he growls. “I’m keeping it on.”
My heart lurches painfully.
“But…why?”
His jaw tightens and his voice goes low.
