“None.” And I mean it. Every terrifying moment. Every near-death experience. Every battle and argument and desperate midnight conversation. All of it led here—to this balcony, this dragon, this life I never expected and can’t imagine giving up. “You?”
“None.” His voice is absolute. “Not a single one.”
“Good.” I lean up to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “Because you’re stuck with me now. Eternally. That’s a long time to have regrets.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The next morning,I wake to sunlight and warmth and the solid weight of Drayke’s arm across my waist.
His chest is pressed against my back, his breath warm against my neck, his heartbeat a steady rhythm that’s become asfamiliar as my own. The claiming mark pulses gently between us—content, settled, exactly where it belongs.
I don’t move. Don’t want to break the spell of this moment—the quiet before the storm, the peace before the war we’re planning begins in earnest. We’ll have strategy sessions and training drills and missions that take us to the far corners of the world. We’ll fight enemies we haven’t met and face threats we can barely imagine. We’ll lose battles and win others and probably argue about tactics more times than I can count.
But right now, in this bed, in this fortress, in this man’s arms—everything is exactly as it should be.
“You’re thinking too loudly.” Drayke’s voice is rough with sleep, his arm tightening around me. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”
“I’m contemplating the scope of our impending war against ancient evil. Very important contemplation.”
“Contemplate later.” He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Sleep now.”
“The sun’s already up.”
“I’m the Guardian King. The sun rises when I say it does.”
“That’s not how astronomy works.”
“I’m very powerful. Astronomy makes exceptions.”
I laugh—bright and free and utterly content. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m yours.” He turns me in his arms until we’re face to face, noses almost touching. His eyes are soft in the morning light—amber fire banked to warm embers. “That’s the same thing, apparently.”
“It really is.” I trace his jaw with my fingertips, memorizing the angles and planes of his face. “My ridiculous dragon. My Guardian King. My eternal pain in the ass.”
“I thought I was the one who called you a pain in the ass.”
“It’s mutual.”
“Fair enough.” He kisses me—slow, thorough, the kind of kiss that could go on for hours if we let it. And we will, eventually. But not today. Today, there’s work to do.
Someone knocks on the chamber door. Rurik’s voice carries through the wood: “War council in an hour. Auren says stop being disgusting and get dressed.”
“Tell Auren to mind his own business!” I call back.
“Auren says his business is winning wars, and he can’t do that if the Guardian King is too busy canoodling with his mate to attend strategy meetings.”
“Did Auren actually say ‘canoodling’?” Drayke sounds skeptical.
“No, but I thought it added flavor. One hour!”
Footsteps retreat down the corridor. I drop my head back against the pillow and groan.
“War waits for no one,” Drayke says, but he doesn’t move to get up. Just watches me with those warm amber eyes, one hand tracing lazy patterns on my hip. “Even mates who stayed up too late making promises under the stars.”
“Worth it.”
“Worth it,” he agrees.
