By midmorning, he felt the buzzing in his nerves. An old instinct. The one that always came before betrayal. The itch in his scales that told him when death was coming.
He snarled low in his throat.
But then, just as the sun reached its zenith, he heard the crunch of leaves. He stilled. There. A figure stepped into theclearing.
She walked slowly, carefully, as if sensing something unseen. Her satchel was slung over her shoulder, but she made no move toward the usual clusters of herbs. Instead, she moved toward the water’s edge.
No weapons. No soldiers behind her.Alone.
That made nosense. Itdefiedsense.
Humans were cruel. They were greedy. They feared what they didn’t understand, and then they destroyed what they feared. That was the law of the world. The way things hadalwaysbeen.
And yet he could smell no blood on her. No steel. No scent of deceit. Just crushed herbs, meadow dew, soft soap, and the faint salt of old tears.
He did not move. He stayed shrouded in the trees, breath caught in his throat.
She smiled at the lake. He narrowed his eyes.
Why? Why hadn’t she brought them? Why hadn’t she screamed? Why did she…sit?
He watched her hum under her breath as she began picking wildflowers from the water’s edge. She braided a few together in a clumsy, uneven circle and held it tenderly in her hands as she waited.
Forhim, he foolishly assumed.
He could not bring himself to come out of the shadows for fear of what might come next. Instead, he watched her until the sun began to fall. She would return to the village soon.
And all the time, she sat alone. Unarmed. Gentle.
He saw a wetness on her cheeks as she set the flowers on a rock and returned home.
By the time he returned to his cave deep in the heart ofthe mountain, the sun had died behind the horizon and the stars had crawled across the sky to take its place.
He curled into the far end of the cave, wings folded tight, the walls of his hoard glinting dimly in the dark. But none of the gold, none of the jewels, none of the treasures that once filled him with comfort brought any peace tonight.
For the first time in years…he felt uncertainty. He hated it. And yet he would be at the lake again tomorrow.
Just to see if she came back.
Ten
Elowen wokebefore the sun had finished rising, heart fluttering like a trapped bird. It wasn’t fear. Not exactly. It was something else—tighter. Stranger.
Hope, perhaps.
She didn’t tell her father where she was going. He hadn’t asked, because he already knew. As long as she returned with a full satchel and didn’t invite the Council’s wrath, she could vanish into the forest for hours without question.
The morning was heavy with fog, and when she came into view of the lake, the dragon was already waiting.
Her steps slowed the moment she spotted the curve of his massive black shape, still as stone on the far side of the water. He hadn’t hidden himself this time. He stood tall in the clearing, wings slightly folded, tail curled around his body. He was staring at something.
Her breath caught when she realizedwhathe was looking at.
The flower crown she had left—forgotten beside the smooth stone she liked to sit on—was carefully placed in front of him now. Not trampled. Not burned. Not discarded.Moved.Deliberately.
He must’ve touched it. Held it.
She stepped forward, slowly. The dragon’s massive head turned, tracking her movements. She could see the tremble of power in his limbs even at rest.
