“We’ll figure out the mark,” he says against my hair. “We’ll find a solution that doesn’t force either of us into something we’re not ready for. And whatever happens?—“
“You’ll be there.” I finish for him. “I know.”
“Insufferably so.”
“I’m counting on it.”
We stay there, wrapped around each other, the wind carrying the scent of smoke and possibility.
The mark on my wrist still burns. Valdris’s presence still hovers at the edge of my consciousness, patient and watchful. The war isn’t over—hasn’t even truly begun.
But standing here with Rurik’s warmth around me, his heart beating steady beneath my ear, I find I’m not afraid.
Not of the queen in my head. Not of the battles to come. Not even of the terrifying, wonderful thing growing between us.
For the first time since the mountain, I believe I might not just survive this.
I might actually live.
FIFTEEN
RURIK
Three days since the ramparts. Three days since she kissed me back.
Three days of absolute, exquisite torture.
I track her across the training yard, where Selene walks her through defensive fire forms. Aisling’s stance has improved—feet planted, shoulders square, spine straight. When she extends her arm and flame spirals from her palm, it’s controlled. Precise. Nothing like the wild bursts that used to explode whenever her emotions spiked.
She’s getting better. Stronger.
And every time our gazes collide, heat floods between us that has nothing to do with dragon fire.
CLAIM HER.
My dragon shoves against my ribs, relentless. It’s been hammering at me constantly since that night—demanding, insisting, refusing to let me forget for even a moment that she’s mine. That I should mark her, bind her, make it permanent.
I grip the training post beside me hard enough to splinter the wood.
Not yet. She has to decide.
Craving and deciding are different things. I learned that lesson the hard way, centuries ago. A dragon’s mate bond is primal, instinctive—but the claiming has to be mutual. Has to be deliberate. Otherwise, it’s just another form of captivity, and Aisling has had enough of that to last lifetimes.
“You’re staring.”
Drayke materializes at my left. I don’t turn.
“I’m supervising.”
“Whatever.”
I shoot him a look. He’s standing with arms crossed, expression neutral, but I catch his hint of amusement. Bastard.
“Don’t you have a kingdom to run?”
“Delegation. It’s a leadership skill.” He nods toward the training yard. “She’s improved.”
“She’s brilliant.” The word escapes fiercer than intended. “Picks up techniques faster than most dragons I’ve trained. Analytical mind—she breaks down every movement, stores it for later.”
