I stare up at him, stunned.
A dragon. A beast that’s devoured so many. And yet… there’s something hollow in his voice. Something almost human in that hunger.
“And if I say no?”
“Then you will not see your sister,” he says simply. “And I will find other means to appease my fire. Perhaps Mariel would be more inclined? Or Vivian?”
“NO!” The word rips out of me like a blade. He doesn’t flinch.
This is madness. But I can’t sleep, anyway. And something in me—something stubborn and burning—wants to understand the creature behind the curse. The monster bound to the man bound to me.
“Fine,” I concede. “But we meet here, in the orchard. Not your cave.”
“I have no cave,” he huffs, offended, then nods. “Tomorrow night. Bring whatever story the library offers you, and come alone.”
And with that, he rises into the air, wings cracking thunder through the dawn.
My feet ache. My boots have rubbed raw blisters into my heels, so I slip them off and walk barefoot along the grassy path. The earth is cool beneath my skin, each step grounding me after the storm inside my chest.
The walk back to the castle isn’t all bad. It gives me time to think—too much time, maybe.
Brimstone is already in his stall, muzzle-deep in hay.
“Coward,” I mutter, unsaddling him. “You can fight off direwolves but not a dragon?”
He huffs indignantly, blowing snot all over my skirt.
I wipe it off with a groan. “Disgusting. You’re lucky you’re handsome.”
Across the aisle, Ashwing lifts her head at the sound of my voice. Moonbeam blinks beside her, legs still awkward and wobbly. The sight softens me.
“At least someone’s dreams came true,” I whisper, stroking the colt’s white muzzle, edged in gold. “You’ve got wings and a world waiting for you.”
Ashwing nickers softly, and for a moment, the ache in my chest quiets.
The following night after dinner, I find myself standing before the library doors. The moment I step inside, the air hums—alive, warm, expectant. Shadows pulse along the shelves as if the books themselves are breathing.
“Alright, library,” I murmur. “I need a story to please a dragon. What have you got?”
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the floor gives a subtle tremble, like the entire room is exhaling, and a single book tumbles from a high shelf.
I catch it before it hits the floor and turn it over.The First Flame: Origins of Dragonkind. The leather cover is warm beneath my fingertips. It pulses faintly, as if it has its own heartbeat.
Well, I hope he likes mythology. Or is it history? I guess we’ll find out.
An hour later, I return to the orchard, where Brimstone stands already saddled, reins looped over a low branch. I lean close tohis ear. “No running this time. If you’re good, you get carrots. If you’re not, I’m making horse stew—got it?”
He snorts and turns his head.
The dragon is already waiting for me by the clearing. He doesn’t speak, just lowers his head, eyes burning like twin suns through the mist.
“I brought the book,” I say, lifting it.
Of all the things he could have asked for—blood, obedience, flesh—this startles me most.
“Read,” he commands me.
“You want me toreadto you?” I ask incredulously.
