“I won’t,” I promise, another lie.
I haven’t told them about my deal with the dragon, partly because I know they’d try to stop me, but mostly because they might actually try to come with me. And Drako would take kindly to anyone intruding onournights.
“Goodnight,” they say in unison before disappearing through the doorway.
“Goodnight,” I call after them, then turn back to the pages spread before me, silvered by the rising moonlight.
The chime of the clock startles me awake. For a moment, I don’t know where I am. The scent of parchment and lavender ink lingers in the air; the steady tick of a grandfather clock echoes like a heartbeat through the stacks.
Then it hits me. The library. Midnight.
I gasp and scramble to my feet. I shove Mariel’s book and all my notes into my satchel, sling it over my shoulder, and sprint for the door.
I feel like the girl from the story I read the other day, fleeing the party at midnight, running from her prince, only I’m runningtowarda monster.
No. Not a monster, not really. Just another misunderstood creature.
I bolt barefoot through the halls, moonlight slicing through narrow windows, cool stone stinging my feet. I fly down staircases and winding corridors toward the stables, where Brimstone waits.
No time for a saddle. I leap onto his back, grip his mane, and shout, “Go!”
The wind tears at my hair as we race down the mountain path, the mist thinning with every stride until we finally reach the field.
A massive obsidian shadow sits in the clearing, eyes glowing like molten gold.
“You’re late,” Drako says, the tip of his tail twitching with impatience.
I slide from Brimstone’s back, breathless. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep,” I say, pulling our book from my satchel.
He huffs, smoke curling from his nostrils. “We won’t need a story tonight,” he says. “Come. I want to show you something.”
“But—” I start to protest, then fall silent as he lowers his enormous body to the ground. His wings fold in, his spine dipping low in a wordless invitation.
He wants me to climb on.
I freeze. “No,” I whisper.
The memory of that first flight floods back—wind and fire drowning out my screams. My legs lock.
“You can,” he says, his voice soft and steady.
“No, I can’t. I have no idea how to hold on,” I admit, my voice trembling.
His golden eyes soften, and he exhales slowly. His breath wraps around me like living warmth, chasing away the bite of the midnight air. “I will not let you fall, little flame.”
I hesitate, then step closer. The moonlight glints over his scales like liquid glass. I run a hand along his scaled shoulder.
“You’re not planning to drop me at a new castle with another cursed king, are you?” I mutter, masking my nerves under a thick layer of dry humor.
He chuffs, a sound halfway between laughter and a sigh. “Not tonight.”
I take a breath and climb on. The moment I settle between the rise of his wings, we lift off, and the world falls away. The wind roars past us, fierce and cleansing. The castle below shrinks to a mere speck of stone and light in a sea of mist. My fingers curl into the ridges of his spine—this time not from fear but exhilaration.
We soar higher, cutting through the clouds, above the shroud of the curse.
And there, above it all, hang the stars. Not dulled by enchantment, not hidden behind haze, but blazing like diamonds scattered across black velvet, brilliant and untamed.
A laugh escapes me. “Oh, stars…”
