Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
NYXARA
T he scent of damp earth lingers in the air, the remnants of an early rain clinging to the stone walls of Varethorne. I stand at the edge of the balcony, watching as mist curls over the treetops, stretching like ghostly fingers toward the castle. The battle from the night before still lingers in my mind—not the fight itself, not the smell of scorched flesh or the rush of adrenaline.
No.
Her.
The way she moved. Fluid. Calculated. Unfazed.
The way my body reacted when she was nearly struck down.
I protected her before I could even think.
And now, the knowledge of that sits deep inside me, gnawing like a festering wound.
Morrin flutters onto the stone railing, his dark eyes sharp. “You’re thinking too much.”
I scoff. “I wasn’t aware thinking was a flaw.”
The bat stretches his wings lazily. “For you? It is.”
I roll my eyes and turn, striding into the depths of my castle. The halls are dim, the ever-burning sconces casting long shadows along the stone. I find Vaela exactly where I expect her, lounging in the dining hall like she owns it.
And she is barely dressed.
My steps falter for the briefest moment, but I mask it quickly, my expression smoothing into one of indifference.
The sheer white robe she wears drapes loosely off her shoulders, gossamer fabric clinging to the curves of her body. The deep plunge of the neckline leaves little to the imagination, the faint shimmer of her pearl-toned skin catching in the firelight. The slit in the robe reveals the smooth length of her thigh, shifting slightly as she crosses her legs, entirely at ease in her own damn audacity.
My mouth is dry.
She watches me knowingly, her silver hair tumbling over one shoulder as she lazily lifts a goblet of wine to her lips. “You look tense, Dragon Queen.”
I grit my teeth, my eyes dragging—unbidden—over the delicate swell of her breasts, the sheer fabric teasing what lies beneath. The way her fingers toy absently with the rim of her goblet, as if she knows exactly what she’s doing.
The urge to burn the robe from her body just to rid myself of the distraction is infuriating.
I force my gaze back to her face, my voice smooth and unaffected. “Cover yourself properly before my staff mistakes you for a wandering courtesan.”
She smirks. “Oh? I wasn’t aware your castle had guests in need of entertainment.”
I exhale sharply through my nose. “Put something else on, Vaela.”
“Come now, Dragon Queen.” She leans forward, the movement deliberate, the thin lace slipping further off her shoulder. “You don’t like what you see?”
I should ignore her.
I should turn on my heel and walk away.
Instead, I say, “We need to discuss our strategy.”
Something flickers in her gaze—interest, intrigue—before she hums and rises with a slow, unhurried grace. The fabric of the robe shifts around her, sheer and weightless, clinging to the dip of her waist.
It takes every ounce of my willpower to not let my eyes follow the movement.
She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “Strategy? My, how serious. I thought you enjoyed handling things with sheer brute force and fire.”
I shoot her a glare. “The king will not stop sending men into my lands. If we want to end this, we need to plan.”
She taps a finger against her lips. “Ah, so now you need me.”
I resist the urge to throttle her.
Instead, I turn sharply on my heel and stride down the hall, not bothering to check if she follows. Of course she does. She’s too curious not to.
I lead her through the winding corridors, past the great stone archways and into the war chamber. The room is large, its walls lined with shelves of aged tomes, stacks of parchment detailing past battles, old maps marked with the scars of previous wars. At its center, an imposing blackwood table stretches the length of the chamber, an intricate map carved into its surface—one that shifts and pulses with magic, constantly updating with the state of my lands.
The kingdom of Varellith spreads across the table, an enchanted rendering of the forests, rivers, and mountains. The castle stands at the very heart, its obsidian spires gleaming under the illusion of a sunless sky. To the east, the king’s territories loom in shades of burning red, steadily encroaching, pressing closer with each passing week.
Vaela approaches the table slowly, her fingers tracing the carved rivers and valleys. “Impressive,” she murmurs. “It’s… alive.”
I cross my arms. “It updates in real time. If the king moves his forces, we’ll see it here first.”
She studies it, her brows furrowing slightly. “And you’ve been fighting him alone?”
I don’t answer.
Because the truth of it is—it hasn’t been just him. Humans have always sought to take from me. This war is nothing new.
Vaela presses her palms against the table, leaning forward, studying the flickering sigils marking recent skirmishes. The robe slips slightly again, teasing another bare inch of skin. My eyes betray me, dragging downward, taking in the long line of her spine, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hips.
I clench my jaw, forcing my gaze back to the map.
Vaela hums. “We can’t just keep killing scouts. It delays him, but it doesn’t stop him.”
I exhale, fingers tapping against my arm. “Then what do you suggest?”
She looks up, her eyes sharp with calculation. “We let them come.”
I blink. “You want me to invite an army into my land?”
“Not an army,” she corrects. “Just enough of them to think they have the advantage. We feed them just enough confidence to send a proper force—one we can crush in full. If we destroy a larger force in one strike, he’ll have no choice but to hesitate.”
It’s… a solid plan.
A dangerous one.
But perhaps, so is she.
I exhale slowly, watching her closely. She’s cunning—calculating in a way that is entirely different from me. Where I strike with fire and fury, she coils like the tide, waiting, watching, striking when the enemy least expects it.
We are different.
And yet, the same.
I tilt my head slightly. “And you’re willing to fight for my realm, just like that?”
She smirks, tilting her chin up. “A deal is a deal, Dragon Queen. I never break my word.”
Her voice is light, but I don’t miss the way her fingers graze the pearls at her bodice—the weight of her own past pressing just beneath the surface.
I lean forward, just slightly. “And what will you do when this war is over, little siren?”
She exhales a soft laugh. “That depends.”
“On?”
She looks at me.
Holds my gaze.
Then, slowly and deliberately, she reaches out, tracing a single, featherlight touch over the edge of the table, close to where my hand rests. Not quite touching.
Not quite not.
I feel the heat of it, the teasing whisper of something that shouldn’t be there.
The tension between us stretches, tight and coiling.
And then… she steps back.
That damned smirk plays on her lips again. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
I watch her as she turns, slipping toward the exit, the sheer fabric of her robe trailing behind her.
She’s toying with me.
And the worst part?
I think I like it.
S leep does not come easily.
It never has.
When I finally close my eyes, I am dragged under—not into rest, but into memories.
The past rises like smoke, curling around me, thick and suffocating.
I am standing in the ruins of the first war, the air thick with the scent of ash and iron. My people—my kin—lay in heaps, their scales blackened, their wings torn. The battlefield stretches endlessly, bodies scattered like broken dolls, their golden eyes staring lifelessly at a sky that has forsaken them.
I remember this place.
The valley where my mother fell. Where my father’s last roar shook the heavens before he was brought down by a rain of steel.
Where I became queen.
I turn, and he is there—the first king.
The man who swore he would stand beside me. The man who traced fire over my skin with his lips, who whispered oaths of devotion into the hollow of my throat. The man who made me believe, for the briefest moment, that I could trust a human.
That I could love one.
The memory shifts.
His face is close to mine, his hands gripping my waist with practiced familiarity. “We could end this together, Nyxara,” he murmurs. “We don’t have to fight.”
Lies.
I know now that every touch, every whispered word, was designed to tame me. To make me his.
And when that failed—when I refused to become some docile creature he could leash—he drove a blade into my ribs.
I feel it again, the cold kiss of steel splitting through me. The betrayal in his eyes when I did not fall.
He did not know what I was.
What I would become.
His blood still stains the stones of his palace.
The vision fractures—twisting, breaking.
And suddenly, I am standing in the burning wreckage of a city, his corpse at my feet, his crown cracked in two. The humans cower before me, their fear delicious, but my rage is hollow.
Because no matter how many of them I kill, it will never be enough to undo what was taken.
What was lost.
I wake with a sharp inhale, my pulse a thunderous rhythm in my ears.
The room is dark, the air cool against my damp skin. My fingers are clenched in the silk sheets, my breath uneven.
It has been decades since that war. Since his betrayal. Since I stood in that city, my body dripping in the blood of the man I once believed could be mine.
And yet, it haunts me.
I rise swiftly, shrugging off the remnants of sleep, my body tense with restless energy. The memories coil in my chest, suffocating, and I need something—anything—to quiet them.
Without thinking, I move.
I find myself outside her chambers before I fully register my own actions.
The door is unlocked.
Of course it is. She knows I’ll come to her.
I step inside, and the sight before me is enough to still my breath.
Vaela is draped across the chaise near the fire, her body partially hidden beneath the same sheer white robe she had been wearing earlier. The firelight flickers over her pearl-toned skin, casting shadows across the delicate lines of her form.
She looks utterly at ease.
But her eyes find mine, cool and knowing.
“I was wondering when you’d stop pacing the halls,” she muses, voice laced with amusement.
I scowl, stepping further inside, letting the door click shut behind me. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was merely ensuring you hadn’t wandered where you shouldn’t.”
She smirks. “Of course. And here I thought you might have missed me.”
I exhale sharply, ignoring the heat curling low in my stomach. “You assume too much.”
She hums, tilting her head. “Then tell me, Dragon Queen, what has you so unsettled?”
I hesitate.
It is not often I am at a loss for words.
But there is something about her—about the way she watches me, as if she sees past the steel and fire, past the rage and the crown.
As if she sees me.
I hate it.
I hate that I do not turn and leave.
Instead, I step closer.
The fire casts a golden sheen over her, illuminating the silver strands of her hair, the deep, endless blue of her eyes. She is beautiful—undeniably, infuriatingly beautiful.
And she knows it.
I sit in the chair across from her, stretching out my legs, feigning nonchalance.
Vaela studies me, eyes flicking over my body, lingering on the tension in my shoulders, the stiffness in my posture.
“You’ve been shifting too much,” she murmurs. “Your body must be sore.”
I arch a brow. “I heal quickly.”
She tsks, swinging her legs over the chaise, sitting up. “That doesn’t mean you don’t feel it. You’re strong, but you’re not immune to your own muscles tearing.”
Her gaze drops, scanning the taut line of my shoulders. Then she lifts her hand, beckoning me forward with a teasing smile.
“Come here,” she says, voice like silk. “Let me ease the ache.”
I snort. “I think not.”
Her smirk deepens. “Are you afraid I’ll have my hands on you, Dragon Queen?”
My jaw clenches.
She is insufferable.
But the ache in my muscles is very real, and no matter how much I will my body to relax, the tightness remains.
Vaela shifts, patting the spot in front of her. “Just sit. I won’t bite.” I give her a sharp look, and she grins. “Unless you want me to.”
Goddess above, this woman will be the death of me.
With a sigh, I roll my shoulders and move toward the chaise, lowering myself onto the edge.
Vaela shifts behind me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body.
Her hands press against my shoulders, and I have to resist the urge to tense. Her touch is cool, firm, but not unpleasant.
Then she begins to knead.
A breath hitches in my throat before I can stop it.
Her fingers are skilled, tracing over the ridges of my muscles, pressing deep into the knots that have formed along my back.
For a moment, I almost resist.
Then she finds a particularly tight spot at the base of my neck and presses her thumbs into it, rolling slow, steady circles.
A low, pleased sound escapes me.
Her hands still.
“You purr?”
I freeze.
Her laughter bubbles out, soft and delighted, and I feel her breath against my ear as she leans closer.
“Oh, I’m never letting you live this down.”
I growl, but it lacks bite. Her fingers move again, her palms smoothing down my back, her nails just barely grazing my skin through the thin fabric of my nightclothes.
The tension I’ve been holding for days slowly begins to slip away beneath her touch.
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.
She shifts again, closer, her legs pressing against my sides. “See?” she murmurs, voice dropping lower. “Not so bad, is it?”
Her thumbs slide up my spine, tracing along the edges of my shoulder blades.
I swallow hard.
Goddess help me.
I let my head tip back slightly, exhaling.
And for the first time in a very, very long time…
I allow myself to relax.