Chapter 23
Kael
I stare after Mara as she moves across the chamber, and everything in me wants to go after her. But the memories hit like a flood breaking through a dam, leaving me reeling.
A throne room. Vast stone pillars carved with dragon-wing motifs rising toward a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. My voice—my voice—speaking with absolute authority. Dragon warriors kneeling in formation. The burden of command heavy… suffocating.
I stagger. Catch myself against scorched earth.
A woman’s hand in mine. Dark hair catching firelight. Eyes like storm clouds. Her laugh—warm, genuine, the only sound that made it all seem bearable.
Lyria.
Her name surfaces once more.
The images come faster now. Overwhelming.
Bloody battlefields. Decisions that left death in their wake. Advisors whose names surface and sink—Eryndor, Veyne, Garidan. Enemies I fought and defeated. Alliances forged in desperation.
And Lyria. Standing beside me when the burden grew too heavy. Her voice in the darkness: “You carry too much alone, my king.” My answer: “Without you, I would carry nothing at all.”
I press my palm to my temple, trying to slow the flood.
The final battle. Vaelric’s forces breaching the outer walls. Fire everywhere. Lyria running toward the Heartstone chamber. My voice shouting after her—“No! Come back!”
Too late. Always too late.
Her body in my arms. Ash and rain. Everything turning to dust. An oath made to last all time. And, eventually, the choice I made—sleep over rule, because leading had cost me everything that mattered.
The memory shatters. Reforms.
Centuries compressed into instants. Darkness. Void. Then—
Waking. Cold stone beneath me. No memory. No context. Just the mountain and the certainty that I had slept too long.
“My Lord?”
Caleb’s voice cuts through the noise. I force my eyes open. Force myself back to now.
The facility smolders behind us. Syndicate operatives restrained. Vex bound and kneeling under guard, his earlier fanaticism replaced by shock as he stares at me with terrible understanding.
He knew who I was. What I was.
He thought I’d lead them.
I scan the scorched ground. Fighters beginning to regroup. The Aurora extraction team forming up near the ridge.
And Mara.
Walking away. Down the slope. Her arms wrapped around herself. Hair catching moonlight as she moves with Aurora’s people surrounding her.
Away from me.
The bond burns. Sharp. Insistent.
She needs me. The healing won’t hold without proximity. Hours at most before the injuries resurface.
I don’t have time. She doesn’t have time.
I take a step after her.
“We need guidance.” Caleb’s voice stops me. “The facility… do we destroy it or extract intelligence first? And Vex—" He gestures to the bound prisoner. “What do we do with him?”
I turn. Find Caleb watching me with an expression I recognize too well.
A leader asking his king for orders.
“You decide,” I say. “You lead the Craven clan. These are your decisions.”
“With respect… you outrank me. You’re—”
“I am a man who remembers being king four hundred years ago.” I keep my voice level. “That does not make me fit to command today.”
The sound of wings interrupts. A phoenix lands, blazing at Dorian’s shoulder.
“Wait,” he says. “You’re actually—?”
“You handle the prisoners,” I say to Caleb. Cut Dorian off before he can finish. “Extract what intelligence you can from the facility. You know the protocols better than I do.”
Caleb hesitates. “But—”
“You’ve been leading without me for years. You don’t need me now.”
“People will expect—”
“Let them expect.” I glance toward where Mara is disappearing into the tree line. “I’m going.”
“Wait.” Dorian moves into my path. Not blocking, exactly.
Just… present. “If you just walk away while we’re securing a Syndicate facility, while there are prisoners who need interrogation…
” He pauses. “People are going to talk. They’re going to say the Dragon King returned and then abandoned his people for—”
“For what?” I interrupt. Voice hard. “For a woman I’ve known eight days? For personal desire over the welfare of my people?”
“Yeah.” Dorian’s grin is sharp. “Exactly that.”
The words hang between us.
And I feel it—the familiar pressure of expectation.
This is how it starts.
One decision deferred to me. Then another. Then a dozen more. Until I’m buried in responsibility and everyone who matters is gone.
I remember standing in throne rooms making this exact calculation. Weighing personal need against strategic necessity. Choosing duty every single time because that’s what kings do.
Always duty. Always sacrifice. Always too late.
“It’s your choice,” Caleb says quietly.
I look at him. Then at the facility. The restrained prisoners. The fighters regrouping and looking toward me with questions in their eyes.
More dragons are landing now. Craven warriors who’d been holding the perimeter. Aurora Collective fighters responding to the call. All of them converging on this site.
All of them seeing me. Recognizing what I am.
Some kneel. That formal gesture—fist over heart.
“My King,” someone murmurs.
Then another. “The Dragon King returned.”
The whispers spread. Ripple through the gathered fighters like fire through dry grass.
The mantle of leadership sinks over me, whether I want it or not.
Because I gave orders. Made tactical decisions. Spoke with the voice of command.
Because they see what I was instead of what I am.
“Go, if you must,” Caleb says again. “We can handle this.”
But there are ten fighters now. A dozen. More arriving every minute.
And they’re not looking at Caleb.
They’re looking at me.
Waiting for the Dragon King to guide them.
“My Lord,” someone calls. “Should we pursue the escaped operatives or secure the perimeter first?”
“My King—the prisoners. Should they go back to Aurora?”
“Your Majesty, the Syndicate will send reinforcements. We need to establish a defensive position or—"
The questions pile up. Each one crushing me.
And Mara—
Mara is gone. Out of sight.
The bond twists. Painful now.
I could go. Could shift and take to the sky and catch her before she gets too far.
Could choose her over all of this.
But more dragons stand between me and the ridge. All of them looking at me with expectation burning in their eyes. All of them waiting for orders from a king who never wanted the crown in the first place.
One decision. Just one. Then you can go.
Except it’s never just one.
“Caleb,” I hear myself say. “Coordinate extraction of the prisoners. Medical priority.”
“Of course.”
“Dorian—air reconnaissance. I want to know if Syndicate reinforcements are coming.”
He nods. Shifts. Takes to the sky with Juno blazing beside him.
I turn, looking for the male who led the Aurora extraction team here. Find him watching with an unreadable expression. “The facility. Can your people extract intelligence before demolition?”
“We can try.”
“One hour. Then it burns whether you’re finished or not.”
More orders. More decisions.
And Mara slips further away with each word I speak.
The bond pulls. Sharp enough to steal breath.
How long has it been? Ten minutes? Fifteen?
How much time do I have before the healing unravels completely?
Go. Just go.
But there’s a fighter asking about defensive positions. Another about pursuit protocols. Someone else about what to do with Vex.
And I’m answering. Can’t seem to stop myself from answering.
Because I remember how to do this. How to be the Dragon King who makes impossible choices and bears the weight of other people’s survival.
I just don’t remember how to stop.
And the bond pulls tighter with every passing second.