Chapter 10 Zyphon
TEN
ZYPHON
Ishould have known breakfast would be a disaster.
All three of my brothers are waiting when I enter the hall.
Drayke at the head of the table, formal as ever, a cup of tea steaming beside his untouched plate.
Auren with a book open beside his meal, though his attention is clearly elsewhere.
And Rurik, sprawled in his chair with a grin that immediately puts me on edge.
“Good morning, brother.” Rurik’s voice is far too cheerful for this hour. “Sleep well?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so. You’ve got that haunted look. More than usual, I mean.” He kicks out the chair beside him in invitation. “Sit. Eat. We need to talk about your love life.”
“We absolutely do not.”
“We absolutely do.” Rurik leans forward, his golden eyes gleaming with unholy enthusiasm. “See, I’ve been thinking—“
“Dangerous.”
“—and I’ve realized that as the only successfully mated dragon in this room who didn’t require a prophecy or a kidnapping to get there, I’m uniquely qualified to offer romantic guidance.”
Drayke chokes on his tea. “You threatened to burn down half a continent to find Aisling.”
“And it worked.” Rurik spreads his hands. “Results, brother. Results.”
“Your ‘results’ almost getting yourself killed along with the rest of us.”
“Minor details. The point is, Aisling and I are disgustingly happy, which means I know what I’m talking about.
” Rurik turns back to me, undeterred. “First piece of advice: grand gestures. Women love grand gestures. You should do something dramatic. Sweep her off her feet. Maybe fight something impressive in front of her—show her you can protect her.”
“She tried to kill me three days ago.”
“Exactly! Passion! You’re halfway there already.” Rurik beams as if this is encouraging news. “The line between wanting to kill someone and wanting to kiss them is very thin. Trust me. Aisling threatened to gut me at least twice before she admitted she liked me.”
“That’s the worst advice I’ve ever heard,” Drayke says flatly.
“You have better?”
Drayke sets down his teacup with careful precision. “Patience. Show her you’re willing to wait. Don’t push. Don’t hover. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”
“That’s what he’s been doing for three hundred years,” Rurik points out. “How’s that working out?”
“She was dead.”
“Still counts.”
I look to Auren, hoping for something resembling sanity. He finally sets down his book, giving the conversation his full attention. His expression suggests he finds the entire discussion mildly distasteful but can’t resist participating anyway.
“Proximity,” he says.
“That’s it? Just... proximity?”
“Consistent presence. Not hovering—that will make her defensive. But being there. Reliable. Predictable.” Auren’s voice is clinical, as if he’s describing a research methodology rather than romance.
“Eventually, she’ll become accustomed to you.
Familiarity breeds comfort. Comfort breeds tolerance.
Tolerance breeds trust. It’s a logical progression. ”
“Your advice is to be so boring, she forgets to hate me?”
“I prefer to think of it as strategic persistence. Wear down her resistance through sheer mundane presence.”
“That’s the romantic equivalent of a siege,” Rurik says, sounding almost impressed. “Starve her into submission through weaponized boredom. I hate that it might actually work.”
“This is absurd.” I push back from the table. “I’m not taking relationship advice from a dragon whose idea of courtship involves property damage—“
“Strategic property damage,” Rurik corrects.
“—a dragon whose mate had to practically browbeat him into admitting his feelings—“
Drayke winces. “That’s fair.”
“—and a dragon who’s never had a relationship longer than a single conversation.”
“My conversations are very meaningful,” Auren says mildly. “Quality over quantity.”
Before I can respond, the hall door opens.
Selene walks in, takes one look at the four of us, and stops dead. Her gaze moves from Rurik’s manic grin to Drayke’s guilty expression to Auren’s studied neutrality to whatever’s showing on my face.
“Why do you all look like you’re planning something terrible?”
“We’re helping Zyphon with his love life,” Rurik announces proudly.
Selene’s expression shifts from suspicious to horrified. “Oh no.”
“I suggested grand gestures,” Rurik continues. “Fighting things. Dramatic swooping. Drayke said patience, which is boring. Auren recommended stalking, which is somehow even more boring but in a creepy way.”
“Absolutely not.” Selene crosses to the table, grabbing a piece of toast from Drayke’s plate as she passes. “If Zyphon’s romantic future depends on advice from you three, he’ll die alone. In a ditch. Surrounded by confused wildlife, wondering how he got there.”
“That’s oddly specific,” Auren notes.
“I’ve given this thought.” Selene bites into the toast, chewing thoughtfully.
“Here’s the thing about Nasyra—she doesn’t need to be wooed.
She doesn’t need grand gestures or patience or stalking.
She needs to feel safe. She needs to understand that no one here is going to use her, hurt her, or demand anything from her. ”
“That’s what I said,” Drayke protests. “Patience.”
“You said patience like it’s a strategy. A means to an end.” Selene shakes her head. “It’s not a strategy. It’s respect.” She looks at me, and her expression softens slightly. “She’s going to need time. Maybe a lot of it. Can you give her that without expecting anything in return?”
“Yes.”
“Even if she never feels what you want her to feel?”
The question cuts deep. But I don’t hesitate.
“Even then.”
Selene studies me for a long moment. Then she nods, apparently satisfied with whatever she sees.
“Good. Then ignore everything these idiots told you and just... be decent. Be present without being demanding. The rest will sort itself out.” She steals another piece of toast. “Or it won’t, and you’ll have to learn to live with that.
But at least you won’t have made things worse by taking romance advice from dragons whose combined emotional intelligence wouldn’t fill a teacup. ”
“I resent that,” Rurik says.
“Resent it all you want. You tried to impress Aisling by setting your own hair on fire.”
“It was supposed to be a controlled burn! A demonstration of mastery over flame!”
“Your eyebrows didn’t grow back for a month. She had to look at your surprised face for thirty days straight.”
“She said it was endearing!”
“She said it was ‘the most ridiculous thing she’d ever seen’ and that you were ‘lucky she found incompetence charming.’”
Drayke pinches the bridge of his nose. Auren returns to his book with the air of someone who’s heard this argument before and has no interest in hearing it again.
And despite everything—the sleepless night, the uncertainty, the three centuries of grief that haven’t quite learned to believe in hope again—I feel something in my chest loosen.
This. This mess of brothers and mates and terrible advice and stolen toast. This is what I’m offering her. Not perfection. Not polish. Just... family. Broken and chaotic and real.
I hope it’s enough.
I see her at midday, from across the training yard.
Selene has passed her off to Aisling—the two Fire-Bringers walking along the upper balcony, their heads bent together in conversation.
Nasyra looks less hunted than she did last night.
Still guarded, still watching everything with wary attention, but something in her posture has eased.
She’s wearing clean clothes that actually fit—Selene’s doing, probably—and her dark hair is pulled back from her face in a simple braid.
She’s beautiful. The thought surfaces before I can stop it. Even now, with death between who she was and who she’s become, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Her gaze sweeps the yard below, cataloging the dragons sparring, the weapons racks, the exits. Survival instincts, honed by paranoia. Her attention catches on me, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Something flickers in her expression. Not hatred—not the cold fury I’ve become accustomed to. Something more complicated. More conflicted.
Then Aisling says something, and Nasyra’s attention breaks away. The moment shatters. Nasyra walks toward the keep. I’m left standing in the training yard with my heart pounding and my shadows reaching toward her without permission.
“Pathetic.”
Aisling’s voice makes me start. She’s appeared beside me—must have come down from the balcony while I was distracted. Her arms are crossed, her expression thoroughly unimpressed.
“Thank you for that assessment.”
“You’re welcome. Someone needed to say it.” No hint of apology. “Selene told me about the breakfast intervention.”
“It was somehow worse than it sounds.”
“I believe it.” Aisling studies me with the clinical attention of someone used to assessing damage.
Her green eyes miss nothing. “If you try any grand gestures, I will personally ensure your suffering. That woman has been manipulated, tortured, and had her memories rewritten. The last thing she needs is some lovesick dragon swooping in to ‘rescue’ her again.”
“I wasn’t planning to swoop.”
“Good. Keep not planning to swoop.” She uncrosses her arms, her posture shifting to something slightly less hostile. “She asked about you. Up there.”
My heart stutters. “What did she ask?”
“Wanted to know if you were always this watchful. If you stood around staring at people like they might evaporate if you looked away.” Aisling’s mouth quirks.
“I told her the truth—that I’ve known you for months and I still can’t tell if you’re standing guard or waiting for someone to give you permission to exist.”
The observation lands harder than it should. “That’s... uncomfortably accurate.”
“I know. I’m perceptive. It’s a gift.” Aisling’s expression softens slightly. “She’s fragile, even if she’s pretending not to be. I know what that looks like. I’ve been there.”
“What else did you tell her?”