Chapter 24 #2
I sigh. “Being the eldest son always came with expectations. I guess for a long time, I didn’t want to fall into the typical mold.
Most royal dragon courtships are tediously formal affairs.
Weeks of ritual gift exchanges, ceremonial flights, endless negotiations between families.
That’s probably why none of my brothers have settled down yet either, although at least one has been betrothed.
” I pause, remembering my mother's face, her fierce determination.
“And then, after the wars began, my mother's vision consumed me. Her work, her desire for peace between our kinds… it became a kind of obsession for me. Finding a mate seemed secondary to ensuring our survival. To creating a world where dragons and every other magical could share the same sky.”
“Hm,” she says quietly. “I imagine that's quite the burden to carry.”
I shrug. “Well, it wasn't all noble purpose. I also enjoyed my freedom. The thought of settling into a traditional mating bond never appealed to me.” I meet her eyes directly. “I never felt ready. Never met anyone who made me want to rewrite my priorities.”
The unspoken “until you” hangs in the air between us. Her cheeks flush slightly, and she glances away.
“So you skipped all that formal courtship ritual and went straight to a blood bond with the enemy,” she says. “Efficient.”
“I've always preferred direct approaches.”
She slides me a look that’s only half scowl. “I couldn’t have guessed.”
A span of silence stretches. Then she rises and moves to the weapons wall, examining a particularly ornate dagger. “Did you actually use these, or were they just for show?” she asks after a moment.
“Every weapon in this room has tasted blood,” I say flatly.
She glances back at me. “Even the ceremonial ones?”
“Especially those.”
She continues her exploration, opening a large trunk at the foot of the stone bed. “Interesting wardrobe choices. Very... regal.” She holds up an elaborate robe embroidered with gold thread. “Did you actually wear this?”
“For formal occasions, yes.” I continue my search through a cabinet near the balcony door. “Don’t suggest I put it on now.”
“Wasn’t going to. Feels way too hot.” I hear the sound of the trunk closing.
I exhale softly, the surrealness of the moment striking me full force. A Salem witch wearing my shirt, casually rifling through my possessions from centuries past. In my bedchamber. In Draethnar.
If someone had told me this would happen when I first left this mountain, I would’ve possibly incinerated them for the insult.
I lean against the ancient stone wall for a moment, letting its cool surface ground me as the full weight of our situation settles in my chest. My father is dead.
My brother has stolen my throne. My kingdom lies in ruins.
And yet here I stand with a darkblood—not just any darkblood, but a Salem—the very family whose power once threatened to extinguish dragonkind entirely… and still threatens to do so.
And I've claimed her as my wife.
And I… don’t regret it.
The universe has a perverse sense of humor.
I watch her fingers trail over my map collection on the desk, her movements cautious but curious, the same meticulous attention she brings to everything.
“What?” she asks, catching my stare.
“Nothing,” I murmur. “Just... contemplating the cosmic joke that led us here.”
“Well, maybe we should start focusing on what led us here, if we’re ever going to get out of here.” She moves to join me by the cabinet, her shoulder brushing mine. She reaches past me into the cabinet, her fingers brushing against something in the back corner. “What's this?”
She withdraws her hand, and in her palm lies a circular object about the size of a large coin. It takes me a moment to recognize it, and when I do, my breath catches.
A scale—black with gold overlay, carved with intricate runes that gently shift in the low light. My grandfather's scale.
I take it from her, the weight familiar in my hand. The gold is warm to the touch, still carrying some ancient enchantment.
“What is it?” Esme's voice seems distant as memories flood back.
My mother, her hands glowing with heat as she melted the gold over the scale. My grandfather, ancient and formidable, watching with rare approval as she worked. The pride I felt when she placed it in my small hands, telling me it would bring protection and luck.
“This was my grandfather's,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “One of his scales, shed before he died.”
Esme's eyes widen slightly. “You didn't mention this earlier.”
“I forgot it existed,” I admit. “When we fled Draethnar, everything happened so quickly. I didn’t think to take it.”
I run my thumb over the runes—ancient words for protection, strength, and legacy.
“The gold,” I continue quietly, “was melted by my mother's fire. Dragon fire is... personal. Unique. This carries her essence as much as my grandfather's.”
My mother had crafted it herself, her fire hotter than any forge, melting the gold while shaping it with her magic. It had been her way of connecting me to my grandfather, a dragon I never got much time to know but whose legacy I was expected to uphold.
“It's beautiful,” Esme says quietly, her usual sarcasm absent.
I close my fingers around the scale, feeling its weight, its significance. This is exactly what we need—a direct connection to my bloodline, crafted by my mother, bearing the essence of my grandfather. A perfect spiritual tether.
“This is what we came for,” I say, looking up at Esme.
She nods, her eyes on my closed fist. “Then let's get out of here.”
I pocket the scale carefully, but can't resist one last look around the room. So many memories contained in these walls—the boy I was, the brothers I had, the family that now exists only in fragments and blood feuds.
I take one final breath of the air that once surrounded my younger self, then nod. “Let’s go.”