Chapter 2
TWO
DRAVEN
The crisp white shirt felt suffocating against Draven’s neck as he settled into the high-backed chair at the head of the conference table.
He’d abandoned suits weeks ago—the formal constraints made his skin crawl when the fire madness clawed at his control.
Today’s business-casual attire offered little comfort as tension radiated through the expansive conference room.
The glass walls reflected the twin suns’ crimson light, casting everything in shades of amber and gold.
The same light that once symbolized his kingdom’s strength now felt oppressive.
Draven’s fingers drummed against the mahogany conference table as council members filtered in, their conversations a low murmur that scraped against his heightened senses.
Keep it together. Just another meeting. You’ve done this a thousand times.
But the voice in his head whispered darker truths.
Have you? When was the last time you made it through one without the fire madness trying to consume you from the inside?
His mother Queen Serenya took her seat to his right, her silver-streaked hair immaculate despite the early hour.
Her golden-brown eyes—so similar to his own—assessed him with the sharp intelligence that had guided the Dominion territory through his father’s death and his own ascension to the throne.
Beside her, Jarek’s broader frame settled into his chair with easy confidence, though Draven caught the subtle tension in his best friend’s jaw.
They knew. They always knew when the fire madness episodes were coming.
“Your Majesty.” Councilor Veyra’s voice drifted across the table like silk over steel. She’d positioned herself directly in his line of sight, her golden hair catching the light as she arranged her papers with deliberate precision. “Shall we begin with the northern border disputes?”
Draven nodded, not trusting his voice. The words on the documents before him blurred slightly at the edges, and he blinked hard to clear his vision.
Focus. Dominion needs you focused.
“The mountain wolf packs are pushing south again,” Councilor Thomas reported, his weathered face grim. “They’re testing our patrols, looking for weaknesses in our defenses.”
“How many incursions this month?” Draven’s voice came out rougher than intended.
“Seven confirmed. Possibly more that went undetected.”
Seven. How had it gotten so bad?
The fire in his chest stirred, responding to his rising anxiety. Heat prickled along his spine, and he fought to keep his expression neutral.
“We need stronger patrol rotations,” Jarek interjected, his green eyes flicking to Draven with concern. “I can coordinate with the flight commanders—”
“That won’t solve the underlying problem.” Veyra’s interruption was smooth, her pale blue eyes focusing on Draven with a piercing intensity that made his skin crawl. “They’re not just testing our defenses. They’re testing our leadership.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Draven’s vision wavered, the conference room stretching and distorting at the edges. The voices around the table became distant echoes as his dragon roared in his mind, flames licking at his consciousness.
Weak. Failing. Not fit to rule.
“Your Majesty?” Veyra’s voice cut through the haze, concerned and gentle. “Are you alright?”
No. Nothing is alright. Nothing has been alright for months.
The fire madness clawed deeper, whispers of inadequacy and failure flooding his thoughts. The room tilted slightly, shadows dancing in his peripheral vision where none should exist. His hands gripped the table edge so hard the wood creaked under the pressure.
“Perhaps we should take a brief recess—” Queen Serenya began.
“No.” Draven’s word cracked like a whip. Every eye in the room fixed on him, and he could feel their judgment and their doubt. “Continue the report.”
But Councilor Thomas’s words became white noise as the episode intensified. Draven’s dragon thrashed against his mental barriers, seeking release and seeking destruction. His vision tunneled, the faces around the table becoming grotesque distortions of concern and suspicion.
They see it. They all see how broken you are.
“The eastern border requires attention as well,” Veyra continued, her voice a lifeline in the chaos. “But I believe these challenges aren’t insurmountable. Not with the right... support.”
She leaned forward slightly, her expression radiating understanding and compassion. “Sometimes the strongest leaders need someone who truly comprehends their burden. Someone who can offer genuine partnership.”
Her words wrapped around him like a soothing balm, but something in Jarek’s expression tightened. Queen Serenya’s fingers drummed once against the table—a warning sign Draven’s fevered mind barely registered.
Veyra understands. Veyra sees the struggle and doesn’t judge.
But the fire wouldn’t be contained. Heat crawled up his throat, and he tasted copper. The walls seemed to press closer, the crimson sunlight becoming threatening rather than warming.
“I think that’s enough for today.” Draven pushed back from the table with more force than necessary, the chair scraping against the stone floor. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow.”
“But Your Majesty, we haven’t finished—”
“Tomorrow.” His voice brooked no argument, the authority he’d wielded since sixteen coating every syllable despite the chaos in his mind.
The council members filed out in respectful silence, though Draven caught the worried glances exchanged between them. Veyra paused at the doorway, her expression soft with what appeared to be genuine concern.
“If you need anything, Your Majesty... I’m here.”
Then she was gone, leaving only the scent of expensive perfume and something else—something that made his dragon pace restlessly.
Five minutes later, Draven’s private chambers felt like a sanctuary as he collapsed into the leather chair by his massive fireplace. The familiar space—dark wood, rich fabrics, and the subtle scent of sea salt—usually grounded him. Today, even here, the madness lingered like smoke in his lungs.
Eighteen years. Eighteen years of ruling, and now I can’t even get through a simple council meeting.
The soft knock on his door came exactly when he expected it. “Enter.”
His mother swept in first, her regal bearing intact despite the worry lines etched deeper around her eyes. Jarek followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click that felt final.
“That was the worst one yet.” Jarek’s bluntness would have been insubordination from anyone else. From his oldest friend, it was the brutal honesty Draven desperately needed.
“I’m aware.” Draven didn’t lift his head from his hands. “The episodes are getting stronger. More frequent.”
“Draven.” His mother’s voice carried the gentle authority that had guided him through the early years of his reign. “You can’t continue like this. Dominion—”
“Needs a stable king. I know.” Bitterness coated his words. “Unfortunately, the stable king seems to be out of service at the moment.”
Queen Serenya moved closer, her hand resting on the arm of his chair. “The Withering Flame isn’t a character flaw, my son. It’s a rare condition that affects unmated male dragons of our bloodline. Your father struggled with it before he found me.”
“And look how that ended.” The words escaped before he could stop them, and he watched his mother flinch. “I’m sorry. That was—”
“True.” Her voice was steady, but pain flickered in her golden eyes. “But the madness didn’t kill your father, Draven. Political enemies did. The fire madness is manageable with the right mate bond.”
“Which brings us to the real issue.” Jarek settled into the chair across from him, his expression serious. “You’ve been avoiding the mate bond for eighteen years. Your dragon is literally consuming itself from the inside because it can’t find its other half.”
Because I’ve been too afraid. Too proud. Too convinced I could handle everything alone.
“The councilors are starting to whisper,” Queen Serenya continued quietly. “Veyra’s attention today didn’t go unnoticed. Neither did your... response to her words.”
Draven’s head snapped up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means she’s positioning herself as your salvation.” Jarek’s green eyes flashed with something dangerous. “And you’re vulnerable enough right now to consider it.”
“Veyra has been a loyal councilor and friend—”
“Veyra has been getting closer to you for months.” His mother’s voice carried a warning. “Her timing is too convenient and her understanding too perfect. Be careful, Draven.”
The fire in his chest stirred again, responding to his rising agitation. “So what do you suggest? That I let the madness consume me completely? That I abdicate and let Dominion fall into chaos?”
“No.” Queen Serenya’s voice was firm. “I thought we should try something we haven’t considered before.”
Draven’s dragon stirred restlessly. “Which is?”
“Outside expertise.” His mother’s eyes held steady despite his sharp look. “So, I contacted Gerri Wilder yesterday.”
“The matchmaker?” Jarek leaned forward, his eyebrows raised. “What does a dating service have to do with fire madness?”
“She’s more than a matchmaker, and you know it.” Queen Serenya’s tone was firm. “Gerri has connections across multiple worlds, species, and healing disciplines. I explained your condition, and last night she called back.”
Draven’s hands gripped the chair arms until the leather creaked. “And?”
“She’s found a trauma psychologist from Earth. Someone who specializes in acute stress and complex psychological crises.” His mother’s voice held a note of hope he hadn’t heard in months. “She believes this woman might be able to help where our healers have failed.”
“A human?” The words erupted from Draven’s throat like molten rock. “You want me to expose the Withering Flame to some Earth woman who probably thinks shifters are myths?”
“Our methods have proved futile for centuries,” Queen Serenya continued calmly. “Your case has lasted eighteen years—a miracle of strength and control, but you can’t contain it anymore. You said so yourself.”
Draven pushed out of his chair, pacing to the massive windows that overlooked the volcanic ridges. The twin suns cast everything in their golden light, but the beauty felt mocking. Even his beloved Dominion couldn’t soothe the chaos in his brain.
“What’s her name?” The question scraped from his throat.
“Dr. Lila Reyes.”
Something electric shot through Draven’s chest. His dragon, usually a writhing mass of barely contained fury, went suddenly still. The sensation was so unexpected he pressed a hand to his sternum, frowning.
Lila.
The name echoed in his mind, and for a moment—just a moment—the ever-present heat cooled to something almost manageable.
“Your Majesty?” Jarek’s voice seemed to come from underwater. “You alright?”
Draven blinked, realizing he’d gone completely silent. “I’m... fine. It’s just the stress.”
Stress. Right. Not the way your dragon just stopped thrashing at the sound of her name.
“She can come tomorrow to assess you,” Queen Serenya continued, watching him with sharp eyes. “Gerri is arranging everything.”
The practical part of Draven’s mind rebelled. Letting a stranger—a human stranger—witness his deteriorating control went against every instinct. But the alternative was losing himself completely to the madness, and with it, Dominion.
“Fine.” The word came out rough. “What other choice do I have?”
Relief flooded his mother’s features. “Thank you for considering this option. We feel hopeful, Draven.”
“Hopeful.” He turned back to the window, watching lava flows carve bright paths through the darkness. “I can’t remember the last time I felt that.”
Jarek stood, clapping a hand on Draven’s shoulder. “Maybe this Dr. Reyes has some trick our healers missed. Earth medicine is different—more focused on the mind than just the body.”
Or maybe she’ll take one look at me and run screaming back to whatever safe little life she left behind.
“We’ll leave you to rest,” Queen Serenya said softly. “Tomorrow will be... significant.”
After they left, Draven found himself alone with nothing but the crackling fire and his churning thoughts. The silence felt oppressive, filled with the whispered doubts that always surfaced when the madness crept closer.
Eighteen years of controlling this curse, and now you’re desperate enough to trust some human woman you’ve never met.
He moved to the sidebar and poured three fingers of Sidaii whiskey, the amber liquid burning down his throat without providing any real relief. The fire madness wasn’t something that could be drowned in alcohol—he’d learned that painful lesson years ago.
Dr. Lila Reyes.
Again, that strange stillness in his chest. His dragon had been a constant presence since birth, but lately it felt more like a wild animal clawing at his ribs. Now, for the first time in months, it seemed... curious rather than destructive.
What if she can’t help? What if the madness is too far advanced?
The alternative loomed like a specter. Veyra’s offer hung in the air during every council meeting, her pale blue eyes promising salvation if he’d just surrender to her version of partnership.
But the thought of binding himself to anyone other than his true mate felt like a betrayal of everything his father had taught him.
Father found his peace with Mother. Found his permanent control through their mate bond.
But his father was dead, and Draven was running out of time.
He poured another drink, settling deeper into his chair as the twin suns began their descent. Tomorrow, this Dr. Lila Reyes would arrive, and he’d have to expose the worst parts of himself to a complete stranger.
Gerri Wilder doesn’t make moves without purpose. If she found this woman...
The matchmaker’s reputation was legendary, but her methods remained mysterious. Was this truly about healing, or did Gerri have ulterior motives? The woman specialized in bringing together fated mates, and his situation felt too ideal for her not to do some meddling.
Is she up to something, or is the madness playing tricks again?
The questions circled like vultures as darkness claimed the sky, leaving Draven alone with his doubts and the strange, persistent hope that maybe—just maybe—salvation was on the way to Nova Aurora.