Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
LILA
Three days had passed since Draven’s breakdown at the kitchen table, and Lila marveled at how naturally she’d slipped into managing his kingdom from the remote cabin.
The rustic surroundings—timber beams, stone fireplace, and windows overlooking endless pine forests—felt more like home than her Santa Monica townhouse ever had.
How did I become someone who handles dragon affairs over morning coffee?
She glanced at Draven, who sat cross-legged on the living room floor with his journal open, writing steadily without her having to cajole him.
His shoulders had lost their rigid tension, and the wild desperation in his golden eyes had settled into something calmer.
He was still intense, but no longer on the verge of shattering every moment.
“The council wants to know about the trade agreements with the Ice Mountain wolves,” she said, reading from his communicator that she’d claimed as her own. “Lyric says it’s not urgent, but they’d like your input.”
“Tell them to postpone any major decisions until after the funeral,” Draven replied without looking up from his writing. “My brain can’t handle trade negotiations right now.”
Three days ago, he would have insisted on handling everything himself, even if it triggered a panic attack.
Lila typed the response, amazed at how easily the diplomatic language flowed. Growing up as Liam’s surrogate mother after their father’s death had taught her to juggle crises and responsibilities beyond her years. This felt like an extension of that—just with more fire-breathing constituents.
“Jarek wants to know if you approve of the funeral seating arrangements,” she continued, scrolling through messages. “And Nyra says the mourning flowers arrived, but they need to know if you want traditional obsidian arrangements or something more colorful.”
Draven’s pen paused. “What do you think?”
The question caught her off guard. “Me?”
“You’ve been making decisions for my kingdom for three days, and they’ve been good ones,” he replied, finally looking up at her with a smile. “Your instincts about my people and what they need—they’re better than mine right now.”
Heat bloomed in her chest. He trusts me. Not just with his grief but with his crown.
“Colorful flowers,” she said after a moment. “Your mother was warm and vibrant. The funeral should reflect who she was, not just tradition.”
“See? Perfect.” He returned to his journal with complete confidence in her judgment written across his features.
Lila typed the response to Nyra, then set the communicator aside and moved to sit beside him on the thick rug. “What are you writing about today?”
“The guilt.” His pen kept moving across the page in bold, decisive strokes. “About not being there when she died. About choosing to spend the night with you instead of checking on her one more time.”
“That’s not—”
“I know it’s not rational,” he interrupted, but his tone was gentle rather than defensive. “You’ve taught me the difference between rational thoughts and trauma responses. This is trauma talking.”
Pride swelled in her chest. He’s actually listening. Learning. Growing.
“Keep writing,” she encouraged. “Let it out.”
The cabin fell into comfortable silence broken only by the scratch of his pen and the distant call of some Nova Aurora bird.
Lila found herself studying him—his strong jaw, the way his black hair fell across his forehead when he concentrated, and the surprising vulnerability in his expression as he worked through his pain.
I could get used to this. Mornings like this, working together, building something real.
The communicator buzzed again, and she got up and glanced at the screen. Another message from Lyric, this one marked urgent.
“The Ice Mountain wolves are sending a delegation to the funeral,” she read aloud. “Lyric wants to know if you’re prepared for the political implications of whatever they’re planning afterwards.”
Draven’s hand stilled on the page. “Of course they’re planning something. Mother’s death creates a power vacuum they’ll want to exploit.”
“We’ll handle it,” Lila said automatically, then froze at her own words.
When did I start thinking of everything in terms of ‘we’?
But Draven’s answering smile lit up his entire face. “Yes, we will.”
The way he said it—like a promise, like a future—made her stomach flip with dangerous possibilities. Three days of caring for him and watching him trust her with his deepest pain and his kingdom’s welfare, had shifted something fundamental in her perspective.
Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could be his queen.
“Come here,” he said, setting the journal aside and reaching for her with those large, capable hands.
She let him pull her closer until she straddled his lap, her hands resting on his broad shoulders. The position was intimate without being overtly sexual, though the heat in his eyes suggested his thoughts were heading in that direction.
“I need to tell you something,” he said, his voice dropping to that rumbling alpha tone that made her entire body respond. “These three days... watching you take care of me, handle my responsibilities, and stand by me when I fell apart—”
“You didn’t fall apart,” she protested. “You finally let yourself grieve properly.”
“Because of you.” His hands settled on her hips, his thumbs tracing small circles that sent sparks of awareness through her. “You’ve shown me what it means to have a true partner. Someone who doesn’t just support me but can actually share the load.”
Lila’s heart hammered. “Draven—”
“I know you’re still thinking about the mate mark,” he continued, his golden eyes intense and focused entirely on her. “And I’m not pushing. But I need you to know that these three days have shown me what our future could look like. And it’s everything I never dared to hope for.”
The raw honesty in his voice made her throat tight with emotion. This wasn’t the desperate dragon king who’d confessed his need for her to cure his fire madness. This was a man who’d found his equal and wanted to build something beautiful together.
“After the funeral,” she heard herself saying. “Ask me again after the funeral.”
His smile was radiant and predatory at once. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a ‘we’ll see,’“ she teased, but her heart was already screaming the answer.
Yes, you impossible, wonderful man.
“I’m going to wash off the last three days,” he said softly. “Care to join me?”
The invitation floated in the air, loaded with promise and barely restrained desire. Lila’s body responded instantly—her pulse quickening and her skin warming—but her mind was already shifting into investigative mode.
“I need to make a few phone calls first,” she said, holding up the communicator. “Clutch business won’t manage itself.”
Disappointment flickered across his features, but he nodded with the understanding of a man who’d learned to appreciate her dedication to his kingdom. “Don’t take too long.”
She wanted to lose herself in him and pretend the world could wait. But the part of her that had built her life on solving problems refused to rest. Someone had to protect this peace they’d found.
They stood up, and he walked toward the bathroom. When the bathroom door closed, followed by the sound of running water, Lila placed her call.
“Nyra? It’s Lila. Are you somewhere private?”
“In my house, and yes, the walls are soundproof,” came Nyra’s voice through the communicator. “I’ve got what you asked for, and it’s worse than we thought.”
Lila’s stomach dropped. “Tell me everything.”
“Veyra’s mother was eighteen when she became obsessed with Draven’s father,” Nyra began, her tone grim. “She genuinely believed she’d be his chosen mate—spent months positioning herself, playing politics, making herself indispensable to the court.”
“But then Draven’s mother appeared.”
“Exactly. The moment King Theron met Queen Serenya, it was over. Instant mate bond and complete devotion within a month. Veyra’s mother was cast aside like yesterday’s council notes.”
Lila paced the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the cool stone.
Veyra’s childhood was built on her mother’s rejection and humiliation. No wonder Veyra’s so desperate for the crown.
“Veyra was eighteen when King Theron died,” Nyra continued. “Old enough to understand that her mother’s dreams died with him, but young enough to think she could rewrite history with the son.”
“And now she’s willing to kill for it.”
“I think so. Because about that antidote situation—I dug into Corin Vale’s background. The man’s a professional snake, Lila. He’s been playing both sides of every conflict for the past decade, selling information to whoever pays best.”
Through their strong mate bond, Lila could feel Draven’s contentment as the hot water worked over his muscles. The contrast between his peace and the darkness she was uncovering made her stomach lurch.
“The antidote is fake,” Nyra said bluntly. “Corin and Veyra cooked up this scheme together. The substance he’s been peddling to Draven? It’s poison, Lila. Slow-acting, undetectable, designed to look like a medical emergency.”
The communicator nearly slipped from Lila’s suddenly nerveless fingers. “She was going to murder him.”
“After he gave her his mate mark, yes. He would die mysteriously, she’d become queen, and she’d rule alone. The perfect crime wrapped in a tragic love story.”
Rage flowed through Lila’s veins like liquid fire, and now she understood exactly why dragons were such formidable predators. The urge to protect, to destroy anything that threatened her mate, was overwhelming.
“We have to expose her,” Lila said, her voice steady despite the fury building in her chest. “But carefully. She’s been planning this for years—she’ll have contingencies.”
“Already working on it. I’ve got contacts who can—”
“I have to go,” Lila interrupted as the shower shut off. “Draven’s finishing up. We’ll figure out a plan soon, but Nyra? Thank you. For all of this.”
“Just keep him safe, Lila. And yourself.”
The communicator went dark just as Draven’s voice called from the bathroom. “Lila? Is everything alright out there?”
“Fine!” she called back, forcing lightness into her tone. “Just wrapping up.”
She needed air. Fresh air and space to think without Draven’s protective instincts picking up on her emotional turmoil through their bond. The back door of the cabin opened easily, revealing the dense forest that surrounded their hideaway.
How do I tell him that the woman he’s trusted for years orchestrated his parents’ deaths to isolate him? How do I explain that she was planning to poison him after using him for his crown?
The pine-scented air should have been calming, but her mind was racing too fast for nature’s peace to penetrate. She walked toward the tree line, needing the movement to help her think.
We need proof. Solid, undeniable evidence that even the council can’t ignore. And we need to—
The attack came from behind, fast and brutal. A massive arm wrapped around her throat. She managed one sharp cry before she was yanked backward against a wall of muscle and rage.
“Should have minded your own business, little human,” a voice growled in her ear.
Lila drove her elbow backward as hard as she could, connecting with solid ribs. Her attacker grunted but didn’t release her. Instead, he spun her around and slammed her to the ground, her back hitting the forest floor with enough force to drive the air from her lungs.
Marvin. She recognized Veyra’s nephew from the council meetings, though she’d never seen him look this feral. His eyes were wild, and his hands were already shifting—fingers elongating into claws.
“Nothing personal,” he said, his voice distorting as his dragon pushed closer to the surface. “But Aunt Veyra needs the king focused on his grief, not cuddling up with his pet therapist.”
Lila scrambled backward, but Marvin was faster. His transformation began in earnest—bones cracking, muscles expanding, skin taking on the telltale shimmer that preceded a shift.
Where is Draven?
She could feel his alarm through their bond, his sudden shift from relaxed contentment to blazing fury. But the cabin was fifty yards away, and Marvin’s dragon was already lifting off the ground with his claws closed around her waist.