CHAPTER 40 - Let's Get Married
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For weeks, he had ignored me. Every attempt I'd made to mend our terrible relationship had been shut down. He wouldn't speak to me, wouldn't even look at me unless forced to during dull dinners where the adults droned on about alliances and war.
It wasn't as though his rejection offended me.
I felt the same as him.
But whenever I doubted all of this, I thought of Raine and what she must be going through. I had to help my sister... And it wasn't like I'd have to actually stay married to the little rat. Just temporary, I reminded myself.
A faint speck of white drifted across my vision and my brows lifted.
Snow.
Right... The dragons should all be sleeping soundly by now. It'll be a while before I see them again. If I get to see them at all...
I shifted, wrapping my arms around my knees, sulking as the flakes gathered in my braided hair. My gaze slid back to Malrik's room. And there he was.
Bundled in thick furs, he sat hunched by the hearth, his hands extended pathetically toward the flames. Even from here, I could tell he was shivering.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat.
He looked absolutely pitiful.
Without another thought, I swung off the tower, climbing down the icy wall with ease.
My gown snagged once, but I tore it free and made my way barefoot across roof tiles toward the kitchen's upper window, slipping inside like a cat.
With most servants retired for the night, the kitchen was empty, save for a single cook.
"Merla," I grinned, plopping onto the counter. "Can you make me dragon breath soup?"
The plump woman looked up, arching a thick brow.
"Dragon breath soup? You're not a little girl anymore. Is the winter really biting that hard?"
"Of course not. But it's not for me..."
For a moment, she studied me with that sharp gaze that always saw through my schemes. Then she smiled.
"Ah, I see. Very well then."
Soon, the pot bubbled, filling the kitchen with a spicy, almost electric scent that prickled pleasantly in my nose. Merla added the final touches before handing me a tray with a steaming bowl.
"Goodluck," she smirked.
"Thanks!" I returned her smile and carried the tray toward the west wing.
When I finally stood before Malrik's door, I knocked with my foot. There was some noise from the other side before the door flew open with a violent swing. Malrik stood there, scowling, his golden bronze eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
"You," he hissed.
I wedged my foot against the doorframe before he could slam it. He grimaced, looking down at my dirt-smeared toes as if they'd personally insulted him.
"Ugh. Do you ever wear shoes?"
I rolled my eyes.
"I brought soup." I tilted the tray toward him. "You look cold."
"I don't need it."
"It's not poisoned," I said.
"I didn't think it was. Until you said that."
With an exaggerated sigh, I strolled inside. The warmth of the hearth pulsed against me as I set the tray on the nearby table. My gaze drifted to the heap of furs he'd left before the fire.
"This soup is famous for warding off the cold," I said, turning back to the little prince. "You'll feel better. Trust me."
Malrik hesitated. He eyed the bowl like it would lunge at him.
I snorted a laugh.
"Don't tell me you're actually scared?"
His gaze sharpened with a glare before he strolled over to the soup. Slowly, he picked up the spoon and tasted it.
His golden eyes widened instantly. I smirked as he took a second bite, then another, before finally sitting down and shoveling it down greedily as though he hadn't eaten in days.
I leaned against the table, arms crossed.
"It's usually only for kids, so no wonder you like it."
The spoon clinked against the bowl as he froze mid-bite. His glare cut to me, molten with irritation.
"I had the soup. Now leave," he said flatly.
I tilted my head, smiling sweetly.
"Are you warm now? If you are, you should thank me."
He sighed through his teeth, setting the spoon down, and running a hand through his short black hair.
"It wouldn't be a problem if Drakfjord had four walls instead of three."
I laughed, twirling toward the open side of his chamber where the snow drifted in lazy swirls.
"You get used to it," I said.
His voice softened a bit of its edge.
"Why are the walls open like this?"
I looked out at the sky, the endless expanse of night framed by soft clouds, and a faint smile touched my lips.
"No place is as free as Drakfjord."
My smile dimmed as I turned to him.
"Are... Are the bedchambers in Pyreen castles open too?"
He seemed almost perplexed by the question.
"Of course not. Rooms have four walls and shutters to keep out the ash storms."
I looked away.
"That sounds awful..." I whispered.
I stood there for a moment, staring out at the snow swirling against the open wall. With a deep breath, I turned back to Malrik.
"Listen," I said, walking toward him. "I've been awful to you since you got here. And you've been awful to me. But I want to put it behind us."
He watched me warily, arms crossed.
"I don't want to marry you," I admitted. "But this is what's best for both our kingdoms."
I stuck out my hand for a shake.
"So... we should get married."
For a heartbeat, he only stared at me.
Then his face twisted into a scowl.
"No."
The word hit me harder than a dragon tail.
My eyes widened.
"What?"
"I said no," he repeated.
"Why?"
He leaned back in his chair.
"Because you're ugly."
My jaw hung open.
Ugly?
All my life, people have called me beautiful. But this boy.... this infuriating, arrogant little brat... dared to call me ugly?
"It doesn't matter," I said through clenched teeth. "We should still get married."
"No."
My nails dug into my palms.
"Fine. Then I'll just annoy you until you say yes."
He smirked like he was enjoying this far too much.
"Get out."
"I'm not leaving," I said, planting my feet.
"Leave. Or I'll call the guards."
I bit down on my tongue. My pride screamed at me to stay, but causing trouble now wouldn't be good either.
I lifted my chin.
"You'll change your mind," I said confidently, turning toward the door.
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The next few days blurred into a pattern of stubborn determination on my part.
Each morning, I intercepted the servants and brought breakfast to Malrik's chambers myself. I greeted him sweetly, even when he glared at me.
When he wasn't locked away in meetings with Father and Claude, Malrik spent his days outside the castle, training in the mist-draped forest with his guards.
I often perched in the trees or crouched behind the rocks, watching him.
He moved with a quick, fierce grace for someone so young, his bronze eyes burning like embers with every strike of his obsidian blade.
It didn't take long to notice how close he was with Lord Azreen. The tall Pyreen captain stood out among the others — calm, commanding, handsome. Malrik seemed to rely on him more than anyone, listening to his advice during drills, sometimes even laughing when they sparred.
After training, Malrik always returned to the castle for a bath, leaving Azreen to finish up before heading back himself.
One afternoon, as Azreen strode alone through the misty path back to the west-wing, I sprang out from behind a crooked tree, blocking his way.
He stopped short, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword before recognizing me.
"Princess Skye," he said, his deep voice tinged with surprise. "Do you need something?"
"Yes," I said, standing as tall as I could. "Marriage between our kingdoms would be good for both of us. But Malrik..." I exhaled, frustrated. "...he seems to loathe me. I want to know how to win him over."
Azreen blinked, then, to my annoyance, he laughed.
"My prince has always been stubborn. He won't likely change his mind."
I frowned, planting my fists on my hips.
"There must be something I can do."
He studied me for a moment, amusement fading into something more thoughtful.
"Please," I said, my pride stinging, but my voice steady. "Help me."
Azreen sighed, rubbing the back of his shaggy head of black hair as if already regretting what he was about to say.
"Very well," he murmured at last.
The Pyreen captain and I walked side by side along the snowy path back to the castle.
"Firstly," he began, "you must understand who my prince is. Malrik is a warrior through and through. Many say he is the God of Battle reborn. He has always had a sharp mind for strategy and strength far beyond the capabilities of boys his age. More than most grown men, even."
I raised a brow.
"Yes, I've noticed he likes to boast about it."
Azreen smirked faintly.
It made his features all the more handsome.
"Boast or not, it's true. But with that strength comes weakness elsewhere. He has never been good at politics or the games of court. He respects actions more than words."
His eyes flicked over to me, pausing briefly on my frilly gown, the pink silk fluttering against the winter breeze.
"For one," he added, "perhaps if you dressed more like your older sister, he might find it more appealing."
I grimaced so hard my nose scrunched.
"Pants? You want me to wear pants?"
Azreen gave a small shrug, and I groaned dramatically.
"Fine. I'll try."
"Secondly," he continued, "if he sees you working hard, or training, that will improve his image of you. He respects strength and admires effort."
That suggestion didn't sting as badly. Combat training had always been boring compared to flying, but with the dragons hidden and sleeping it wasn't as though I had much else to do.
"Alright. I can do that."
Azreen glanced at me with a slight smile before delivering his final piece of advice.
"And lastly... Malrik never liked people who talk too much."
My face soured instantly.
"What? Talking is my best talent."
He chuckled while my shoulders slumped.
"Fine," I groaned. "Less talking. I'll try."
We reached the steps leading up to the castle, the snow drifting around us. I looked up at him, offering a small, genuine smile.
"Thank you, Lord Azreen. Really."
He returned the smile with soft golden eyes.
"It's alright, princess. I'm rooting for you."
For a fleeting moment, my heart fluttered unexpectedly. I couldn't help but think how much easier this would all be if he were the one I had to marry. Perhaps he was much older, but he also behaved much better than that brat.
I thanked him once more, then turned, my skirts brushing against the cold stone as I made my way up the steps toward the castle, already plotting my next move.
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The next morning, I dragged myself out to the training grounds.
I had reluctantly traded my beloved gowns for a leather tunic and pants, the stiff fabric clinging awkwardly to me.
A guard stood opposite me, wooden sword raised.
I wasn't skilled like Claude, but years of riding Starscale had given me a grip the guard couldn't break.
And because this courtyard was one Malrik passed by every day on his way to the forest, I couldn't lower my efforts. Every time the castle doors creaked, or footsteps approached, my heart skipped. But he seemed to be late today.
So, I kept going.
Hours later, sweat clung to my brow, my breaths coming in sharp bursts. My arms trembled with exhaustion, but I refused to stop.
Then, finally, the little rat appeared.
Malrik walked through the gates, his cloak trailing behind him, his bronze eyes catching the winter light. When he spotted me, he paused. For a brief, shining moment, I thought he looked impressed.
I instinctively grinned and waved at him, my heart soaring.
He strode over, crossing his arms.
"What are you doing?"
I shrugged casually.
"What do you mean? It's just the usual training. Decided to move location since the snow is so pretty here."
His eyes narrowed.
"Stop pretending," he said coldly. "I hate liars most in this world."
The words stabbed right into my chest, ripping my smile away.
Without another word, he turned and walked toward forest, snow crunching beneath his boots. Lord Azreen was there too, lingered for a moment. He gave me an apologetic before following his prince.
I stood frozen in the snow, my sword hanging limply at my side.
Maybe I was being deceitful, but wasn't that too harsh?
Shame bubbled up in my chest until I dropped my sword and ran away from the castle. I wasn't even sure where I was running until I instinctively arrived at the dragon caves along the coast. My boots slid on the damp rocks as I stumbled inside, but I didn't care. I had to see—
The cave was empty.
Oh...
That's right.
The dragons are kept on Guardclaw Nest while the Pyreen envoy is here. I can't even find comfort in the one place I always did...
I collapsed onto a pile of rocks, hugging my knees, the sound of the waves crashing outside echoing in my ears. For a long while, I stayed like that, picking scales on the floor. It reminded me so much of the days when Raine and I would gather and compare the prettiest scales.
Raine...
I must remember why I'm doing all this. I can't let her down. I can't stay here moping forever.
With renewed resolve, I left the caves. I headed straight toward the forest where Malrik always trained, but by the time I arrived, training was ending. I saw him parting from his soldiers, heading back toward the castle.
Lord Azreen stayed behind as usual with the others.
I hesitated. Maybe bothering him now wasn't a good idea, but I needed advice again. I crept closer, just as one of the soldiers spoke.
"When can we kill the prince?"
I froze.
My heart nearly broke out of my chest.
Did I hear that right?
Azreen sighed.
"Soon," he said. "Our king wants us to retrieve the storm sword first. Then we'll kill the boy and blame it on Drakfjord."
My breath caught in my throat. Terrified, I pressed myself against the tree, my fingers clutching the bark until it dug into my skin. What's going on? Did I really just hear that?
It felt like hours before the Pyreen envoy was done talking and headed back. But even then, I stayed pressed to the tree until dark, my heart racing.
They were going to kill Malrik...
And they were going to blame us.
I ran back to the castle, my heart pounding so loud it drowned out the wind.
Should I tell Claude?
No... if she thought Pyree was conspiring, she'd kill them all without hesitation. That would ruin everything. The alliance would be dead, and Raine... How could we help her without Pyree's strength?
I burst into my room and paced back and forth, clutching my head. What could I do? What should I do? My thoughts tangled like a storm, but one thing was certain. I couldn't let that little rat die before helping my sister!
I have to warn Malrik...
If we stopped the traitors together, maybe he'd thank me. And the alliance could still survive.
Determined, I bolted from my room toward the west wing, nearly colliding with a tall man around the corner.
"Princess Skye," Lord Azreen said gently, his golden eyes warm with concern. "What's wrong?"
My heart stuttered.
"N-nothing," I said through a wobbly smile. "I just... I wanted to show off my new skills to the prince."
He chuckled softly.
"Good luck, then."
I forced a laugh, my throat dry, and hurried past him before my fear betrayed me.
When I reached Malrik's chambers, I knocked franticly. The door swung open, revealing him with his ever-present scowl.
"What do you want? Go away."
Before he could react, I slipped inside and slammed the door shut behind us.
He frowned, arms crossed.
"Seriously? What's wrong with you?"
I hesitated briefly.
How could I even say it?
My chest tightened, but I forced the words out anyway.
"T-today in the forest... After you left, I heard Azreen and the other Pyreen envoys... they were talking about killing you."
Malrik's eyes widened for a heartbeat.
Then narrowed.
"I told you, I hate liars. Why are you making this up? Do you think this will impress me?"
The disbelief in his voice felt like a slap.
"I'm not lying!" I insisted. "They said they're going to kill you after they get the storm sword. We have to do something—"
He stepped toward me, his obsidian sword flashing as he drew it.
"Azreen raised me," he said, his voice low. "If he wanted me dead, he would have done it a long time ago. You should've come up with a better lie than that."
"I'm telling the truth!" I pleaded, my hands shaking. "They're plotting against you. They're going to frame Drakfjord for it—"
"Enough." His voice cut like ice. "Get out."
I shook my head desperately, tears pricking at my eyes.
"Please, you have to believe me—"
"I said get out!" His roar filled the room, and the tip of his blade pointed straight at my chest.
My breath hitched.
He... he really won't believe me.
It was hopeless.
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