Chapter 29
The Fire Within
Iwake, shivering, in the dark. A sound echoes through the frigid chamber—the slow scrape of claws on stone. I turn.
The dragon lurks at the mouth of an enormous cave, its massive wings folded close against its body, its breath thick with smoke, its eyes burning molten gold. It stares at me, almost through me.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
It steps closer.
Without thinking, I raise a hand and touch it, my palm meeting scaled flesh. The instant my skin makes contact, golden veins pulse out across its skin like cracks in glass. With a terrible roar, flames erupt from its maw.
My scream is swallowed by silence as I jolt awake, gasping for air.
Keiren is lying on the floor beside the bed, shirtless, one arm curled behind his head like a lion at rest. Scars lace his back in harsh, deliberate lines.
I slip from the bed, wrap myself in a blanket, and retreat to the sofa across the room. As I pass, the fire sparks to life again, casting long shadows on the jagged stone walls.
His chambers are more cavern than room, carved straight into the mountain.
The bed is massive, draped in black velvet.
The hearth burns wide and warm, and across the room, a small pool glimmers, reflecting starlight onto the ceiling like constellations—the same pool where he held me for hours while the poison drained from my body.
And yet all I feel is the echo of the dream—and the phantom burn where I touched the dragon’s chest. I clench my fist, lost in thought.
“If I’d known you were going to insist on sleeping here,” Keiren says, his voice husky from sleep, “I wouldn’t have given you the bed.”
I jump.
He’s already up, stretching, his lean muscles framed in the firelight. “Or,” he adds, stepping closer, “at the very least, I would’ve joined you.”
My pulse skips, and I clutch the blanket tighter. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
He smirks. “Trying to get rid of me already?”
I turn to scowl at the fire.
“Do you always talk in your sleep?” he asks.
“Only when I dream.”
His voice softens. “Was it about the dragon?”
For a moment, I don’t answer. Then I retort, “At least I don’t snore!”
“I do not,” he says, mock-offended.
“You do. Like a moose!”
Keiren laughs quietly and kneels down beside me. “You’re still shaking.”
I hadn’t noticed, but he’s right.
He takes my hands in his. His palms completely swallow mine, steadying the tremble. “May I check your side?”
I nod and roll onto my uninjured side. His fingers lift the tunic he lent me, slow and deliberate, the fabric whispering against my skin. His touch is warm, rough from swordplay yet impossibly gentle.
The cool air hits the wound, and I hiss through my teeth.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low as a spell. “I’ve got you.”
He unwraps the bandages with care, each motion precise and delicate.
His calloused thumb grazes my ribs, brushing the bruised flesh, and a shiver runs through me, one that has nothing to do with pain.
As the last strip falls away, he reaches for a small jar by the hearth and twists it open.
The tang of herbs and smoke reaches my nose.
“This will sting,” he warns me.
I nod, bracing myself.
He dips two fingers into the ointment and spreads it over the wound. The burn flares, then cools, magic and medicine mingling like breath and air. I feel the slight tremor in his hand as he works, like he’s fighting to stay steady.
For a heartbeat, I forget the pain entirely. No one has ever taken care of me like this, save my mother.
When he finishes, he reaches for a fresh roll of linen.
“You’re healing faster than I expected,” he says quietly, winding the bandage around me with great care.
“But you’ll still need to rest.” He ties the final knot with a soldier’s precision, and the warmth of his breath grazes my shoulder as he leans back. “There. Done.”
I finally remember to exhale, dizzy from the closeness. My voice comes out small. “Mariel and Cassy… Are they alright?”
His gaze softens. “Mariel’s bruised but recovering. Mae says she’s stubborn enough to be back on her feet by sundown.”
“And Cassy?”
A muscle in his jaw pulses. “She’s pretty shaken up, but alive. Arther’s watching over her.”
The knot in my chest loosens ever so slightly. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding my breath until now.
“Good,” I whisper, blinking fast. “I couldn’t bear—”
Keiren presses a hand to my side—not hard, just enough to steady me again. “Don’t,” he says softly. “They’re safe. You’re safe. That’s what matters now.”
His thumb traces an absent circle over the bandage before he withdraws. I feel the loss of his touch like a wintry draft through an open door.
“You need rest,” he says, getting to his feet. “And food.”
Without another word, he disappears through the door, leaving me all alone to ponder what happened.
How did a pair of assassins manage to break into the keep?
Where did they come from, and how did they know we were here?
Did someone send them? And, above all else, why? Who could possibly want us dead?
Minutes later, Keiren returns with a tray of warm bread, roasted fruit, and a bowl of stew that smells rich and spiced with cinnamon and smoke. The scent alone makes my stomach twist with hunger. I don’t have the strength—or the pride—to argue when he starts spoon-feeding me.
The comforting heat of the food grounds me in the present. Each bite eases the trembling in my hands. When we finish, he sets the tray aside, and we sit quietly before the fire together, the silence stretching warm and soft between us.
After a while, I turn and ask, “Why did you give me your bed?”
He leans his head back against the stone wall, the firelight gilding the sharp lines of his throat. “Because, despite what you think… I do try my best to be a gentleman.”
I stare at him. The flames dance across his face, catching in his lashes. His eyes meet mine and hold my gaze.
Neither of us dares break first. The space between us hums, feeling more and more fragile with every moment that passes. My chest tightens until, finally, I have to turn back toward the fire just to breathe.
The room feels warmer. Or maybe it’s just the ache twisting low in my ribs. I just want to survive long enough to see my sister again. To hold her one last time.
Then, inexplicably, he stands and paces toward the hearth.
“Stay here,” he says at last, his tone soft but final. “It isn’t safe for you elsewhere. You’ll remain in my room, under my protection.”
I open my mouth to protest, but one look from him silences me. His expression is calm, but his eyes carry a deeper warning, one I’m afraid to ask about.
Keiren pulls on a tunic and turns toward the door.
“But if I come back tonight and find you still in my bed…” He glances over his shoulder, eyes glinting like gold caught in smoke.
“I’ll take that as an invitation.” He winks, and even though I know he’s joking, the thought of sharing his bed stirs something in me.
Before I can come up with a clever retort, he’s gone, leaving me alone with the fire and the war in my chest.
“Keep dreaming, Your Majesty,” I mutter under my breath. But the defiance is half-hearted, laced with something I refuse to name.
I spend the rest of the day drifting in and out of sleep. By the time night falls, the chamber has gone quiet again. The shadows feel heavier, thicker, as if the mountain itself is holding its breath.
Keiren doesn’t return until late. By then, I’m already in his bed. I started out on the sofa, but the wood frame dug into my back until my desire for comfort and the impossibly soft mattress, his intoxicating scent lingering on the sheets, finally won out.
Despite his teasing threat, he doesn’t join me. Through half-lidded eyes, I watch him move across the room, silent and deliberate.
He doesn’t even glance toward the bed. Instead, he spreads a blanket before the hearth again and settles onto his side, his back turned to the fire, toward me, one arm bent beneath his head like a makeshift pillow.
For some reason, that small act—his choice to sleep on the cold floor when he could have claimed the warmth beside me—feels more intimate than anything else he’s ever done for me.
Our eyes meet once across the dim light. A silent word passes between us—something neither of us dares name.
I roll to my side and pull my blanket closer, pretending not to notice the steady rhythm of his breaths.
But I do. Every. Single. One.
The next morning, Keiren is gone. For a moment, I think I’ve dreamed him again—the warmth of his arms, the steadiness in his voice, the firelight painting his skin in gold. But when I blink awake, the space beside me is empty. Only a faint dip in the mattress where I must have turned over remains.
A folded blanket lies neatly by the hearth, reminding me of reality. Still, some foolish part of me misses the weight of him beside me, like those two nights in the forest.
Sunlight seeps through the high stone windows, pale and cold against the warmth still clinging to the air. I stretch carefully, my body protesting every movement. A dull ache radiates from my ribs where the bandages pull tight.
The scent of roasted meat and spiced bread drifts in before I even hear him return.
“Good,” he says, setting a tray on the low table beside the bed. “You’re awake.”
His hair is still damp and slightly curly at the ends, as though he’s been outside.
In the garden, I realize as I spot the golden rose resting beside the plate.
His black tunic looks regal despite its simplicity, its sleeves rolled to his elbows.
He moves with quiet purpose, as if even gravity has learned to obey him.
“You should eat,” he says, handing me a cup of something warm that smells faintly of cinnamon and honey.
I push myself upright with a soft groan, wincing as the motion tugs at my side. “I’m fine,” I lie.
He gives me a look that says he’s heard that before. “You’re stubborn.”
“Thank you.”