Chapter 43
The Dragon's Bride
The wind roars in my ears as Drako—no, Keiren—carries me high above the mountains. Clouds tear apart around us, moonlight spilling across his scales. The world below shrinks to silver rivulets and black veins of forest. My heart pounds in rhythm with his wings.
We soar past jagged peaks and shadowed valleys until we reach a secluded glade bathed in pale gold. The air is warm, thick with pine and late-blooming wildflowers. Ahead, a familiar glow rises—the stone basin where I first saw the fractured constellation, the mirror of the sky.
Keiren descends, his wingbeats rhythmic and thunder-strong, shaking the earth as he lands. His claws loosen and release me onto the cold marble.
The altar waits before us, its surface cracked where a single star once belonged. I raise my hand and press the gem of my ring into the hollow.
It clicks into place, dislodging itself from the band, and light erupts all around us.
A thousand beams spear upward, joining sky to earth. The constellations ignite, ribbons of light wrapping the dragon in gold fire.
Drako growls—a sound of pain and release—as his body begins to change. Scales shimmer, shrinking and twisting. His wings collapse inward; his ribs and spine crack into place. When the light fades, a man kneels where the beast stood.
Keiren.
Human.
And very, very naked.
I swallow hard, refusing to look away. He’s going to be my husband in every way.
The thought of sharing anything intimate with him—this creature, this man—terrifies me, yet I can’t stop staring.
Every line of him is sculpted, scarred, alive.
The stars burn above us, but it’s his gaze that steals my breath.
Without a word, he turns, reaches behind the nearest pillar, and pulls out a pair of black trousers. The movement is so casual, so maddeningly calm, that I can only blink.
Of course he had clothes waiting. He said he knew I’d succeed.
He draws them on, then faces me again, moonlight tracing every muscle—strong, mortal, heartbreakingly human.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The air hums with the same low pulse that binds the stars. Then he steps closer, extending his hand.
“Selene,” he murmurs.
Reluctantly, I lift mine. His fingers are warm as he takes my hand and presses a single claw—still faintly scaled—into my palm.
“This may hurt,” he says.
I nod, and the claw glides across my skin, cutting clean across my palm.
A spark flares and warmth blooms as he closes his hand over mine.
Three drops of my blood fall to the marble and merge with his.
His gold flame twists with my red one until they burn as one.
He presses our palms together, sealing the bond.
“Selene Anne Fairchild, will you take me, Keiren Drakovayne, as your husband—for better or worse—mine to protect and love until death parts us or the curse is broken?” His voice is soft, but his eyes burn molten-bright.
My throat tightens. I remember those same words spoken once before, by many in Solmere in a hall full of witnesses, a ceremony in name only. But this time—here, beneath an open sky—it feels real.
I steady my breath. “Will you keep your promise to spare Vivian, Mariel, and Seraphina?”
“Yes.”
“And do you promise to harm no one?”
“I can’t promise that,” he admits, the tension thick between us. Yet he doesn’t let go. “But I can promise that no harm will come to you—or anyone you love—so long as you are mine.”
“And when the curse is broken, you’ll let me go?”
His gaze flickers, hesitation flashing like lightning. Then he nods.
We both know that if I fail, I’ll share Talia’s fate.
I exhale slowly. He has me trapped, and he knows it.
“If that is your wish, I swear it,” he says.
With trembling fingers, I reach for the ring. Keiren takes it and slides it onto my finger. The weight settles deep in my bones.
“I, Selene Anne Fairchild, take you, Keiren Drakovayne, to be my husband. I vow to be your wife, for better or worse,” I whisper. “I vow to stand by your side and help you break this curse.”
His lips curve in a faint, triumphant smile. We both know the word “love” was absent from my vow. We both know I can’t promise that.
“Then I, King Keiren Drakovayne, the Beast of Abrellia, take you, Selene Anne Fairchild, as my wife. I will be faithful to you and no other, for better or worse. I vow to protect you and those you love and keep every promise spoken this night.”
Before I can move, his mouth is on mine.
Heat. Pressure. The taste of smoke and steel. His kiss is fierce, claiming, a fire sparking where only resolve existed. I answer without thinking—because despite everything, I still crave him.
Pain tears through me. I gasp as light sears across the inside of my wrist, carving into it the outline of a crescent moon. It glows silver for a heartbeat, then slowly fades like sand falling through an unseen glass.
He pulls away. I stagger, heart hammering. His gaze searches mine, unreadable.
“It’s done,” he murmurs.
I glance at my hand. The cut is gone, healed as if it never was. Only one bargain remains, and the bitter vow my ring represents.
The path winds up through the mountains—a narrow, twisting tunnel carved of stone, so tight that in places, my shoulders scrape the cold walls. The only sounds are our footsteps and the faint hum of distant magic.
Keiren guides me ahead, his hand steady at my back. “Stay close,” he murmurs. “This passage was built by the first dragons. It will take us back into the keep’s wards.”
The air vibrates faintly. I glance back and see that the entrance has already vanished behind us, replaced by smooth, unbroken rock.
My pulse quickens. “It’s magic.”
“Old magic,” he says, “tied to the stars themselves.”
We step into a pocket of light. For a moment, the tunnel blurs, the stone giving way to weightlessness, the world folding around us in a shimmer of starlight.
Then, with a rush of wind, solid ground returns beneath my boots.
I blink against the sudden brightness. We’re standing on the outskirts of the keep’s barrier, where the mountain slopes upward in jagged terraces. Below us, the valley glows faintly under moonlight. Above, the sky spreads, endless and bright.
“This way.” Keiren nods toward the steep path that coils toward the upper cliffs.
We climb in silence. My legs ache. My dress is heavy with dew, my mind a storm of questions. Each breath burns in my chest.
“Let me carry you,” he offers quietly.
“I can walk,” I snap.
His lips twitch, amused. “Stubborn as ever.”
I ignore him, focusing on each step, though fatigue claws at my limbs. A few glowing worms cling to the rock, casting faint light along the path. Their glow dances across his face—half shadow, half flame.
I force myself to speak, needing distraction from the ache and the storm of thoughts crowding my head. “Why can you be human here?” My voice comes out softer than I mean it to.
He glances over his shoulder, the torchlight flickering in his eyes.
“This ridge lies between realms. The curse binds me within the keep’s heart, but up here”—he gestures toward the stars—“the dragon’s hold weakens.
The night itself allows me this form, which is why we can't just fly back. I cannot transform until dawn. A wedding gift, in a sense.”
The word wedding makes my stomach twist. We’re married now, and before the night is over…
I shove the thought away before it can take shape.
Suddenly, Keiren slows, the mountain wind tugging at his hair. A chill runs down my spine.
My vision blurs. The climb feels endless. My foot slips on uneven rock, but before I can fall, Keiren catches me, his arm locking around my waist. Before I can protest, he sweeps me into his arms. I stiffen and squirm. “Put me down.”
“Not a chance, wife.” He says the word like it’s been something he’s been waiting to do since the day he met me.
Too tired to fight him, I only rest my head against his shoulder. His heartbeat thrums steadily beneath my ear, the warmth of his skin chasing away the cold.
He carries me through a narrow arch hidden behind an outcrop, and the mountain opens again—this time into a high, spiraling corridor of polished black stone. A soft light glows from crystals embedded in the walls, leading us upward until a doorway materializes ahead.
Keiren reaches out to the stone, and it yields to his touch, vanishing like smoke.
We step through—directly into his bedchamber. Our bedchamber. It’s only then that I see it for what it is: a dragon’s cave, carved into the mountainside and fused to the massive keep, its yawning mouth large enough for a dragon to pass through. I want to kick myself for not realizing it sooner.
A fire burns low in the hearth, casting golden light across the carved columns and the vast bed draped in midnight sheets.
Keiren sets me down at its edge and kneels before me, his hands lingering, eyes locked with mine. My pulse races, the silence between us stretching taut. With trembling fingers, I reach for the ties of my gown just below my collarbone.
Once a week, during my year of atonement, the ladies of the Pink Rose delighted in subjecting me to their afternoon teatime, where faith was rarely the subject of conversation.
I learned much there, and though I was ready to do this only yesterday, I couldn’t keep myself from trembling as I undid the first lace, then the second.
As I reached for the third, rough, warm hands engulfed mine, startling me slightly.
“Not tonight,” he says softly.
I stare up at him in confusion. “But don’t we have to—”
He shakes his head. “This marriage doesn’t need to be sealed in any way other than the oath we’ve already given.” He gently presses my hands into my lap and leans forward to brush his lips against my forehead.
A whisper of warmth. A breath of restraint.
Just then, the faintest glow of dawn kisses the horizon, working to banish the darkness around us.
Keiren rises and turns, sprinting for the mouth of the cave.
In one smooth motion, he leaps from its edge.
Midair, his form explodes into flame and shadow.
Scales ripple across his skin. Wings unfurl and beat ferociously against the wind.
The dragon, Keiren, my husband, doesn’t even spare me a glance. He only releases a deep, guttural roar before vanishing into the sky, leaving me alone.