Chapter 23
Diaval
Pride surges within me as I witness Feray, my sweet mate, finally taking a stand for herself. The mythical bond we share pulses with the echo of her newfound strength, and I marvel at the defensive power revealed by her Luna gifts.
My little wolf just knocked a dragon queen on her ass.
"Let's go. It's obvious we're not welcome here." I position myself protectively behind Feray, ready to shield her from any potential attack. My gaze meets hers, and I see a flicker of gratitude in her eyes.
"You can't leave. I haven't given you permission," Myra bellows from her imposing throne. The weight of her words echoes with centuries-old traditions. But tradition now clashes with a force that refuses to be confined.
"By age and right, it should be me on that throne," I proclaim, challenging the very foundation of the hierarchy.
The words taste like freedom on my tongue.
I've wanted to say them for five hundred years.
The room vibrates with tension. I pass Feray over to Khal and Easton with a silent directive—guard her with your lives.
The urgency lingers as they hurry out of the throne room, leaving me to face the storm alone.
"Males are breeders, not leaders. It's how it's always been and shall always be done." Myra stomps her foot like a petulant child. As the door closes behind my family, something loosens in my chest. They're safe. That's all that matters.
Myra glares at me with anger and indignation. "Your mate may have displayed a parlor trick, but it changes nothing. You cannot escape the ancient traditions that have governed us for centuries."
"Times change, Myra." My words are quiet but unyielding. "I have the right to choose my destiny, and I stand with my true mate." Her eyes narrow, bone plates shifting beneath her face. "You stand against your queen, against tradition. There will be consequences."
I feel the weight of those words—the threat that echoes through centuries of Draconic history. The courtiers wait with bated breath. Let them watch. Let them see what choosing love over servitude looks like.
"Feray is my mate, and I will not bow to traditions that seek to suppress our true potential."
Myra's fury intensifies. "You will regret this defiance. The true order will be restored, and you will kneel before your queen."
I stand resolute. "You may have power, but true strength lies in embracing change."
Myra rises from her throne, her form towering as she tries to regain control. She steps down, eyes locked onto mine. "If you choose the mutt, you are no longer welcome within the mountains of Vasserdell." The ultimatum hangs in the air. A sea of dragon eyes fixes on me, awaiting resolution.
With a measured nod, I acknowledge her decree. "So be it."
I turn away, giving her my back—a deliberate act of ultimate defiance.
I do not wait for her dismissal, nor do I allow her the satisfaction of having the last word.
"You can never return, Diaval. You are a dragon without a flight from this day forward!
" My dragon cringes internally at the proclamation.
The words slice deeper than I expected. A flight is everything to a dragon—family, identity, belonging.
For five hundred years, I've been running from this place, but it was still mine. Still home.
Now it's not.
The ache is immediate and visceral, a hollow space opening in my chest where the connection to my kind used to live. I draw in a deep breath to steady myself, then turn back to face her.
"I may be without a flight," I declare, "but I have a pack that has my back one hundred percent of the time. I am respected and treated as more than just a mere toy."
A genuine smile crosses my lips—the first real one I've worn in this castle in centuries. "Freedom is a beautiful thing."
I glance over my shoulder, watching her fume on her throne.
The courtiers exchange whispers that increase to a fevered pitch.
The chaos I've caused should keep Myra busy for several hours—time enough to distance ourselves from Vasserdell.
As I make my way through the grand hallways, the opulence serves as a stark contrast to the weight of my decision.
The stone walls, adorned with intricate carvings, bear witness to the history of Vasserdell.
A history that now includes my exile. The word tastes bitter, but beneath it lies something unexpected—relief.
I am no longer bound by the expectations that have haunted me for centuries.
Exiting the castle, I step into the crisp mountain air, the scent of pine mingling with lingering tension. The distant peaks stand as silent witnesses. My pack waits, their expressions a mix of concern and determination.
"You did what needed to be done," Khal affirms.
Easton nods in agreement.
Torben holds Feray as she watches me anxiously.
She breaks free of his grip the moment I get close, launching herself at me.
Her arms wrap around my waist, and she buries her face in my chest. The impact of her small body against mine undoes something I didn't know I was holding together.
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.
"I chose you, Diaval, and I stand by that choice.
No matter what comes next, we face it together. "
I bury my face in her hair, breathing in her scent. The bonds of our pack strengthen in that moment—a shared commitment to navigate whatever lies ahead. The mountains of Vasserdell, once a symbol of tradition and hierarchy, fade into the background as we embark on a new journey.
Several hours later
I move to the driver's side of the SUV, the cool leather welcoming me as I settle behind the wheel. In the rearview mirror, I see Khal and Torben taking the back seats, their expressions a mix of vigilance and readiness. Easton sits beside Torben, his piercing gaze scanning the surroundings.
Oddly, Feray joins me up front, her decision unspoken but deliberate.
As she reaches over, her hand rests on my thigh in a silent gesture of support.
Her eyes, filled with determination and concern, never leave me as I navigate through the oldest part of Vasserdell.
The guys engage in discussion about different routes and the perils along the way.
Feray turns in her seat to watch me, her eyes steady. "I'm sorry you lost your flight over me." The guilt in her voice makes my chest ache. She carries too much that isn't hers to carry.
"I didn't lose them over you. I lost my flight the minute Myra became the leader," I assure her, forcing a smile.
"Besides, you gave me a pack, and I'm finding it to be much more palatable than a flight.
" I chuckle, shaking my head. "Look at the big picture.
Each of us has something we're very good at. "
I gesture to the back seat. "Khal, when he's awake, can gain intel for us, keeping us one step ahead of whatever is after you. His toxic bite and stone gaze are nothing to laugh at either." Khal grunts, acknowledging my words before turning toward the window, settling in for a nap.
"Torben has immense strength in both his human and bear forms. His sense of smell is almost as keen as yours, so it's extremely helpful." In the rearview mirror, Torben nods.
"Easton is not only a healer but a massive force of destruction if need be. His eyesight is unrivaled in the group." Easton dips his head slightly.
"That brings us to the grumpy dragon," Easton says, and his teasing earns him a giggle from Feray.
"Not only is he incredibly rich, but his dragon's acid breath can kill anything it comes in contact with.
Most importantly, if we need to evacuate you out of an area, Diaval is the only one able to do it swiftly. "
There's pain in Easton's eyes as he speaks. The weight of responsibility he feels is evident—the reminder that Feray may need evacuation, that danger still pursues her.
"My eternal, there's nothing to fret over from this day forward." I rest my hand on hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "In a few hours, we'll arrive in Blackmore and play hide-and-seek for your answers."
The journey continues through winding roads, the landscape changing as we approach the northern pass leading to Blackmore.
Feray's hand remains on my thigh, her presence a quiet comfort.
As we navigate through the mountain pass, the towering peaks of Blackmore come into view—their rugged beauty a stark contrast to the political intricacies left behind.
The sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow on the mountainous terrain.
In the quiet moments, I steal glances at Feray.
Her eyes, a reflection of the trust she places in me, convey a mixture of emotions.
The road ahead may be fraught with challenges, but with the strength of our pack and the unwavering support of my eternal, we face it with a unity that transcends uncertainty.
As we approach the entrance to Blackmore, the landscape becomes increasingly untamed.
The air is charged with an energy that hints at mysteries awaiting us.
The road winds higher. The mountains, their peaks shrouded in mist, stand as sentinels guarding the secrets Feray seeks.
Discussion in the car becomes hushed as we draw closer, a shared understanding settling over the group.
In the last stretch, as Blackmore unfolds before us, I steal a glance at Feray.
Her eyes meet mine, and a silent exchange passes between us.
Hope. Fear. Determination.
The journey has brought us to this pivotal moment. Whatever her origins, whatever truths await—we face them together.
Above all else, we protect Feray.