The moment Kael disappeared into the dark, Lyra stood still as stone. Only the faint rustle of banners and the ghost of his kiss remained in the air.
Little Flame.
She should've hated it. Should've burned at the insult. But somehow, it coiled around her spine like silk-bound steel.
You're not done here.
Damn him. Damn his voice, his eyes, his scent—like scorched cedar and old magic. Damn the way her body had leaned toward his without meaning to. Damn how her body was much more willing, accepting, and honest then her mind.
She turned away from the corridor, a storm simmering behind her eyes, and made her way back through the torch-lit halls of Drakmyr Keep, her boots barely making a sound. The castle felt alive at night—walls whispering with old dragons and kings who'd built empires from blood and shadow.
But Lyra wasn't here for romance.
She was here for survival, for the kingdom she seeks to create.
And Kael Dravaryn—Dragon King or not—was a threat she didn't know what to do with.
Not yet.
She closed the door to her chamber behind her with a soft thud, the letter still clutched in her palm like it might detonate. Before she realized it, she relaxed and fell asleep while still breathing in Kael's scent from the letter that flooded the room.
The next day at 7:30 a.m.
Lyra's Guard stood at attention; you could barely feel their aura.
Calen, second-in-command, raised a brow. "You were gone longer than expected last night, my queen."
Lyra didn't answer at first. She took a minute to calm herself, clear her mind, and make a path to a goal for them in her mind. She announced to them, "I had a talk with the king of this realm".
Finally, she announced to them. Voice crisp. Cold.
"I meet with the king of the realm."
"The king has summoned us to his war room. Nine-thirty sharp."
There was a flicker of movement—tense shoulders, fingers shifting toward weapons.
"He wants to talk," she continued, taking just a second to feel how her guards felt about the news they had just received. "With all of us."
Flick's jaw clenched. "And you trust him?"
Lyra snorted, turning toward the window where the sky was beginning to pale, the faintest breath of dawn curling over the horizon. "No. I trust no one here. Especially not him."
The guards seer, Savi, shifted nervously. "Then why go?"
Lyra's gaze sharpened. "Because if Kael Dravaryn thinks he can pull the strings, I want to watch him try. And I want him to see the blades I brought to cut them."
The room went still. Fierce smiles spread like embers across her Guard's faces.
"We'll go," she said, eyes narrowing, "but not as guests. We go as a show of strength. We go as the Virellan Guard. Full dress. Full steel. If this is a trap, it'll be the last one he sets."
Talon gave a sharp nod. "Understood."
But Savi hesitated. "And if it's not a trap? If it's… something else?"
Lyra didn't answer.
She didn't want to admit the fire low in her gut wasn't just war-forged rage.
It was the heat of Kael's touch. The curl of his smirk. The godsforsaken way her name had sounded in his mouth.
She didn't trust him. But she hadn't flinched when his hand touched her waist.
That scared her more than any ambush ever could.
"I'll handle the king," she said simply, her voice like tempered steel.
And if he tries to play me…
I'll remind him who taught dragons to bleed.