Nytherra's POV
I can still feel the echo of his mouth on mine.
Even though the kissing stopped minutes ago, my lips are tingling, warm and almost swollen from how deeply he kissed me before pulling away. And now I'm lying on my side beneath the wisteria tree, the petals brushing my hair and falling on my dress, and Kaelith is right there in front of me. Close enough that if I leaned in even a little, my forehead would touch his.
I don't lean in.
I'm scared to break the moment, even though the moment already feels like it's breaking me.
He's lying on his side too—one arm under his head, the other resting loosely near my shoulder, close enough that when a breeze moves, his fingers graze the fabric of my sleeve. Each time it happens, it sends a tiny electric spark up my skin. Maybe he feels it. Maybe he doesn't. But I do. I feel everything tonight.
He's watching me.
Not staring in a careless way, not glancing. Watching. Carefully. Thoroughly. Like he's cataloguing every breath I take.
The moonlight paints his face in a soft glow, outlining his jaw, catching on the faint shimmer of scales that cross his temple and dip down toward his neck. They glitter like dusted silver. His lashes cast thin shadows on his cheeks, and the gold flecks in his eyes flicker every time he takes a slightly deeper breath.
I've never seen someone so beautiful.
I'd thought that before, but it feels different now. Tonight his beauty feels unbearable. Not because it's too perfect, but because it feels too personal—like it's meant for me alone.
My heart won't slow down. I don't think it ever will when he's this close.
His hair falls across his forehead in soft, dark strands, and I have to fight the impulse to lift my hand and brush them back. It would be too much. Too intimate. Too soon. Or maybe not soon enough. I don't know anymore. Every line of him feels familiar and foreign at the same time.
I want to reach out.
I want to touch him.
I want to trace the faint lines of scales near his jaw, feel the warmth of them, the different texture they might have.
But I stay still, because it's enough to simply look at him.
I swallow hard, and he sees it. His gaze flicks to my throat, following the movement. Something in his chest rises—subtle, slow—but I feel the ripple of it anyway. Like he's reacting to me. Like I matter. Like the small unconscious things I do affect him.
I don't know how this happened. How the strange boy I met at the old pond became this—the dragon prince whose existence wraps around mine like fate.
The quiet between us isn't awkward. It's thick. Heavy. Warm.
It holds more emotion than any words ever could.
My fingers curl slightly in the grass, and his eyes follow even that. He watches everything. I'm trying not to blush, but it's hopeless. My cheeks burn, and he sees that too.
I don't hide it.
I don't want to hide anything from him.
The moon haloed above us reflects in the water and spills over his face. He is shadows and silver. Fire and restraint. A prince and a dragon. Everything dangerous. Everything beautiful.
And he's right here, inches away, breathing the same air, locked in this silent pull neither of us dares to disturb.
I think I'm falling in love with him all over again, even though I already told him I loved him.
Even though I've been loving him longer than I admitted.
If this is what the rest of my life feels like—this heat, this ache, this impossible closeness—I don't ever want it to end.
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Kaelith's POV
You are lying right in front of me, and I cannot look away.
I don't try to. I don't pretend. I don't force myself to be polite about it. I let myself watch you, fully, openly, with the hunger I've been hiding for months.
You might think you're being subtle when your fingers curl in the grass or when you bite back a nervous breath. You aren't. I see everything.
I feel everything.
Your hair spills across the ground like strands of moonlight. Silver, soft, almost glowing. Every breeze sends it drifting against your cheek, and I have to fight the instinct to move it, to tuck it behind your ear, to let my fingertips brush your skin in a way I'm still stopping myself from doing.
Not because I don't want to touch you.
But because I want to too much.
And I promised myself I'd wait.
You're watching me too, though you keep pretending not to. Your lashes lower and lift, and each time you look at me, something tightens in my chest. Something ancient. Something I've never felt before for any creature, human or dragon.
You are beautiful.
Not the kind of beautiful humans compliment each other about. Something different. Something more.
Your eyes… gods, your eyes. Amber and gold, bright even in the darkness. Your face soft and sharp at the same time, your skin pale in the moonlight. You look otherworldly. Ethereal. Like all the gods of Drakkenfell sculpted you at once and then breathed life into you.
I shouldn't touch you. I shouldn't even think about touching you. But I do.
Constantly.
I imagine what your skin feels like.
I imagine your breath ghosting against my neck.
I imagine your fingers tracing the lines of scales along my jaw.
And I have to inhale slowly—silently—to keep my dragon from reacting to every thought.
Your scent drifts between us. Soft. Warm. Human, but also something else, something uniquely yours. Something I can track even blindfolded.
I shift closer without meaning to. Just an inch, maybe less. But it feels like a confession.
You feel it. I know you feel it. I see the way your breath quickens, the slight widening of your eyes, the way your body tenses and then relaxes.
I want to pull you closer.
I want to feel your head resting on my chest.
I want to wrap my arms around you and hold you through the entire night.
I want you to fall asleep in my warmth.
But not yet. Not tonight.
Tonight, you are sixteen soon. Not sixteen yet. And that boundary is mine to guard, not yours.
So I just lie here.
And I watch you.
And I let you watch me.
And I let the intensity of it burn through whatever restraint I still have.
I'm not sure you understand what it means for a dragon to look at someone the way I'm looking at you.
It's not simple desire. It's not admiration. It's recognition. Claim. Bond.
A silent vow.
If you whispered one word—just one—I would set the entire world on fire for you.
You blink slowly, and I feel the shift in the air as your gaze softens. You look at me like I'm not a prince or a dragon or a creature to fear. You look at me like I'm yours.
I've never belonged to anything.
But I think I belong to you.
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