The journey back from the Healing Springs was not like our departure. When we left, we were shadows in the night, running from a "Holy" threat. But as we approached the tall, white stone walls of the capital, Alaric did not hide.
He rode his massive black warhorse, his bandaged shoulder hidden under a heavy cloak of dragon-scales. I sat in front of him, tucked against his chest. He refused to let me ride my own horse. He wanted me within reach of his heat, his hand resting firmly on my waist as if he were guarding a pile of gold.
The Dragon Heart Stone on my neck was humming. It wasn't just pink or violet anymore; it was a deep, swirling sunset color. Through the Soul-Link, I could feel Alaric's mood. It was "spicy," dark, and incredibly protective. Every time a traveler on the road looked at us, I felt a low growl vibrate through his chest and into my back.
"They are staring, Alaric," I whispered, leaning my head back against his shoulder.
"Let them stare," he rasped, his breath hot against my ear. "Let them see that the King has returned with his heart. Let them see that the Spear is broken and the Dragon is still standing."
As we passed through the city gates, the atmosphere changed. The people were lined up on the streets, but they weren't cheering. They were whispering. The news of the "Battle in the Cave" had traveled faster than our horses. They knew the High Priest had been defeated. They knew I had cooked "magic food" (the pancakes!) that gave the King strength.
I felt a "shiver" of nervousness, but Alaric's grip tightened. 'Don't look at them,' his voice echoed in my mind. 'Look only at me. You are the Queen of the Dragon, Felina. You do not bow to their whispers.'
The Night in the Royal Wing
We reached the palace as the sun was setting, turning the white stone into a pale orange. Alaric didn't go to the throne room. He didn't meet with his generals. He carried me straight to the royal wing and kicked the doors shut.
He was being incredibly attentive, almost to the point of obsession. He personally poured my bath water. He insisted on brushing my hair himself, his large, scarred fingers moving through the violet strands with a sweetness that made my heart ache.
"You're acting like I'm made of sugar, Alaric," I teased, looking at his reflection in the mirror.
He stopped brushing and looked at me. His eyes were a molten gold, the orange fire of the dragon swirling in the centers. He dropped the brush and wrapped his arms around my neck, leaning down so his face was next to mine.
"You are sweet," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I still taste the honey from this morning. I still taste the 'pancakes' you made. That world you came from... I hate it because it almost kept you from me, but I love it because it made you who you are."
He turned me around in his arms, sitting me on the edge of the vanity. The "spicy" tension in the room was so thick it felt like the air was vibrating. He reached out and touched the Stone on my chest, his thumb tracing the edges of the gem.
"Tell me more, Felina," he whispered. "In your world... how do men show their love? Do they just give jewels? Do they just fight wars?"
I smiled, my heart thundering against my ribs. "No. They listen. They stay. They... they cherish the small things."
Alaric's gaze dropped to my lips. "I will cherish every second of your life. I will listen to every breath you take. And I will fight a thousand wars to make sure you never have to see that 'Modern World' again."
He leaned in, his kiss slow and deep. It wasn't the kiss of a man who was afraid; it was the kiss of a man who had finally claimed his territory. Through the stone, I felt his desire flare—a wild, golden flame that made my skin tingle. He was addicted to me, and I was addicted to the way he looked at me as if I were his entire universe.
The love in the room was so strong it felt like a physical presence. We spent the night talking about the "Modern World"—I told him about movies, about music, and about how people in my world didn't have dragons but had "metal birds" (airplanes).
Alaric listened to every word, his eyes wide with wonder. "I would like to see those birds," he muttered, pulling the blanket over us. "But only if you are the one flying with me."
The Dark Cloud
As I fell asleep in his arms, I felt a sudden coldness.
The Dragon Heart Stone flickered to a dark, bruised purple for just a second. I looked toward the window. In the distance, near the High Temple, a single silver bell rang.
The High Priest was not dead. And he was not done. In the original book, this was the part where he called for the "Trial of the Seven Suns." I shivered. I had saved Alaric from the Spear, but the Church had many more ways to hurt us. I had to use my "book knowledge" to prepare. We had 29 more chapters of peace before the tragedy would strike, and I was going to make every single day count.
"Go to sleep, my fire," Alaric whispered, sensing my worry. He kissed my forehead, his heat surrounding me. "The Dragon is awake. Nothing can touch you tonight."
But as I closed my eyes, I wondered... can a Dragon fight the very story he is trapped in?