Darius remained alone in the square, the echo of Axel’s words hanging heavy in the cold night air, pressing like iron against his chest.The night air was cool, carrying the soft rustle of trees and the distant murmur of the village settling.

  Imogen walked quietly beside Malachite’s father, her small hands clasped in front of her, her eyes flicking nervously toward the healing hall every few steps. The old smith kept his hands behind his back, his heavy boots scuffing softly over the dirt, his lined face pale and tight with worry.

  For a long time, neither spoke.

  Finally, the old man let out a slow, rough breath. “She’s all I have left,” he murmured, his voice thick, low, almost to himself. “My girl… she was so little when her mother passed. She always wanted to be strong, always wanted to show me she could take care of herself.”

  Imogen’s throat tightened painfully. She reached out, gently brushing her fingers over the man’s arm. “She’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met,” Imogen whispered softly. “She saved me.”

  The old smith gave a faint, shaky smile, his weathered eyes shimmering faintly in the lantern light. “She saved a lot of us, I think. More than she knows.”

  The faintest breath of silence passed between them and then, ahead, Imogen’s eyes flicked up sharply.

  Darius stood alone in the square, tall and still. His eyes were shadowed, distant, his broad shoulders rigid.

  And a few steps away, Axel stood near the healing hall door, arms crossed tightly, his head bowed, his eyes fixed on the faint glow beyond the doorframe. Neither man spoke. Neither even glanced at the other.

  Imogen felt the tension hanging heavy in the square and she gently squeezed Malachite’s father’s arm. “Come on,” she murmured softly. “Let’s go back to your daughter.”

  The old smith nodded faintly, his jaw tight, his eyes glimmering. Together, they crossed the square quietly passing between the silent king and his second and approached the glowing door of the healing hall, where Axel remained, still and unmoving, waiting like a sentinel outside. Inside the healing hall, the air was thick with magic pulsing golden light, glowing sigils drawn hastily across the floor, and the sharp, tense voices of healers working in tight, urgent coordination.

  Malachite’s body lay pale and battered on a low table, her armor stripped away, her cracked, bloodied skin glowing faintly under the pressure of magic being poured into her.

  Her chest rose and fell in short, shallow gasps, sweat beading along her brow, her lips faintly parted as if struggling for breath.

  “Her core is weakening!” one healer barked sharply, her hands glowing bright as she pressed over Malachite’s sternum.

  “We’re losing the connection, reinforce the outer circle!”

  Two younger healers scrambled, dropping to their knees at the edge of the glowing ring on the floor, chanting hurriedly as the runes pulsed under their palms.

  A senior healer leaned in over Malachite, her brow furrowed deep, her voice low but firm. “Stay with me, drake. Stay with me you’re not done yet.”

  Golden energy rippled sharply over Malachite’s skin, chasing along the faint fractures, the broken ribs, the torn muscle. Her body jolted faintly and for a breathless second, her heart rate flatlined in the hovering magic sphere above the table.

  “NOW!” the lead healer snapped, her voice a whipcrack. “Push the surge, push it now!”

  The magic circle flared blindingly bright, flooding the room in a surge of golden light. The healers pressed in, weaving layered spells, pulsing healing threads through bone, sinew, skin.

  And slowly Malachite’s chest hitched once.

  A second breath. A faint, shuddering inhale.

  “She’s stabilizing,” a younger healer whispered, his voice shaking with barely restrained relief. “She’s stabilizing.”

  The lead healer exhaled a long, shaky breath, her brow damp with sweat. “Good,” she murmured softly, her voice rough with exhaustion. “Good… but we’re not done yet.”

  She looked down at the battered, unconscious girl on the table and a faint, weary smile touched the corner of her mouth.

  “You’re one hell of a fighter.,” she whispered under her breath.

  The heavy door creaked open. Axel’s head snapped up so fast his neck cracked. His fists clenched hard at his sides, breath held tight in his chest.

  Imogen, standing just behind him with Malachite’s father, grabbed the old smith’s arm instinctively, eyes wide, heart hammering.

  Darius, a few steps back, straightened sharply, his gaze locking on the doorway, his entire broad frame going still.

  A healer stepped out a younger woman, pale and sweat-damp, her hands trembling faintly from the sheer effort of hours of spellwork. She looked exhausted, her mouth tight as she searched the small group gathered before her.

  “She’s stabilized,” the healer said quietly, her voice hoarse but steady. “She’s breathing on her own.”

  Axel let out a sound that was half a gasp, half a ragged sob. His knees buckled slightly, his fists trembling at his sides as his head dipped forward, shoulders shaking.

  Malachite’s father sagged sharply beside Imogen, a broken sob shuddering out of him as he reached up, dragging a rough hand over his face, eyes glimmering wet.

  Imogen pressed her hands to her mouth, tears springing hot and fast to her eyes. “She’s okay?” she whispered, her voice thin, trembling. “She’s really okay?”

  The healer gave a faint, tired nod. “She’s not out of danger yet. There’s a long road to recovery, but… she’s holding on.”

  Axel let out another shaky, rough breath, his eyes shimmering as he scrubbed both hands hard over his face, his chest heaving. “Thank the gods,” he choked softly. “Thank the gods…”

  Behind them, Darius stood still, his jaw clenched faintly, the weight of everything still pressing hard against him.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Imogen turned quickly, grabbing the king’s arm, her small fingers squeezing tightly. “Darius,” she murmured softly, her voice raw with emotion, “She’s okay.”

  Darius exhaled slowly, his chest tight, his fists loosening slightly at his sides as he gave the faintest, tired nod. “…Good,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice low. “Good.”

  And for a long, trembling moment, the four of them stood in the night air not as a king, or a second-in-command, or a queen, or a father but as four people bound together by sheer relief, grief, and the fragile, fierce hope that one stubborn, fiery drake girl was still here, still fighting, still holding on.Axel stood frozen, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. His eyes were glassy, fixed on the healer’s retreating figure, his heart hammering so hard it hurt.

  She’s alive.

  She’s alive.

  Before he could fully process it before the surge of emotion could swallow him whole. A strong, familiar hand clamped firmly on his shoulder. Axel flinched slightly, jerking halfway around and Darius was there.

  For a heartbeat, the king just stared at him, his eyes shadowed, flickering with something raw. Then, without a word, Darius pulled Axel into a fierce, crushing embrace.

  Axel stiffened sharply, caught off guard, his fists still half-curled but then his breath hitched, his eyes squeezed shut, and he let himself sag into it, arms slowly, shakily wrapping around the taller man.

  Darius’s chest heaved faintly, his strong arms locking tightly around Axel’s shoulders, his jaw clenched hard as a flood of old, buried fears surged up inside him. For a split second, he wasn’t the Dragon King, he was just a boy who had already lost too much, already buried too many, already carried the heavy, aching fear of one day losing the last people he still called family.

  He thought of Axel’s sharp, furious words earlier. He thought of Malachite’s limp, bloodied body. He thought with a sudden, fierce ache of Imogen, the mate he would give his life to protect.

  “Gods, Axel,” Darius murmured hoarsely, his voice cracking faintly.

  “I thought I was going to lose you, too.”

  Axel gave a sharp, shaking exhale, his head dipping forward against Darius’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice rough, faintly laughing through the lingering tears. “Well… looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  Darius let out a faint, shaky breath, his mouth twitching just slightly. “Good,” he murmured roughly. “Because I’m not done yelling at you yet.”

  Axel gave a wet, ragged laugh, his fists clenching faintly against Darius’s back.

  For a long, quiet moment, they just stood there king and second, brothers by choice if not by blood holding onto each other in the dark, under the flickering lantern light, while just inside, the girl who had nearly torn both their hearts apart fought stubbornly for her life.

  Imogen stood a few steps away, her small hands clasped tightly together, eyes shimmering with tears.

  She watched Darius and Axel locked in that fierce, wordless embrace. For the first time, she saw Darius not as the cold, commanding Dragon King, but as a man holding onto his best friend, his brother, with raw, aching relief.

  And Axel the usually laughing, teasing second clung just as tightly, his eyes shut, his shoulders shaking faintly, his breath hitching as if the weight of everything was finally crashing down on him.

  They were warriors. They were kings and soldiers, dragons and drakes. But they were also just… two boys who had survived too much, who had been forced to carry too many losses, too many burdens. And now finally they were letting themselves hold on.

  A faint, trembling smile broke across Imogen’s face as her tears slipped free. She wiped at her cheeks quickly, swallowing the thick lump in her throat.

  Then Axel pulled back sharply, his breath ragged, his fists trembling. Without a word, he gave Darius one last, fierce look then turned and ran.

  He sprinted across the square, boots pounding the dirt, his green eyes blazing as he darted through the healer’s door, vanishing inside without a second glance.

  Darius let out a slow, ragged breath, as he watched Axel vanish inside the healer’s hall.

  Beside him, Imogen clutched his hand tightly, her delicate fingers trembling faintly as she wiped at her tears. “…He loves her,” she whispered softly, her voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

  Darius turned his head slowly, his blue gaze locking onto hers.

  For a long, breathless moment, they just stood there, the broken night air, the soft lantern glow, the lingering ache of everything they’d survived pressing in around them.

  And then, quietly, Darius spoke, his voice low, rough, vulnerable. “…I know how he feels.”

  Imogen’s breath hitched slightly, her wide eyes shimmering as she looked up at him, her heart thudding hard. “…Darius…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  He reached up slowly, his large, calloused hand brushing tenderly against her cheek, his thumb stroking softly over the faint smudge of dirt there.

  His eyes softened, raw and open in a way she had never seen before all his walls, all his coldness, slipping away just for her.

  “I love you, Imogen,” Darius murmured hoarsely, his voice cracking faintly at the edges.

  “I don’t know when it happened… maybe it was always there. But I know it now.”

  Imogen let out a trembling, shaky breath, her eyes glimmering, her chest tight.

  Her hands reached up, grasping lightly at his shoulders, her fingers curling in the edges of his dark armor.

  “…Darius…”

  And then gently,as if afraid to break the fragile space between them, Darius leaned down, his forehead brushing lightly against hers. Their breath mingled, soft and warm. His eyes fluttered half-shut. Hers did too.

  He kissed her.

  It was slow. Tender. Fierce. The kind of kiss that poured every unsaid word, every aching fear, every desperate hope into one single, searing touch.

  Imogen melted into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck, her heart thundering wildly in her chest.

  Darius’s hands cradled her face, his broad, powerful frame trembling faintly as he held her close, as if anchoring himself to her, as if grounding himself in the one thing that mattered more than his crown, more than his kingdom, more than anything else.

  For that moment there was no war. No serpents or shattered loyalties or heavy burdens.

  Darius pulled back slightly from the kiss, his eyes half-lidded, his breath warm and shaky against her lips.

  Imogen let out a faint, breathless laugh, her cheeks flushed pink, her hands still gripping at the edges of his dark armor. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it.

  Darius gave her a small, rare grin that faint smirk she’d only seen slip past his cold mask once or twice before.

  And then, without warning, he scooped her up effortlessly into his arms.

  Imogen gave a soft yelp, her arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, her eyes going wide.

  “Darius!”

  He chuckled low in his chest, holding her snug against him as he turned smoothly away from the healer’s hall.

  “Let’s leave those two lovebirds alone,” he murmured with faint amusement, glancing briefly toward the doorway where Axel and Malachite were inside. “They’re going to have plenty to talk about between Axel and her father, we might overwhelm her if we hang around.”

  Imogen gave a soft, surprised laugh, her head resting lightly against his shoulder as she relaxed in his arms.

  Darius leaned in slightly, his eyes glinting down at her with warm humor.

  “Not to mention,” he added slyly, “we really need to get you out of that god-awful dress.”

  Imogen blinked, then snorted softly. “Excuse me?”

  Darius gave a low laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest. “It doesn’t suit you at all,” he teased gently, his lips brushing lightly against her hair. “You’re too wild to be wrapped up in frills and silk, my queen.”

  Imogen let out a giggle, her cheeks warming even more, her arms tightening faintly around his neck. “You’re such a smug bastard,” she muttered under her breath, smiling despite herself.

  Darius gave a low, satisfied hum, his lips brushing lightly over her temple. “And yet you’re still clinging to me, aren’t you?”

  Imogen laughed again, laying her head against his shoulder as he carried her across the square.