He stopped.

  Slowly, Axel turned to face her. His expression was guarded. Hurt, still.

  Malachite looked up at him, no armor in her eyes this time. Just exhaustion. And something fragile.

  “I didn’t go,” she said quietly. “To dinner. With Jorn.”

  Axel didn’t respond right away.

  Malachite swallowed hard. “I told him I couldn’t. That I wasn’t hungry.”

  Her grip loosened slightly. “I know I acted like I didn’t care… but I do. I just didn’t know how to say it without…” She shook her head. “Without making everything worse.”

  Axel searched her face, all the fire and sarcasm and smartass deflection gone.

  Just her. Raw and real.

  His hand turned in hers, fingers slowly lacing with hers instead.

  “You did make it worse,” he said gently, voice a low rasp. “But… so did I.”

  Their eyes locked, wounded, tired, wanting.

  The space between them felt smaller than it had a moment ago.

  And though neither of them said the word “sorry,” it pulsed in the silence between their joined hands.

  Axel looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her face.

  His brows pulled together, and for a second, it looked like he might pull away again.

  But instead, he stepped forward.

  Slowly. Carefully.

  And wrapped his arms around her.

  Malachite froze for a heartbeat.

  Then she let herself lean in.

  His embrace wasn’t possessive. It was steady. Solid. The kind of hug that held someone like they mattered.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I said,” Axel murmured against her temple. “About the necklace. About you.”

  She said nothing, but her hands gripped the back of his shirt.

  “I got jealous,” he admitted, voice raw. “I saw Jorn on top of you, and I… snapped. Because all I’ve been doing is fighting for scraps. For space. For the chance to be near you. And there he was, just there, touching you like he belonged.”

  His voice cracked slightly.

  “And I hated that there was nothing I could do about it.”

  Malachite pressed her face into his chest, her breath shaking.

  “I didn’t want him,” she whispered.

  Axel pulled her tighter, like he was anchoring them both to that truth.

  “I know,” he said. “I just… forgot for a second. And I’m sorry.”

  They stood like that in the quiet hall, two dragons with cracked hearts and sharp edges, finally letting themselves be soft.

  Finally holding each other without running.

  Axel pulled back just enough to see her face, his thumb brushing softly along her cheekbone.

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  Then he gently touched her chin, coaxing her to look up.

  Malachite’s eyes met his, wide, unsure, but unguarded in a way she rarely allowed.

  “Mal,” he said softly.

  She swallowed, lips parting like she wanted to say something. Anything.

  Instead, she leaned in.

  And so did he.

  Their foreheads brushed first. Then Axel started to close the distance slow, hesitant, like asking permission with every breath.

  “Are you seriously doing this again?!”

  Both of them jumped apart like startled cats as Darius’s voice echoed down the hallway.

  The king stood in the archway, brows drawn, arms crossed, radiating authority and dramatic disapproval.

  “I told you two to get it together, not to start another damn brawl in the hall.”

  “We weren’t fighting!” Malachite blurted, beet red, clutching the chain around her neck like it might save her from the embarrassment.

  Her crystal was pulsing wildly against her chest, like it too had whiplash.

  “I- I have to get back to the Guild,” she stammered, practically bolting past Darius in a blur of armor, boots, and flustered dragon panic.

  Axel didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

  Just stared after her.

  Darius blinked, still standing there like a confused guard dog who barked at a butterfly.

  Axel slowly turned to face him.

  The look he gave Darius could have flattened mountains.

  It said I was two seconds from kissing my mate, and you ruined it.

  Darius shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Wait… did I do something wrong?”

  Axel arched a brow, deadpan.

  “I yelled at both of you!” Darius said, defensive now. “To make me the bad guy! So you’d team up again! That’s a leadership tactic!”

  Axel still said nothing.

  Darius pointed at him, exasperated. “Why are you still fighting?! I did you a favor, damn it!”

  Axel still didn’t speak.

  Just stared at Darius with that ‘are you serious’ look that made even dragons flinch.

  Darius shifted again, starting to piece it together.

  “…Wait,” he said slowly, “were you about to-?”

  Axel cut in flatly, voice low and bone-dry, “Thanks for ruining my first kiss.”

  Darius blinked. “Oh.”

  Axel walked past him without another word, the tension in his shoulders doing all the talking.

  Darius stood there in stunned silence.

  Then quietly muttered to himself, “…They’re never gonna let me live this down, are they?”

  Malachite practically stormed into the Healers’ Guild like the floor might bite her if she paused for even a second.

  Imogen looked up from the counter where she’d been mixing salves, brow furrowing at the whirlwind entrance. “Mal?”

  No answer.

  Malachite made a beeline for the herb cabinets, throwing open the doors and sorting through bundles with a little more aggression than strictly necessary. The crystal around her neck pulsed wildly brighter than ever glowing in sync with her quickened breath.

  Imogen stepped forward, concern etched across her face. “Mal… your crystal-”

  She reached out gently, fingertips brushing the pendant.

  The moment her skin made contact, a warm surge of magic shimmered between them. A golden swirl of Imogen’s aura slipped out like a ribbon, drawn by the crystal’s pull spiraling upward into the air like sunlight caught in a wind current.

  Imogen gasped softly, her knees buckling just a little as the room tilted.

  Malachite caught her on instinct. “Hey! Woah, Im, sit down.”

  Imogen blinked, dazed but not afraid. “It… it pulled my aura.”

  “Yeah, well don’t do that again.” Malachite helped her onto the nearby bench, eyes flicking to the crystal warily. “I don’t even know what this thing is yet. It’s clearly linked to my magic and maybe yours, too.”

  Imogen stared at the pendant, chest rising and falling. “Or maybe we’re both just connected through something older.”

  Before Malachite could answer, the front door creaked open again.

  They both turned.

  Axel stood there just inside the threshold, a little uncertain, a little too quiet. He looked like someone had stolen the wind from his wings.

  Malachite immediately stood straighter, hands dropping from Imogen’s shoulders.

  Imogen, ever the meddler with a purpose, took one long look between them…

  Then grabbed the nearest basket of dried juniper and cleared her throat. “So. Gonna go... restock the burn balm.”

  She made it three steps before glancing back with a smirk. “Also, heads up? Your crystal basically tried to marry my aura. So, y’know. No pressure.”

  Malachite looked mortified.

  Axel looked fascinated.