Chapter 103 ...That's Permanent
Damien
I would have loved to have flown to the Glacial Sanctum. That fact sits heavily in my chest as I watch smoke thin and drift away from where the watchtower once stood, ash settling into the grass. Flying would have been faster. Cleaner. Safer. A straight line instead of winding roads, cursed woods, and fairytales that thought they knew better than we did. But not everything always works as it should. We left by carriage because a kingdom watches its king more closely than it ever admits. You don’t let them see you go; don't make a tremendous show of it by flying your dragon army out of the lands. You don’t let them count the days you’re gone, or speculate about who might take advantage of your absence, or whisper about what happens if something goes wrong and the crown doesn’t come back. A quiet departure keeps panic at bay. It holds power where it belongs. I had planned to get us far enough from prying eyes that flight would become an option, somewhere remote enough that no one would look skyward and wonder why their king was suddenly casting a shadow across the sun. Then came the second problem. And the third. Ashlyn and Red. It is a well-known truth among dragons that you do not touch what is not yours. You do not carry, claim, or place another under your protection unless you have chosen them. You must imprint on your rider. None of my soldiers could carry either of them. No matter how willing the men might have been, the dragons would never allow it... Until now.
The dragon shifts beneath my skin, attention sharpening as I watch the space ahead through his eyes, and what I see almost makes me laugh. Drake's dragon lowers his massive head toward Red with slow, deliberate care, heat rolling off his scales in controlled waves as he bows in respect and submission. Red doesn’t flinch. She smirks instead, sharp and dangerous, and circles him like she’s inspecting a weapon she might very well like to wield. Drake doesn’t move. He keeps his head bowed, chest heaving, breath steady but deep, every muscle locked in restraint. When she comes back around to face him, her hand lifts, and she touches his scales. Drake shivers, and I watch as the bond snaps into place so cleanly it’s almost audible, the dragon’s presence flaring bright and confident in the shared air. One of my most loyal soldiers, claimed in the span of a single breath by a woman who looks like she’d burn the world down before ever letting it cage her. Good for him. I flick my attention to the left, already sensing chaos before I see it.
Paul's dragon puffs out his chest like a peacock, wings just flared enough to show off the deep iridescence of his scales, as Ashlyn tilts her head, eyes bright with delight.
“Ohhh,” she says, grinning. “You are a pretty boy, aren’t you?”
Paul preens. I can feel his pride from here, the absolute idiot, basking in her attention like this was the plan all along. His dragon lowers his head, curious, intent, and then — gods help me — shoves his snout directly between her legs and inhales deeply. The bond detonates.
Oh, shit, I mutter silently.
“Hey!” Ashlyn squeaks, laughing as she swats at him like he’s a misbehaving pet. “There are no treats in there, buddy!”
She does not understand what just happened, but Paul’s dragon clearly does. He reaches out carefully, gently scooping her up as if she weighs nothing at all, and tosses her onto his back with surprising enthusiasm. Ashlyn slides halfway down his spine with a startled scream before hauling herself upright, hair wild, eyes blazing with adrenaline. She looks over at Bella and beams.
“Dragon rides!” she whoops, fist punching the air. “Fuck yes!”
My dragon exhales slowly, equal parts amused and resigned.
Who is going to tell her? He asks.
Not me, I declare immediately.
Bella laughs, bright and unburdened, and the sound settles something deep in my chest as the dragons begin to move into formation, wings unfurling, the air itself shifting in anticipation. The path ahead is clear now. No woods watching us. No mirrors whispering lies. Just sky and distance and a destination we will reach on our own terms.
I step closer to Bella, offering her my hand as my dragon lowers himself for her, head bowed, eyes soft.
This part, I murmur, might be a little less exhausting.
She smiles up at me, trust effortless and real, and climbs inside. My talons curl protectively around her, and I pull her close to my chest. The dragon’s satisfaction rolls through me. My wings flex once, testing the air, talons digging briefly into the earth. She fits there perfectly, as though she’s always known where to place her hands, where to lean, how to breathe with me instead of against me. The dragon hums approval, curling his neck just enough to shield her from the wind before it hits her. Behind us, Drake shifts his stance as Red approaches confidently, already climbing with the ease of someone who refuses to ask permission. She grips his scales like she’s daring him to flinch. He doesn’t. He lowers himself instead, steady and deliberate, accepting her weight as though he’s been waiting for it his entire life. When she settles, Drake’s wings twitch—once, twice—then still. Paul’s dragon is less dignified. Ashlyn squeals as he rises slightly too fast, clinging to the ridges of his spine with wild laughter while he preens like this is the most outstanding achievement of his existence. She whoops again, fearless and exhilarated, hair whipping around her face as she throws one arm into the air like she’s already won something.
“BEST. TRANSPORT. EVER,” she yells.
Paul’s dragon rumbles so loudly that it vibrates through my ears. I angle my wings outward, heat gathering, power coiling, and the air around us shifts in response as the others follow suit. Soldiers take to the sky in practised order, dragons lifting in unison, shadows stretching long across the grass as the ground begins to fall away beneath us. The ruined watchtower shrinks quickly below, reduced to ash and memory. As we rise, Bella leans back slightly, trusting my balance, my grip, my instincts, and the dragon lifts his head into the wind with unmistakable pride.
Snowflake trusts us. He murmurs. Snowflake loves us.
I glance once to my side, watching Ashlyn throw her head back in laughter, Red standing tall and unflinching against Drake’s spine, and then forward—toward open sky, toward distance, toward a path no longer being chosen for us.
“Yes,” I reply quietly, tightening my hold on Bella as we climb higher. “I see it now.”
With the wind under my wings, the threats below and Bella held securely against my chest, I understand it completely. She truly was made for us.