Chapter 105 Marked Without Consent
Bella
Ashlyn is still standing in front of Paul’s dragon when we finally work up the courage to interrupt her. She’s got her hands on her hips, head tilted back, squinting up at him like she’s trying to stare down a particularly stubborn horse.
“You can stop being dramatic now,” she tells him. “Everyone else changed back. You’re not special.”
Paul’s dragon lowers his head just enough to bring one massive eye level with her. He blinks slowly and affectionately. I wince.
“Ash,” I say carefully, like I’m approaching a wild animal or a bomb. Possibly both. “Can you… Come over here for a second?”
She doesn’t look away from the dragon. “If he sets me on fire, I swear to the gods I will haunt him.”
“He’s not going to set you on fire,” I say. “That’s… not the problem.”
That finally gets her attention. She turns, eyes flicking between Damien and me, then back to the dragon, then back to us again.
“…Why do you both look like that?”
Damien exhales slowly, the kind of breath that says this conversation has no good opening line.
“Ashlyn,” he says, voice calm and steady, “we need to talk to you about something important.”
Her shoulders tense immediately.
“Oh no,” she mutters. “I know that tone. That’s the tone people use when they’re about to tell me my life has taken a sharp left turn.”
I grimace. “That is… unfortunately accurate.”
She folds her arms. “Okay. Out with it.”
Paul’s dragon rumbles softly behind her, the sound low and pleased, and she half-turns, pointing at him without looking.
“And if this is about him refusing to turn back, I’d like to formally complain. I did not sign up to babysit a giant lizard.”
Damien steps forward, just enough to put himself in her line of sight. “He hasn’t shifted back,” Damien says, “because he can’t.”
Ashlyn frowns. “Can’t?”
“He won’t,” Damien corrects gently. “Because his dragon has made a choice.”
Silence stretches.
Ashlyn laughs once, sharp and disbelieving. “Okay. You’re going to have to be clearer than that, because that sounds like nonsense.”
I glance at Damien, then back at her. “You remember when Damien told me it was dangerous to touch dragons?”
She squints. “Yeah. You said something about being eaten.”
“Or burnt,” I add.
“Right.”
“…Or imprinted on.”
Her smile fades, just a little. “…Imprinted,” she repeats.
Damien nods once. “Paul’s dragon imprinted on you.”
The words land like a dropped plate. Ashlyn opens her mouth. Closes it. Looks back at the dragon. Looks at us.
Then laughs again, louder this time. “No.”
Paul’s dragon chooses that moment to lower his massive head until it’s hovering just above her, heat rolling off him in slow, careful waves, posture unmistakably reverent. Ashlyn stares.
“…No,” she says again, weaker now.
I step closer. “Ash—”
“I did not agree to that,” she snaps, panic flaring. “I didn’t — I just talked to him. I made a joke. I—”
“A dragon doesn’t ask,” Damien says quietly. “They choose.”
She spins on him. “That’s fucked up.”
“Yes,” he agrees immediately. “It is.”
Her breath comes faster now. “You’re telling me that because I gave him a little attention—”
“Because he chose you,” Damien corrects.
“—that some man I barely know is now… what? Tied to me?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
She stares at the ground, hands clenched into fists.
“I have people,” she says suddenly. “I have a home, I left the dwarves, your gardeners.” Her voice cracks just a fraction. “I moved into their cottage. I made a life. They’re waiting for me.”
“I know,” Damien says softly.
“I was supposed to go back,” she continues. “I was supposed to be with them. I finally had something quiet. Something safe.”
Paul’s dragon shifts behind her, wings rustling anxiously. Ashlyn doesn’t look at him.
“And now you’re telling me—what?” she demands. “That I’m stuck? That I have to—what—marry him?”
“No,” Damien says firmly. “No one is forcing you to do anything.”
She looks up sharply.
“But,” he continues, voice heavy now, “you need to understand the consequences of your choices.”
My stomach knots for her.
“If you reject the bond,” Damien says, “Paul will suffer.”
She flinches.
“Not immediately,” he adds. “Dragons are… stubborn. He’ll fight it. For a while.”
“And then?” she whispers.
“And then his mind will fracture,” Damien says quietly. “He’ll lose control. He’ll become dangerous to himself and others. Eventually, he won’t be able to function at all.”
Ashlyn presses her hands to her face. “Oh gods,” she breathes. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” Damien agrees. “It isn’t.”
I step forward and take her hands, grounding her, forcing her to look at me.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say firmly. “This could have happened to anyone.”
She laughs weakly. “That’s not helping.”
“I know,” I admit. “But it’s true.”
She looks past me, finally meeting Paul’s dragon’s gaze. He lowers his head further, almost kneeling, massive form coiled tight with restraint and need.
“…He looks like a kicked puppy,” she mutters.
I huff despite myself. “A very large, very dangerous puppy.”
Her shoulders sag.
“I ran from a prince who wanted to cage me,” she says quietly. “I burned his castle down to get free. I am not—” She shakes her head. “I am not doing that again.”
Damien nods. “No one here would ever ask that of you.”
She wipes at her eyes angrily. “I don’t even know him.”
“Then get to know him,” Damien says gently. “You don’t have to decide anything today. Acceptance isn’t marriage. It’s… acknowledgment.”
She looks at me. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” I say softly. “But it doesn’t have to be a prison.”
Ashlyn exhales shakily.
“…If I accept,” she asks, “do I lose my life?”
“No,” Damien says immediately. “You gain another who will walk beside it.”
She closes her eyes, and Paul’s dragon waits.
“So,” she mutters. “Let me get this straight.”
We wait.
“I finally escape one story,” she says, voice dry, “and immediately trip into another.”
I snort. “Yeah. That tracks for us.”
She opens her eyes, looks at the dragon again.
“…I’m going to need boundaries,” she tells him sternly.
The dragon rumbles, warm and hopeful.
“And we are going to talk about consent,” she adds.
He lowers his head even further.
She groans. “Oh, this is going to be a disaster.”
I squeeze her hands.
“Welcome to the club,” I say.