Chapter 57 Dinner and Declarations
Bella
I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring at the fire, but the soup on the bedside tray has long gone cold. The healers came and went hours ago, fluttering around like nervous birds before Damien finally ordered them out. They left in a hurry, bowing like I was contagious. I suppose “nearly poisoned by dark magic” does sound contagious. Now it’s just me, my stubborn heartbeat, and the heavy quiet of the room. The bond hums softly in my chest, a low throb that refuses to fade. Every few minutes, it tugs—like it knows exactly where he is. So when there’s a knock at the door, I don’t even bother to say come in. I already know. The door opens, and there he is—Damien, the ever-composed dragon king, carrying a tray of food. Steam curls from the bowl. He’s rolled his sleeves up, and there’s a faint smear of soot across one wrist, like he’s been near the forge.
I blink. “Wow. You deliver dinner now? Do all royal meals come with the king’s personal touch?”
His mouth twitches. “You didn’t eat at supper.”
“I wasn’t feeling particularly social after the whole near-death-by-fruit experience.”
He steps closer and sets the tray on my lap. “So I gathered.”
I eye the bowl suspiciously. “You made this yourself?”
“Do I look like I did?”
“Honestly?” I glance him up and down. “You look like someone who could burn water.”
That earns me the faintest flicker of a smile. He sits on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dips under his weight. The bond thrums louder, pleased. My chest warms in response, traitorous thing that it is. I pick up the spoon and take a cautious sip. It’s good—better than good, actually—but I can’t say that out loud. “It’s edible,” I mutter.
He hums softly. “High praise.”
For a while, we just sit there, the fire crackling quietly between words. It’s easy, almost normal, if you forget about the whole magical assassination attempt. But then he exhales slowly, and I can tell the moment the air shifts. He’s about to tell me something serious.
“I had the apple examined,” he says, his voice low. “It wasn’t poison.”
I pause mid-bite. “Oh good. So I was hallucinating for fun?”
“It was a curse,” he continues, unamused. “Not meant to kill you but to bind. Whoever crafted it wanted to freeze your magic inward—turn it against you.”
The spoon stills in my hand. “Well, that’s charming.”
He looks down at his hands for a moment, the firelight flickering across the gold of his irises. “The alchemist found traces of elemental magic—ice, mixed with something darker.”
I swallow, the soup's taste suddenly gone. “You think it’s connected to me?”
“I think it’s connected to what you are,” he says carefully. “There’s… an old decree. A long time ago, the kingdoms banished those who couldn’t control their power. Frostborn, they called them. Their emotions shaped the weather—love caused blizzards, rage froze rivers. When one of them destroyed an entire city, the kings decided to isolate the rest.”
“Isolation,” I repeat quietly. “Sounds familiar.”
He glances up at me, the shadow of guilt flickering across his face. “They called it the Glacial Sanctum. A place where the cursed were sent until they learned control.”
“And the witch?”
“She was one of them. The first Frostborn, they say. She traded her heart for immortality. It no longer beats, but it still commands the cold. She hunts others like her—anyone whose heart risks thawing. Anyone who could break the curse.”
My stomach turns cold. “So she came after me because…”
“Because you’re starting to feel again,” he says quietly.
I force a weak laugh. “Feel? Or feel for you?”
His jaw tightens. “For me.”
That pulls the air right out of the room. I stare down at the bowl, watching the steam curl and fade. “So what you’re saying is, if I get too...attached to you, some undead ice queen will try to murder me?”
He gives me a look. “That’s one way to summarise it.”
“Great.” I push the tray aside. “Love life of the century.”
He doesn’t smile this time. “It’s more than that, Bella. She hunts what she can’t have—warmth and connection. Every time one of her kind starts to thaw, she kills them before they can prove the curse can be broken.”
I look up at him then, really look. He’s watching me like he’s memorising every line of my face. The firelight paints him in gold and shadow. “And you think she’ll come again.”
“I know she will.”
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The bond hums again, softer now, a steady rhythm between us. Then he reaches forward, fingers brushing mine as he moves the tray aside completely. “You should rest.”
“I’m not tired,” I lie.
“You almost died.”
“Almost,” I echo, forcing a grin. “Not quite. Besides, what if she comes back while I’m asleep?”
“She won’t get close.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Because you’ll be watching my door again?”
He doesn’t deny it.
My grin fades. “You really believe she hunts...love?”
“Yes.”
“Then she’s going to be very busy,” I murmur.
He tilts his head, the faintest hint of confusion crossing his face. “What do you mean?”
I sink back into the pillows, half smiling, half daring. “Because I don’t plan on stopping.”
He studies me for a long, quiet moment before standing. “You’re reckless.”
“I prefer bold,” I say softly. “It sounds less fatal.”
He moves to the door. The firelight catches on the edge of his jaw, turning his profile sharp and beautiful and dangerous all at once. “Rest, Bella.”
“Damien?”
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, and when I don't say anything more, he gives me a small smile and quietly says, “Goodnight, snowflake.”
The door closes softly behind him, but the warmth he leaves behind doesn’t fade. I stare into the fire until my eyes blur, the bond thrumming steadily in my chest. Maybe the curse was right about one thing: Fire and frost should never mix. And yet, gods help me… I think I’m already melting.