Chapter 64 Heart of the Fire
Damien
The first light filters through the frost-rimmed windows, soft and gold. The fire has burned down to embers, but the room is still warm—too warm, considering the snowstorm that had been clawing at the castle all night. The sheets are a wreck of steam and silk, and she’s curled against me, bare skin against bare skin, the faint mark of my bite on her shoulder glowing like a star. My chest rises and falls in rhythm with hers. For the first time in...ever, the silence around me feels…alive. Not empty, not echoing, just breathing. I glance down. The pale blue handprint over my heart pulses faintly, cool even against the heat of my skin. Her mark. My dragon purrs, the sound low and satisfied. Ours now, he murmurs. The bond is complete.
“It’s stronger,” I whisper, voice rough from sleep—or maybe from what we did. “I can feel her magic in me.”
You always could, he says, amused. You just never let yourself notice.
I brush my fingers along her spine, tracing the faint frost still clinging to her skin. She doesn’t stir. Her breath ghosts warm against my chest, and every time she exhales, the cold in the room retreats a little further. She’s melting the ice around her even in sleep. I slip my hand from around her carefully and sit up. The air cools instantly, the connection stretching thin but not snapping. My chest tightens at the absence of her weight. Pathetic, I tell myself, running a hand through my hair. But the dragon only huffs a laugh.
You’ll learn. We’ve waited long enough to feel something like this.
I stand, pulling on my trousers, and cross to the window. The snow that had buried the gardens last night has melted into heavy rain. Droplets slide down the glass, catching the dawn light. Not normal for this altitude. Not natural, either. Her emotions shape the weather—but now, instead of frost, there’s warmth. Balance. The mark on my chest flares softly in time with her breathing.
“She’s stabilising,” I murmur.
And the witch will sense it.
I grit my teeth. That thought’s been circling since last night—the realisation that every surge of love, every thaw in her heart, will act like a beacon. “Let her come,” I say aloud. “She’ll find me waiting.”
You’re not afraid?
“I’m furious,” I admit. “If this curse feeds on love, then she’s fed too long.”
I turn back toward the bed. Bella shifts slightly, murmuring something incoherent, her fingers clutching the sheets where I’d been. The sight drags a reluctant smile from me. Dangerous, I think. She’s dangerous in every possible way—and gods help me, I wouldn’t change a thing. I pull on a shirt but leave the buttons undone; the fabric sticks to the damp heat still clinging to my skin. The mark gleams faintly beneath the collar. My father used to tell me that kings were never meant to be claimed by anyone. But as I look at the sleeping woman in my bed, that old lesson feels like dust in my throat.
The dragon stretches, content. She fits us. Fire and frost. It was always going to end this way.
“She deserves better than this world,” I say quietly. “Better than hiding. Better than a curse that punishes her for feeling.”
Then fix it.
“I intend to.”
By the time the servants knock, bringing breakfast and whispers of fear—they’d felt the tremor of magic in the night—I’ve already sent word for Master Lorian. He arrives within the hour, looking pale and sleepless, clutching his ledger to his chest.
“I felt it, sire,” he blurts the second he enters. “Half the castle did. The surge was unlike anything I’ve ever recorded.”
“I know,” I answer, gesturing for silence as I lead him toward the window. “Tell me what it means.”
He swallows, eyes flicking nervously to the rumpled bed behind me before darting back. “The energy that passed through the wards—it’s still lingering. Two sources intertwined. Elemental and draconic, bound at the heart.”
He’s trembling. I can smell the fear on him.
“Spare me the dramatics,” I say, sharper than I intend. “What does it mean for her?”
“She’s stable,” he says quickly. “For now. But, Your Majesty…” He hesitates, wringing his hands. “That kind of surge—it doesn’t go unnoticed. The wards flared across the entire mountain range. If the old magics are still watching, they’ll have seen.”
“They?” I press.
He hesitates again. “The remnants of the Consortium. The ones who enforced the Frost Decree.”
I go still. I’d hoped that name had died centuries ago, buried with their arrogance. But of course, power like that never really disappears—it just waits for something to stir it.
“Send word to my captains,” I order. “Double the patrols. I want the skies guarded. And tell the mages to reinforce the perimeter wards with dragonfire. If anything crosses our borders, I want to know before it lands.”
Lorian bows, relief and fear warring in his eyes. “At once, sire.”
When the door closes behind him, I let out a slow breath. The dragon stirs again, thoughtful. You’re planning a war.
“I’m planning to keep her alive.”
Same thing.
The fire has burned down to embers again when she finally stirs. I’m back in the chair beside the bed, a book open but unread in my hands. She blinks against the light, eyes finding me immediately. There’s a faint flush on her cheeks when she realises where she is.
“Morning,” I say softly.
“Morning.” Her voice is rough, quiet. “Did you sleep at all?”
“A little.” I close the book and set it on the table. “You?”
She nods, then glances at my chest. Her gaze lingers on the faint shimmer of her mark. “That really happened,” she says, more to herself than to me.
“It did.”
Her hand lifts hesitantly, fingertips brushing the air like she wants to touch but doesn’t dare. “And it means…?”
“That we’re connected,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “Deeper than before. You balanced my fire. I tempered your frost.”
Her brow furrows. “That sounds poetic, but what does it mean?”
“It means your magic won’t spiral as easily now. You’re steadier. Safer.” I pause, letting the weight of my next words settle. “It also means the witch will come for you again.”
She freezes. “Because of this?”
“Because of what it represents,” I say quietly. “Love. Warmth. Everything she’s spent centuries destroying.”
Her lips part, eyes wide. “Then we find her first.”
A slow, dangerous smile tugs at my mouth. “I was hoping you’d say that.” I rise from the chair, offering her my hand. “Then it’s settled. It’s time we take a little adventure, Snowflake.”
Her fingers slip into mine—small, cold, steady. And for the first time since this curse began, I feel it—hope, fierce and alive, burning bright enough to rival fire.