Chapter 72 The Warmth We Carry
Damien
I wake to warm, soft weight spread across my chest, rising and falling in rhythm with my breath. It takes me a moment to remember I am in my room, the faint orange light of dawn spilling through the curtains, the low crackle of dying embers in the hearth. Then I look down. Bella’s there. Curled against me, head resting over my heart, one arm sprawled lazily across my ribs as though she owns the place. Which, I suppose, she does now. The mark over my heart hums in quiet recognition of her, of us. Her hair is a tumble of pale waves against my skin, and there’s a small, damp patch where her mouth rests open. Drool. She’s drooling on me...And somehow, it’s still the most endearing thing I’ve ever seen.
She’s perfect, the dragon replies, smug and half-asleep in the back of my mind.
She’s snoring too. I mentally laugh.
Still perfect.
I roll my eyes but don’t move. I can feel her heartbeat against my chest—steady, unhurried. Even her chill, faint as frost on glass, has a kind of peace to it. She’s always cool to the touch, and against my heat it feels… right. My warmth bleeds into her, her calm sinks into me.
You’re thinking too much again, the dragon says lazily.
Occupational hazard.
You’re happy. Admit it.
I sigh through my nose, fingers idly tracing along her spine. Maybe.
Maybe? The dragon chuckles, the sound curling like smoke in my chest. You’re lying to yourself. Look at her—our mate, our balance. Even drooling, she’s magnificent.
She’s going to kill you if she hears that.
Oh, she hears me. Right on cue, Bella giggles softly against my skin, eyes still closed. My scowl sharpens. “You left the link open again.”
Obviously.
Her shoulders shake with laughter. “I’m not even awake yet and you’re arguing with him.”
“He started it.”
She hums in amusement. “You two are exhausting.”
“We’re efficient.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
I can’t help it—the corner of my mouth twitches upward. “You’re drooling.”
Her eyes open, sleepy and unbothered. “You’re warm.”
“Compliment accepted.”
She stretches and then settles again without moving off me. “We have to leave today, don’t we?”
“At dawn.”
She lifts her head, blinking toward the pale light creeping across the window. “That’s now.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” She drops her head back onto my chest. “Five more minutes.”
My dragon purrs. Let her stay.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Five minutes.”
Ten. My dragon counters.
“Five.”
By the time we actually drag ourselves from the bed, the sun has fully breached the horizon. She moves slower than usual, stretching sore muscles and mumbling about needing another lifetime of sleep. I help lace her new travelling cloak while she yawns wide enough to make Gilfred—who’s perched on the bedpost—mimic her with a squeaky little hiss.
She smirks sleepily. “Even your gecko is mocking me.”
“He’s loyal to the stronger party,” I tell her.
Breakfast is quick and simple. The castle is alive already with servants hurrying through the halls, guards loading supplies into wagons, and the scent of freshly baked honeycakes wafting up from the kitchens. Marius appears long enough to thrust one final roll of parchment into my hand—routes, weather predictions, notes about the Glacial Sanctum—before vanishing again, muttering about omens and good luck charms. Ashlyn, however, is nowhere in sight.
“Maybe she overslept,” Bella says as we step out into the courtyard.
The moment the heavy doors swing open, that theory dies. Ashlyn is standing in the middle of the courtyard like she’s hosting a farewell festival. The wind catches her blonde hair, scattering it wildly around her head. Lined up in front of her, in perfect formation, are my seven… gardeners. The little men stand proudly at attention, each holding a small flower pot.
I blink. “What in the gods’ names—”
“Don’t ask,” Bella warns under her breath.
Before I can, Ashlyn drops into a crouch and kisses each one of them squarely on the forehead. One giggles. Another sighs dramatically. The tallest one offers her a tissue, which she promptly ignores.
“Goodbye, my brave little roots,” she says solemnly, and kisses the next one with a flourish. “You’ve tended my garden well.”
I blink again. “Are they—?”
Bella shakes her head. “Don't.”
“Because it looks like—”
“Damien.” She leans closer, voice low. “You really don’t want to know.”
“Right.” I nod once. “Not knowing sounds excellent.”
When Ashlyn finally turns toward us, she’s beaming. “All ready!”
“You’re unbelievable,” Bella says, though she’s grinning too.
“I know,” Ashlyn replies, brushing off her hands. “And devastatingly well-rested.”
The guards finish securing the last of the supplies to the lead wagon. The horses snort in the crisp air, their breath fogging faintly, though there’s no longer any frost on the ground. The morning sun catches the castle towers, and for the first time in months, they gleam instead of glisten with ice. The people have gathered to see us off. Men, women, and children all wave as we step down the stairs. Marius stands by the gate, straight-backed and smiling despite the dark circles under his eyes. “The roads north are clear,” he tells me. “And the weather—well, mild for once.”
“Good,” I reply, tightening the strap across my chest.
He nods, then glances at Bella, bowing low. “Your Majesty.”
She fidgets, cheeks pink. “You can just call me Bella.”
“I could,” he says cheerfully, “but I enjoy keeping the king on edge.” He winks, then steps back as the crowd laughs.
Bella hides a smile behind her hand. I shake my head. “You’ve corrupted him.”
“I bring out the best in people,” she says lightly.
“You bring out something,” I mutter.
Desire, my dragon supplies unhelpfully. Also chaos.
“Shut up,” I say under my breath.
Bella grins. “You left the line open again.”
“I noticed.”
Ashlyn climbs into the wagon beside her, already talking about snacks and singing travel songs. Gilfred curls up in Bella’s lap, his little eyes blinking slowly and contentedly. I swing up into the front seat, taking the reins. The guards fall into formation behind us, the castle gates creaking open. Bella turns in her seat to look back. Her eyes linger on the castle towers, on the faint curls of smoke rising from the chimneys, on the people waving below. “Do you think it’ll stay this way?” she asks softly.
“I hope so.”
It will, the dragon says, voice steady in both our minds. The frost is broken. For now.
“For now,” I echo.
She looks forward again, meeting my eyes. “Then let’s make it last.”
The corners of my mouth lift. “Adventure awaits, Snowflake.”
“Lead the way, Dragon King.”
I flick the reins. The horses start forward. The wheels creak. The sun climbs higher, spilling gold across the road ahead. Behind us, the gates close with a heavy thud that echoes like a heartbeat—one world ending, another beginning. And as we ride into the morning light, with her laughter beside me and my dragon humming contentment in my mind, I realise something: I am carrying the most important cargo in the world to me. My delicate, dangerous, little Snowflake.