Chapter 75 Whispering Woods
Damien
“Are you okay?” I ask, though the frost that half covered me in my sleep tells me she’s not.
“I’m fine.” She lies effortlessly.
I clear my throat, wiping my hands along the sheets to melt the frost further and then, before my brain can even comprehend what my body is doing, I grab her waist and pull her on top of me. She squeaks, then giggles as I lie back, settling her across my chest.
The dragon purrs through me. Oh, I do like this. Comfort her more.
I like this too, she says through the link, and my fingers flex against her hips before I can stop them.
“I’m trying to be a gentleman here, Snowflake,” I grit out, willing my body to behave.
She giggles again, breath warm against my throat. “You’re a lovely gentleman. A very warm, hard gentleman.”
I groan and drag my hands up her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles between her shoulders. Her heartbeat steadies against mine.
“Do you want to tell me about the dream?” I ask quietly.
She sighs. “Not really… Can we just be here in this moment for a little longer?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, pressing a kiss into her hair. “We can.”
For a while, there’s only the sound of the fire crackling and her soft breathing against my chest. The frost on the blanket melts completely, replaced by the faint shimmer of steam.
The dragon hums lazily. She dreamt of something she can’t name yet. It clings to her.
I felt it, I say through my mind. Like the cold had a heartbeat.
It wasn’t just hers.
I glance down at her. She’s watching me now, eyes wide and searching, and I know she heard him.
“It’s fine,” I reassure quickly. “We’ll figure it out.”
Her fingers trace the edge of my jaw. “I know.”
We lie there a little longer, her weight pressed to me, my dragon half-purring, half-sighing like an oversized cat until sunlight starts to spill through the curtains.
By dawn, we’re both dressed and gathering our things. She moves slower than usual, still sore from our bonding and pretending she’s not. I don’t mention it; I value my life.
“You’re sure you’re ready?” I ask.
She lifts her chin. “If you ask me that one more time, I’m freezing your boots to the floor.”
The dragon rumbles in approval. She’s perfect for us.
Yeah, she is, I admit.
Her lips twitch. “Did you just agree with him?”
“I’m losing control of my own mind,” I mutter.
You never had control to begin with.
Bella snorts softly. “You two are exhausting.”
Outside, the air is brighter, warmer. The last of the frost drips from the eaves of the hunting lodge. A few birds dare to sing again, tentative but hopeful, their songs echoing between the pines. The sky blushes with pale light, streaks of gold slipping over the snowmelt like spilled honey. For the first time in months, it feels like the world is breathing.
Ashlyn waits near the wagons, tossing crumbs to Gilfred, who’s looking smug and rounder than before.
“Morning!” she chirps. “Sleep well? The walls didn’t shake again?”
Bella groans. “Ashlyn.”
“Fine, fine. I’m just saying — if I’d known bedding a dragon king would fix the weather, I’d have tried it years ago.”
The dragon snorts, amused. She’s bold. I like her too.
“You don’t get to like everyone,” I tell him.
You don’t get to choose who I like, he fires back.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Remind me to build a spell that separates my consciousness.”
Bella pats my arm. “You wouldn’t last an hour without him.”
She’s probably right.
We travel north through the thaw. The path winds between pines and silvered birch, the wagon wheels cutting through slush and soft earth. It feels strange to see the world alive again — rivers running, birds calling, the sharp scent of moss replacing snow. Bella sits beside me, quiet for most of the morning. Her gaze lingers on the trees, her hand occasionally brushing mine on the reins. The bond hums low and steady, a heartbeat between us. By midday, the forest grows thicker. The light shifts from gold to green, shadows dancing through the branches.
Ashlyn leans forward from the back of the wagon. “You know, it’s too quiet here. Every good story starts this way.”
“Every bad story, too,” Bella mutters.
“Stay alert,” I warn. “The witch’s magic lingers in places like this.”
The dragon growls faintly. Something is here.
“Do you feel that?” Bella asks softly.
I nod. “It feels like old magic.”
“Lovely,” Ashlyn mutters. “Just what I wanted on this lovely forest stroll — invisible ancient evil.”
By late afternoon, we reach a clearing surrounded by a ring of moss-covered stones etched with fading runes. The air hums with faint blue light.
Bella jumps down first, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “What is this?”
“An old waystation,” I tell her. “The Frostborn built them before the Decree. They're sanctuaries for travellers who could shape the weather.”
Ashlyn eyes the stones warily. “Define sanctuary.”
“They were meant to protect,” I say. “But the witch twisted everything she could. Even memory.”
The dragon’s tone softens. The stones remember warmth, not war. They’ll keep her safe tonight.
I nod. “We’ll camp here.”
The clearing is wider than it first seemed—ringed by ancient trees that lean protectively inward. Each stone stands shoulder-high, their surfaces carved in looping runes that shimmer faintly, as if reacting to our presence. In the centre lies an old fire pit surrounded by flat slabs of granite, perfectly spaced, as though the Frostborn themselves once sat here and shared warmth beneath the stars.
Ashlyn hops down from the wagon, boots crunching on the frost-damp grass. “It’s kind of pretty,” she admits grudgingly.
“Kind of,” Bella echoes with a small smile.
The guards fan out automatically, leading the horses to the edge of the clearing. Armour glints in the fading light as they begin unrolling canvas and striking stakes into the ground. Someone builds the fire, and soon the soft crack of kindling joins the quiet hum of the runes. The scent of pine, smoke, and thawed earth fills the air. The runes cast a faint, steady glow across the faces of my people—orange and blue dancing together.
Bella kneels beside one of the stones, her fingertips brushing its surface. “They feel warm,” she murmurs.
“Residual magic,” I say. “Protection that remembers its purpose.”
Ashlyn glances around. “And no ghost monks?”
“Not tonight,” I tell her.
She exhales, relieved. “Good. Because if something starts chanting, I’m burning this forest down myself.”
Bella laughs softly, the sound rolling through the circle like sunlight. For a moment, I just stand there, watching her. The glow from the runes paints her in a mix of frost and firelight—my Snowflake, radiant even when surrounded by ruin.
The dragon hums quietly. She’s safe here. For now.
“For now,” I echo under my breath, and turn toward the fire as the last light fades from the trees.