Chapter 134 A Good Book
Damien
The path down the mountain is quiet, and the village behind us still sounds faintly with life, voices carrying softly on the evening air, between cabins that didn’t exist yesterday. I glance back once, more out of habit than concern, and spot the curve of a familiar shape through a window. Gilfred is curled up on a pile of blankets meant for three children, tail draped over the edge like he’s daring someone to tell him to move. He doesn’t even look up. Bella follows my gaze and smiles.
“He’s fine,” she says easily. “He’s having fun.”
“He doesn’t like children,” I reply.
She snorts. “He doesn’t like admitting he likes children.”
That’s probably true.
“He’ll find his way back,” she adds, already turning forward again. “He always does.”
I let it go. Gilfred has survived worse than an overnight sleepover with adoring children, and for once, I don’t feel the need to keep track of everything. For the first time since dawn, there’s nothing pulling at my attention except the woman walking beside me. Bella’s hand finds mine without looking. I lace my fingers through hers, and we walk the rest of the way down in companionable silence, boots crunching softly against the path, the air cooling as elevation drops. I'm finally alone with my woman. My dragon stretches lazily in my chest, content and unguarded.
And me, he observes.
“Yes, of course, and you”, I murmur under my breath.
He hums, amused. You were close enough.
By the time the kingdom comes into view, the lights are low. Most of the staff stayed up the mountain to help, and the halls feel quieter for it. Bella leans into me as we step through the doors, her weight easy and familiar by my side.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Just tired.”
I steer us toward the kitchens, and I lift her easily and set her on the counter, ignoring her half-protest and the way she immediately wraps her legs around my waist to get me to stay.
“Can't we just sleep?” she asks with a little yawn.
“Soon, snowflake,” I reply, already reaching for a pan. “I want to enjoy a little more of the night with you.”
She gives me a small smile and a little blush before she untangles herself, and I softly kiss her forehead before I step back. I cook a simple soup that's thick and hearty with bread that's warmed until the crust crackles. Bella watches me with her chin in her hand, eyes soft, legs swinging slightly. She tells me about a woman who painted her door blue. About a child who insisted on naming my shadow because it's the biggest he's ever seen. She tells me about how Red has apparently decided she’s in charge of structural integrity for the foreseeable future. We eat in the dining hall afterwards, side by side instead of across from one another, chairs angled close enough that our shoulders brush. The room feels enormous with only the two of us in it, but not lonely. I'll never be lonely again.
“It’s quiet,” Bella says.
“Yes," I agree. “It’s nice.”
She hums, finishing the last of her soup, then glances at me sideways.
“So,” she says casually. “Now that the world isn’t actively ending… is there anything you want to do?”
I consider it carefully. The question isn’t loaded. She’s not asking for plans, strategy, or the next crisis. She's simply asking what I want to do with our lives together now. I honestly have no clue, I hadn't had any thoughts past putting a ring on her finger and officially making her my queen. Naturally, I deflect.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” I admit. “Any dreams? Adventures? Grand ambitions?”
She thinks about it for a long moment, then shrugs.
“I kind of just want to read a good book,” she says.
That makes me smile.
“Then I believe I know exactly where we’re going.”
The library is warm and dim when we enter, the fire lighting itself as we cross the threshold. Bella wanders the shelves with purpose, fingers trailing over spines, pausing, backing up, pulling a book free and then replacing it. I follow a step behind, content to watch her move through a space she once pretended not to notice me in. She finds the perfect book eventually. I can tell by the way she stills. She turns, book tucked against her chest, and drops onto the loveseat near the fire. She pats the space beside her.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re aware of the relative sizes involved here.”
She grins. “Make it work.”
I sigh theatrically and sit anyway, half my body inevitably spilling off the edge. She laughs, delighted, and then shifts, tugging me down until my head rests in her lap. It’s undignified... It’s perfect.
Her fingers slide through my hair once, slow and absent-minded, and my dragon purrs so loudly I feel it in my ribs.
Show-off, he comments fondly.
Then she opens the book and begins reading aloud. Her voice is calm and unhurried. The fire crackles, and the world stays exactly where it is. I close my eyes, letting the sound of her words wash over me. The weight of her presence soothes every part of me that used to stay braced for impact. I let her whisk me away into a world far simpler than ours, where the man always gets the girl, the villain always finds defeat, and it contradicts everything we know. I picture Bella trapped in her tower, lost in a world made of words on paper, her imagination tangling with the authors. How I wish I could have been the dragon to save her from that life, but that's not our fairytale. This is. Even though it hasn't been perfect, I think it has been perfect for us. This, I think, is what a good book looks like. Just being exactly where you are supposed to be, with the person who chose you back.