Chapter 25 The Bride Who Never Came and the Girl Who Stayed.
The courtyard burns. The roses go first, their petals curling black before the fire devours them whole. The gold-thread banners turn to ash. The fountains crack, their crystal water boiling to steam as the air shimmers with heat. I barely notice any of it. The roar that tears from my throat shakes the mountains. The sound carries across the valley — rage and grief woven together, a song no mortal could endure. The fire answers my fury, blooming from every breath, every heartbeat, every pulse of pain that explodes beneath my ribs. They called me a monster. Now they remember why. Marble fractures beneath my claws. The scent of burning silk and terror fills the air. I can feel them fleeing, the nobles, the courtiers, the priests, their fear is a thousand heartbeats pounding against the edges of my mind.
Enough, my dragon growls, his voice thick with satisfaction. They needed to remember.
Not like this, I snarl back, but even to my own ears, the words sound small, half-drowned by the roar of wings unfurling behind me.
The sky darkens. The sunlight vanishes beneath the shadow of my form. I rear back, fire coiling in my chest, and for a single, terrible heartbeat, I almost let it go and let the flames consume the world that never wanted me completely.
Then movement catches my eye and my beast turns to see that someone remains. Through the smoke and ash, through the ruin and the ruiners, a figure stands at the edge of the destruction. A girl... At first, I think she’s an illusion, a trick of the heat. But then she moves, stepping carefully through the shattered marble, the hem of her simple dress whispering over scorched stone. She’s small, impossibly fragile compared to the chaos around her. Her hair is white, not pale gold or silver, but white, the colour of untouched snow under moonlight. It catches what little sun remains, glowing faintly, strands drifting in the rising heat. Her eyes, green, bright, steady, lock on mine. She doesn’t run. Doesn’t scream. Doesn’t even flinch. She just tilts her head slightly, as though studying me. And the great dragon stills. Even my breathing halts, fire suspended in my throat. The beast inside me, all hunger and fury, quiets for the first time in years. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t exist in this ruin and yet, there she is — calm in the chaos, like frost in the fire. My dragon leans forward, nostrils flaring. Her scent cuts through the smoke, something between snow and starlight. Something ancient stirs inside me. Recognition, maybe. Or instinct. Or something far more dangerous.
Mine.
The word reverberates through my chest, not just spoken but felt—a pulse, a claim, a truth that cracks through every wall I’ve ever built. My claws dig into the marble. Heat blazes through me, but it’s no longer rage; it’s something else entirely. Something that feels like balance. Like a missing piece sliding quietly into place. I can feel myself struggling to resurface through the dragon’s haze.
What are you doing? She’s not—
Ours, the beast rumbles. She belongs here.
She takes a step closer, and my shadow swallows her whole, but she doesn’t waver. Her eyes reflect the firelight, twin mirrors of green and gold. And then—she smiles.... Just a small curve of her lips, but it's soft and real. It’s enough to undo something deep inside me. She laughs, and it's a light, breathy sound that cuts through the smoke and fear, that sounds so wildly out of place in the wreckage that it causes my dragon to freeze in sheer disbelief. No one has ever laughed in my presence before. Not like that. Not without fear. Her laughter ripples through the ruins like the first breath after drowning. My dragon’s pupils narrow to thin slits. He lowers his massive head, cautiously, until the tip of his snout hovers just above her. The heat that radiates off him should scorch her, should send her running, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she lifts her hand. So small. So fragile. Trembling only slightly as she reaches out, and she touches me. The air cracks as fire seems to meet ice.
Where her palm presses against my scales, frost blooms, tiny snowflakes spiralling outwards, melting instantly into steam. The air fills with the scent of ash and winter. She gasps softly, her breath misting in the heat. I feel it now, the coolness of her magic, the strange peace it brings, seeping through the chaos of my fire. For the first time in years, I am not burning to destroy...But I am burning to feel. The dragon exhales — a slow, shuddering sound that shakes the ground but doesn’t frighten her. If anything, it makes her smile widen. And then, embarrassingly, impossibly…
He sneezes. It's a thunderous burst of heat and smoke that explodes from his nostrils, scattering ash and petals alike. She stumbles back a step, hair whipping wildly in the gust, and laughs again. It’s ridiculous, unholy and utterly perfect. The Beast King, destroyer of kingdoms, is brought low by a girl who smells like snow and dares to laugh at him. My dragon tilts his head, blinking down at her, confused and utterly captivated, and she looks up at him — at me — with those bright, unafraid eyes. The sound that rises from deep within my chest is not a growl this time. It’s something softer. Lower. A deep, resonant purr that vibrates through the air.
Ours, the beast whispers again.
My own voice, buried somewhere in the molten quiet of my mind, tries to protest. I try to tell him that you can't just claim someone like that. That we can't...That she has to want us first, but how could she want such a beast? How is that she stands before us, smiling like we've given her a gift, when we have given her nothing at all. I try to find the words to tell my beast that this is not real, but it’s already too late. Because for the first time since the world began to fear me…I don’t feel like a monster. I feel seen.