Chapter 27 Snowflake.
She’s small. Even now, with the heat fading from my skin and the wings gone, she barely reaches my chest. She looks up at me like she’s trying to take in too much at once. Her hair is as white as frost, and her eyes are bright and steady, like perfect emeralds.
I tilt my head, studying her the way I might study a puzzle. “You’re not scared of me.”
It isn’t a question, but she answers anyway.
Her chin lifts higher, stubborn, almost defiant. “No. I’m not scared of you.” Then she glances down, taking in the slanted rooftop we’re both standing on, the sheer drop yawning just a few feet away. “I am, however, mildly terrified of falling off this roof you’ve placed us on.”
My mouth twitches. She’s serious.
“And,” she adds quickly, eyes darting to the space between us, “I may also be a little bit frightened of that thing between your legs that is currently hanging in the wind.”
I follow her gaze. Then it hits me. Ah. Right. Of course. I've forgotten about the clothing aspect of being human again. For a second, I just stand there with smoke still curling faintly from my skin, wind tugging at my hair, and this barefoot, frost-bitten girl looking at me with one brow raised like I’m the ridiculous one.
“Good for you, by the way”, she mutters, still watching me. “But I don’t think this is how two people usually meet.”
My face heats, not from flame, but something much worse. I turn slightly, clearing my throat, and cover myself with one hand. The other goes automatically to the back of my neck, rubbing it like that might somehow restore my dignity.
“Apologies,” I say stiffly. “It wasn’t… intentional.”
She snorts, trying very hard not to laugh, which only makes it worse.
The dragon inside my head rumbles, low and amused. She doesn’t look like she’s running.
She’s trapped on a roof, I snap inwardly.
Still counts.
I bite back a grin, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. “I can take you back down if you like,” I offer finally, forcing my voice steady.
The dragon snickers, heat curling low in my chest. If we’re taking her anywhere, it’s inside our castle. She is ours.
I roll my eyes internally. You don’t even know her name.
Snowflake, he corrects smugly. That’s her name now.
The girl tilts her head again, that curious, assessing gesture that makes me feel as though I’m the one being studied.
“Does he speak to you?” she asks.
My brows furrow. “The beast?”
“No,” she says softly, eyes gleaming. “The dragon.”
Something about the way she says it, like it’s an honour, not an accusation, makes the creature in me go very still. Then he purrs. A deep, satisfied sound that rolls through my ribs and vibrates the air between us.
See, he murmurs, smug and warm, I am no beast.
Her lips part slightly, her eyes widening. She can feel it too, the echo of that sound in the air, the invisible pull between us.
“Yes,” I say finally, my voice low. “He speaks to me.”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “And what does he say?”
Before I can even process how to answer, he moves faster than I thought. My chest tightens; my throat burns. The words that come out of my mouth aren’t mine—they’re his, poured through me like molten gold.
“I say,” the dragon growls through my voice, deep and resonant, “that you’re mine, snowflake.”
The sound hangs between us, thick and alive. Her eyes widen, lips parting just slightly. The wind whips around us, cold and sharp, but all I can feel is the heat thrumming through my vein, the dragon’s pulse, my pulse, hers. She takes a step back, but not from fear. It’s something else. Something uncertain.
And gods help me, the dragon inside me purrs again, pleased. She heard us.
I drag in a slow breath, trying to steady the riot of fire in my chest. “He doesn’t usually speak without permission,” I mutter under my breath, half to her, half to myself.
She quirks a brow. “He sounds bossy.”
“He’s worse than you think.”
“I doubt that.”
The dragon laughs in my skull, the sound molten and wicked. Keep her.
I look at her, ash-smudged, standing on the edge of a ruined kingdom with frost in her hair, and for the first time in years, I don’t know whether I’m the danger here. Or if she is.
She doesn’t seem to notice how much space she takes up in my mind just standing there. Or maybe she does and simply doesn’t care. Either way, it’s maddening.
She glances over the edge of the rooftop again, the wind pulling at her hair, white strands whipping against her face. “So… about that lift back down to stable ground?” she says, forcing a brightness that doesn’t quite hide the tremor in her voice. “I have a friend who’s probably worried sick, and a world that still sort of… awaits me.”
My chest tightens. 'A world that awaits her.' A world I’ll never fit inside again.
She clears her throat. “Though, for the record, it was nice meeting you. You know, despite the fire and screaming and… genital exposure situation.”
The faintest smile tugs at her lips, and it undoes me. I should laugh. I should let her go. I should be the man my kingdom needs, the monster they expect, anything but what I feel now. But instead, the words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
“Please,” I say, and my voice sounds raw and too human. “Please don’t go.”
She freezes, the humour fading from her face. Slowly, she turns back toward me, confusion flickering across her features. “Well, technically, I can’t go anywhere right now,” she says carefully. “Hence the need for a lift down. Then I can leave.”
She doesn’t understand. How could she? The dragon inside me moves, restless and fierce. His voice is a low growl in my mind, bleeding through me like smoke through cracks.
Tell her.
No.
Tell her before she walks away.
My hands curl into fists. I meet her gaze and feel the last of my restraint unravel.
When I speak, my voice isn’t my own. It’s his, low and trembling in the air between us. “I have imprinted on you, snowflake.”
Her eyes widen, just slightly, but she doesn’t step back.
The dragon presses harder, his rumble vibrating through my bones, through the world. “If you leave,” he says through me, “you will tear our soul in two… and send us mad.”
He pauses, almost softly. “Even madder than they already think we are.”
The silence that follows is heavier than any roar. Wind howls around the tower. The last embers of smoke drift past her hair. And she just stands there, bright-eyed and absolutely impossible, staring up at the monster who dared to beg.
So this is how the beast king falls, not to a sword, but to a small woman with frost in her hair.