Chapter 32 The Invitation
Damien
She’s still eating the cake. The one meant for my wedding. There’s frosting on her lip, sugar on her fingers, and crumbs on the polished marble floor. She’s humming quietly, happy in a way I can’t remember being. The sight shouldn’t do anything to me...but it does.
Ask her to stay, my dragon murmurs, low and coaxing, his voice curling through my mind like smoke.
I drag a hand down my face. I can’t just ask her to stay.
Then tell her to stay.
That’s worse.
Then ask.
How?
He huffs, impatient. Do you want me to do it?
No, I snap, absolutely not.
There’s a low rumble of laughter inside me. The dragon finds my discomfort endlessly entertaining. I find it humiliating.
Across the counter, she glances up. “You’re staring.”
I blink, caught. “I—ah—wasn’t.”
She smirks, licking frosting from her thumb. “You really were.”
I look away, because she’s right and because every instinct I possess, human and otherwise, is pulling in her direction. The dragon is thrumming beneath my skin, claws scraping for release.
Ask her to stay.
You are not helping.
You’re taking too long. She’s going to leave.
She won’t—
Then ask.
I exhale, staring at the half-eaten cake between us. “Do you… think you’ll stay?”
Smooth. Truly eloquent.
She blinks, clearly surprised. “Stay?”
“Yes.” My voice sounds too low, too formal. “At least for the night. Until you decide what you’d like to do next.”
She tilts her head, studying me. Her eyes are thoughtful for a moment. She doesn’t look afraid. That keeps catching me off guard, the fact that she doesn’t fear me. I’ve spent years watching people bow, tremble, and flinch at the sight of me. And here she stands, frosting-fingered and thoroughly unimpressed.
She shrugs lightly. “Do I get my own room?”
“Yes.”
“Am I free to come and go?”
“Of course.”
The dragon stirs again, displeased. Free? How far does Snowflake wish to go? If she leaves, we go with her.
She’s not ours, I remind him.
She is, he growls softly. She just doesn’t know it yet.
I grit my teeth. We can’t cage her.
We can guard her.
The line between those things is thinner than he understands. I clear my throat. “You would be free to come and go as you please. I would only ask that if you travel far, you… let me know.”
She raises an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. “Let you know? Why?”
I hesitate, then sigh. “Because... it might hurt me.”
That makes her pause. The defiance softens just a little, her eyes flicking over my face as if she’s searching for mockery and finding none.
Her voice lowers. “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay. For now.”
The relief that rushes through me is fast and dizzying. I feel the dragon preen inside me, smug and satisfied. Told you.
Don’t gloat.
I never gloat.
You always gloat.
She’s staying.
I ignore him and nod instead. “Good.” I manage to sound calm, but my chest feels unsteady. “Would you like me to send someone to retrieve your things? From where you live?”
She blinks. “Oh. I… don’t really have a ‘where.’”
I tilt my head. “You don’t?”
“No.” She gives a small, wry smile. “I’m kind of between homes. You know...kind of between tower imprisonment and near-death-by-siren.”
I almost smile at that. Almost. “That sounds like a story.”
“You have no idea,” she mutters, rubbing her neck.
Something tightens behind my ribs again. I want to ask more about where she came from, who hurt her, how long she’s been alone, but I sense she’s already given me more than she intended. So I simply nod.
“Then perhaps,” I say quietly, “this can be a beginning instead of another cage.”
She glances at me then, really looks, I swear I feel her trying to stare into my soul. There’s a flicker of understanding in her expression, and something about it lands too close to the heart. She’s lived trapped. So have I.
The dragon hums softly in the back of my mind, a contented vibration. She’s not afraid, he says, quieter now. Keep her.
She’s not a possession.
Then she’s a choice, he counters. Ours, if she’ll make it.
I want to argue, but I don’t. Because he’s right about one thing, she’s not afraid, and I don’t want that to change.
I lead her from the kitchen, through the long marble halls that have felt empty for years. Her footsteps are soft behind me. When we stop at one of the upper rooms, I open the door and step back.
“It’s yours, if you want it,” I tell her. “The staff can bring whatever you need.”
She lingers in the doorway, arms folded loosely across her chest. “And if I don’t want to stay?”
“Then you don’t have to,” I say simply. “I’ll open the gates myself.”
That seems to surprise her more than anything. For a moment, she just watches me. Then she nods, a small, guarded smile tugging at her mouth. “Okay, King Damien. For now.”
The words for now should make me uneasy. Instead, I feel something uncoil inside me, something I hadn’t realised was wound so tight.
I bow my head slightly. “Then I’ll have your room prepared.”
She steps inside, eyes scanning the space, the soft bedding, the golden light spilling through the arched window. When she finally turns back toward me, there’s colour in her cheeks again.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“You’re welcome,” I reply, meaning it more than I should.
I turn to leave, and for once, the castle doesn’t feel entirely hollow.
She’ll stay, my dragon murmurs.
No, I think back. She belongs to herself.
There’s a pause, then a low, rumbling chuckle. For now.
I’ve just reached the corridor again when a guard appears, wide-eyed, breathless, and clutching his helmet like it’s a lifeline.
“Your Majesty,” he blurts, bowing low. “There’s… there’s a tiny woman at the front gates.”
I frown. “And?”
He swallows hard. “And she’s threatening to burn down the castle if she’s not allowed to see her friend.”
I blink once, twice. “What friend?”
He hesitates. “She said—uh—‘the crazy girl with the frostbite attitude.’”
The dragon’s laughter rumbles like thunder in my mind. It seems Snowflake brought the storm with her.