Chapter 35 Tomorrow, We’ll Do Better
The echo of their laughter follows me long after I’ve left them. It rings down the marble halls, light and unguarded; it's the kind of sound this castle hasn’t heard in years. It clings to the air like smoke after a feast—sweet and out of place. I catch myself listening for it even after it fades.
You like the sound of her, the dragon murmurs, pleased.
I like the sound of peace, I answer.
It doesn’t argue, but the satisfaction ripples through me anyway. I feel him stretch, a lazy presence in my mind, all teeth and warmth. When I turn the corner, two of the younger servants freeze mid-step. Their eyes go wide, heads bowing so fast I hear the clack of hairpins hitting the floor. Then they scurry away, quickly.
I sigh. Still terrifying, apparently.
Good, the dragon says. We should be.
Humility clearly isn’t one of your virtues.
Humility is for the harmless.
I almost smile. Almost.
I make my way through the corridors, unable to sit still for even a moment, because there's a woman in my home. Not the one they had planned for me...but a woman, nonetheless, and she's beautiful, carefree and probably entirely out of my league. The ballroom still smells faintly of roses and burnt sugar. Someone has gathered the ruined decorations into neat piles, as though a bit of order could erase memory of today. I'm not sure anything could erase the memory of standing there at the altar alone. I keep walking, because it's the only thing I can do right now as my mind races. My chambers greet me with the familiar velvet and the unfamiliar cold. Firelight flickers against the obsidian mantle and I pour a drink I don’t need and stand at the window, watching the valley drown under the snow that came too early this year.
Why her? I ask, fiddling with the glass in my hand.
You already know why.
No. I don’t.
Because she didn’t flinch.
That’s it? That's all it takes?
It is everything.
The words settle heavily in my chest. I can’t decide if they comfort me or make me restless. I drain the glass and set it aside, pacing again. The carpet muffles my steps, but the tension won’t fade. I can still see her in my mind, defiant, laughing in my kitchen with icing on her fingers like she’s never known fear.
She should be terrified, I mutter. They all are.
Not her.
She doesn’t understand what I am.
Then show her gently.
That stops me. The dragon never uses that word. 'Gently.'
I don’t know how, I admit.
Learn.
The hours bleed away as I hide in my room, unsure of what to do or how to approach her. I light another fire, then another candle, then another drink. None of it helps. My hands twitch with the need to do something—anything.
“She hasn’t eaten,” I realise aloud.
Then feed her.
“Yes, thank you for the insight,” I say dryly.
We could bring her food.
“That seems… intrusive.”
Invite her, then.
“I can’t just command her to dine with me.”
You command kingdoms, Damien.
“That’s different. Kingdoms don’t faint when you look at them wrong.”
Neither does she.
I pace to the door and back. “Do I send a tray? Do I— gods, I sound ridiculous.”
You sound human.
“That’s debatable.”
The dragon’s laughter rumbles through my chest. Prepare something nice. Tell her there is food. This is not complicated.
“For you, perhaps. You don’t have to speak out loud.”
If you wish, I could.
“No.” The word escapes too quickly. “Absolutely not.”
I make my way quickly to the kitchen; thankfully, it's late enough that no one is here working, but that also leads me to another issue. What does she eat?
Food, of course.
I roll my eyes. Obviously, but what if she is allergic to something? Or doesn't like certain foods?
Then we will learn.
Internally, I groan. I am unused to learning people. I am used to them just running away from me. I also...cannot cook. Meat? Sure. I can cook meat, but most people seem to like other types of food, green stuff and "side dishes" as I've been told before when served my meals. I decide to go for something safe, something I know she likes. I can learn later. I cut the biggest slice of cake I can, and I take that to her room. Where I now stand, on the other side of the door...awkwardly.
Do I knock?
Of course, you knock.
What if she doesn't answer?
Why would she not answer?
Oh, I don't know, maybe because we're known as the beast king and we snatched her up, flew her to a rooftop, imprinted on her and then asked her to stay with us?
He huffs in my mind. Snowflake liked flying. She laughed.
I sigh, staring at the door as if it’s going to open itself.
Right. Knock. I rap my knuckles gently once. Nothing. Again. Still nothing.
Maybe she’s ignoring us, the dragon muses.
Or maybe she’s asleep.
Then we should check.
I’m not barging into her room in the middle of the night.
You’re already standing outside her door with cake. How much stranger can it get?
He has a point…Damn it. Before I can talk myself out of it, my hand moves and the latch clicks open. The door creaks softly, moonlight spills across the room in silver sheets, and my breath catches. She’s asleep. The blanket half-kicked away, her hair a white halo tangled around her shoulders, one arm curled under her cheek. The tiny creature on the pillow beside her—Gilfred, I think his name was.
She looks small. Human, in a way I haven’t let myself be in years. The dragon hums quietly, a low, contented sound in the back of my skull. See? Not afraid.
I step closer, slow and careful, every instinct screaming that this is wrong, that I’m invading something sacred. The candle near the bed burns low, its flame trembling.
She really freezes everything she touches, I whisper in my mind.
That’s her nature. Ice answers to her the way fire answers to us.
I set the plate on the small table beside her bed. The cake leans a little to the side, but it will do. For a long moment, I just stand there, staring like a fool. Her chest rises and falls steadily. There’s a faint crease between her brows, the kind that comes from too many nightmares and too little rest.
She’s been through a lot, I murmur.
The dragon’s voice softens. Yes. She carries storms in her bones. We must be gentle with her.
I almost laugh. Gentle, I repeat. From the creature made of claws and teeth.
Even fire knows how to warm, he answers simply.
Something in that settles me. I look at her one last time, the way the light catches the curve of her lashes and the faint shimmer of frost at her fingertips. My chest aches with an unfamiliar feeling.
She deserves better than us, I say quietly.
Tomorrow, the dragon says. We will do better.