Chapter 44 The Space Between
Damien
She doesn’t move for a long time. Just stands there beside me, eyes on the horizon, her breath curling in faint white wisps. The snow catches in her hair, silver on white, like the world itself can’t tell where winter ends and she begins. I should go. That’s what I tell myself. I’ve been here long enough, hovering like a shadow. She doesn’t need me for this—whatever this quiet peace is. I shift my weight slightly, ready to turn back toward the hall. But then I hear it...A sound so soft I almost miss it. A breath caught in the wrong place, halfway between inhale and plea. The slightest, little whimper. Barely there, but unmistakable. I freeze and she straightens almost immediately, pretending to fuss with the edge of her sleeve, the picture of casual. But her pulse—gods, I can hear it—flutters too fast, and her shoulders are strung tight.
The dragon stirs, his voice curling through my thoughts. She felt it.
Felt what? I ask.
Our distance.
That’s ridiculous.
Test it. He says smugly.
I don’t want to.
He rumbles, impatient with me. You want to know.
And he’s right, damn him. I take a single step away, just one. The air between us stretches, no more than a few feet, and I tell myself I’m imagining it—the way her breath stutters, the faint tremor that runs through her shoulders. Then she takes a step forward. Barely. Just enough to erase the space I created. Her eyes stay fixed ahead, like she’s determined not to give herself away. But she felt it. I know she did.
My chest tightens, and the dragon’s satisfaction bleeds through the edges of my restraint. You see? he murmurs. The bond has roots now.
She doesn’t understand what it is, I say quietly in my own mind.
No, he agrees. But she feels it. Her body knows what her mind does not.
I glance sideways at her. She’s pretending to watch the stars, fingers tracing the frost along the railing, but her hand keeps drifting closer to mine, as though her body refuses to let too much space linger.
She shouldn’t feel this, I think to myself.
The dragon’s laugh hums in my bones. You would rather she didn’t need you?
...Yes.
Liar.
The word cuts through me sharper than it should. I grip the railing tighter, the stone cool beneath my palms. You think this is what I want? To tie her life to mine? To make her ache just because I step away?
You already have.
It was an accident.
There are no accidents between souls.
I grit my teeth, keeping my expression still. You don’t know that.
He huffs, the sound like embers shifting. We do not need to know. We can feel. You sense her when she is near; she steadies the noise inside you. And when she drifts too far, it claws at us both.
I don’t answer. Because he’s right, and that truth settles like a weight at the base of my throat.
Bella glances up at me then, catching my silence. “You’re awfully quiet, dragon king.”
I force a smile. “You prefer me loud?”
“I prefer you less broody.”
The corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She seems satisfied with that and turns her gaze back to the snow, completely unaware of the battle happening a breath away from her shoulder. The distance, small as it is, still hums between us like a thread pulled tight.
The dragon presses forward, his tone quieter now and thoughtful. She anchors us. You know this.
She shouldn’t have to, I murmur.
It is not a burden. It is balance.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. You sound poetic when you’re smug.
He chuckles. You sound human when you lie.
"She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me,” I say under my breath, too low for her to hear. “How do I explain that every time she looks at me, I forget how to breathe?”
You don’t. You show her.
“I can’t.”
You will.
His certainty makes my skin prickle. I stare out at the snow to avoid looking at her, at the way her breath mist curls into the night air.
“Bella,” I say softly, not even sure why.
She glances up, curious. “Hm?”
“Are you... cold?”
She shakes her head. “Not really.” Her voice is calm, but she edges just a fraction closer and my dragon hums in my chest, smug.
See?
“Shut up.”
Her brows lift. “Pardon?”
I blink, realising I said that out loud. “Not you. I— It wasn’t—”
Her grin spreads slow and amused. “Are you talking to yourself, your Majesty?”
The dragon’s laughter rolls through me like thunder, and I can’t help the small exhale that escapes. “Something like that.”
“Well,” she says, clearly delighted by my flustered state, “at least one of you is entertaining.”
I shake my head, letting out a quiet laugh despite myself. “Go inside before you freeze.”
“I told you, I don’t freeze.”
“Humour me.”
She hesitates, searching my face for a moment, then nods and turns toward the doors. I follow, a few steps behind, careful this time not to drift too far. Because even as ridiculous as it sounds, I can feel it—the faint tug under my ribs when the distance widens.
When she reaches the doors, she pauses and glances back at me, her smile soft. “Thanks for the fresh air, Damien.”
Her voice does it again—that quiet use of my name, stripped of title or fear.
“Anytime,” I say, and mean it.
She slips inside, and I stand there for a long time after she’s gone, watching her shadow disappear down the corridor. The ache returns almost immediately, a dull echo of hers. The dragon stirs again, quieter this time, his tone less teasing, more sure. You cannot undo what has begun.
“I know.”
She feels you. And you feel her. That is the way of it.
I close my eyes, inhaling the cold until it burns. “If she hurts because of me—”
Then you heal her. That is also the way of it.
He fades back, leaving only silence and the faint pull of the bond, like a heartbeat that isn’t mine.
I stop fighting it. All of it. In this moment, standing here feeling only a piece of what she feels, I realise that I will do anything in this world to make sure our snowflake is okay.