Chapter 45 The Door Between
It’s late by the time I finally leave the terrace. The halls are quiet, the kind of quiet that holds its breath. Her scent lingers in the air — frost and candlelight — faint, but it follows me. I make it halfway down the corridor before I stop. The ache in my chest stirs again. It isn’t sharp, just constant — a low pull toward where she sleeps.
You know where you should be, the dragon murmurs.
“I’m not sleeping outside her door.”
Why not?
“Because that’s insane.”
It’s protective.
“It’s invasive.”
Protective, he repeats, smug.
I keep walking, but the pull doesn’t ease. The further I go, the heavier it gets, like gravity has found a new anchor. By the time I reach the main staircase, my hands are clenched at my sides.
You can feel her, can’t you? he presses. She is uneasy again.
“She’s sleeping.”
Barely.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly. “You’re relentless.”
You’re restless.
He isn’t wrong. I turn back. My footsteps echo softly against the marble as I retrace my path, past the library, through the long stretch of the east corridor. When I reach her door, the ache fades.
The dragon hums. Better.
I glance down at the closed door. The last thing I want is to frighten her, to have her wake and find me here. But the stillness seeps into me, and for the first time tonight, my body feels like it might actually rest. “I’ll stay for a while,” I mutter.
For a while, he echoes, smug satisfaction curling around the words.
I sink down against the wall opposite her room, arms resting loosely over my knees. It’s not comfortable, but it feels right, as strange as that is. The flickering torchlight paints long shadows across the floor, and I let my eyes drift closed. The dragon settles in my mind, content now that we’re near her. The ache quiets completely. Her heartbeat is steady, I can hear it faintly through the quiet space, almost like a lullaby.
“You’re impossible,” I whisper.
We are content, he answers, already half-asleep.
For once, I don’t argue.
I wake before dawn. Years of instinct don’t fade easily, and dragon hearing means I never sleep as deeply as I should. There’s movement beyond the door. The rustle of fabric, the soft pad of bare feet on stone. She’s awake. I get to my feet quietly, careful not to make a sound. Staying is one thing; being caught outside her door is another entirely. I can already imagine the expression she’d give me — that mix of disbelief and curiosity, the inevitable sarcastic remark.
Creep, the dragon offers unhelpfully.
“Exactly.”
I slip away before she opens the door, taking the nearest side passage that leads to the main hall. By the time I reach the dining room, the servants have begun preparing breakfast. I wave them off with a quiet order and take my usual seat near the window. The snow outside glows faintly blue in the early light. I try not to look like a man who just spent the night on a stone floor, though my shoulder will probably disagree for days.
You could have stayed in your bed, the dragon notes.
“She wouldn’t have slept.”
Neither would you.
I ignore him.
Footsteps sound in the corridor and a moment later, she appears in the doorway. Her hair is tousled, her sweater hanging slightly off one shoulder, and for reasons I can’t begin to explain, I have to look away before she catches the expression on my face.
“Morning,” she says, bright but cautious.
“Good morning.”
She sits across from me, folding her hands neatly on the table, pretending she isn’t studying me as she does it.
“Busy day?” she asks, tone too casual.
I glance at her. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” She shrugs, then adds lightly, “You just seem like the kind of guy who’s got important kingly things to do. Brooding to perfect. Papers to sign. You know, royal stuff.”
I can’t help the faint twitch of my mouth. “Fortunately, today requires none of those things.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “None?”
“None,” I confirm. “I thought perhaps we could leave the castle for a while.”
That catches her off guard. “Leave?”
“Yes. There’s a small village at the base of the mountain. You may wish to acquire some things. Clothes, perhaps. Books.”
“Books,” she repeats, and I swear I see her eyes light up a little before she schools her expression. “Hmm. Sounds... nice.”
The pause stretches. Then she tilts her head, thoughtful. “But maybe… instead of the village…”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Her grin is small, but real. “Could we go up instead of down? Into the mountains?”
The dragon stirs immediately, pleased. A good choice.
“Up?” I ask, though my chest has already answered for me.
She nods, pushing a crumb across her plate with one finger. “It’s been forever since I’ve been somewhere that isn’t built out of stone. I want to see what your world really looks like. The wild parts.”
“That’s dangerous terrain,” I warn automatically.
She gives me a look that says she’s already tired of my caution. “You’re a dragon.”
I sigh. “That doesn’t mean—”
“Yes, it does,” she interrupts, grin widening. “It means you can make sure I don’t die. Or, you know, trip over a rock.”
The dragon’s laughter rumbles through my head, warm and amused. She’s right.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting a smile. “You’re crazy.”
“Adventurous,” she corrects, taking a sip of her tea.
I let the silence stretch, but the truth is, I’ve already decided. The idea of showing her the mountains — the only place that’s ever felt like mine — tugs at something deep in me. It feels… right.
Finally, I nod. “Very well. The mountains, then.”
Her smile blooms brightly, and it hits me harder than expected. I look away before she notices.
When she speaks again, her voice is softer. “You know, you surprise me sometimes.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah,” she says, her tone teasing but not unkind. “You pretend to be all stoic and scary, but then you say things like ‘would you like to go to the mountains?’ like it’s an invitation to paradise.”
The dragon hums in approval. She sees you.
I clear my throat. “It’s just a walk.”
“Sure,” she says, clearly not believing me.
We finish breakfast in a quiet rhythm, almost like we’ve done this a hundred times before. When she stands, I rise automatically, and her eyes flick toward me, nearly shy, almost curious.
“Give me a minute to grab my coat,” she says, and before I can stop myself, I answer, “Take your time.”
She smiles again and slips out of the room.
The dragon exhales like a sigh. You will not be the same after this.
I run a hand over my jaw. “I’m already not the same.”
Then you understand.
I look out the window again. The peaks rise sharply against the dawn. The horizon is waking, and for once, I don’t dread what the day might bring.