Chapter 46 Have You Ever Seen a Dragon Kneel?
She returns a few minutes later, coat thrown over her shoulders, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. The hood slips when she walks, revealing pale hair that catches the early light.
“Ready?” she asks, a little breathless.
I nod, motioning toward the outer courtyard. The gates open on command, the guards bowing as we pass. Snow crunches beneath our boots, each step a whisper against the still morning. The path cuts through the lower cliffs before splitting into three trails. I take the middle one, the safest. She takes none, marching wherever her curiosity leads.
“Stay close,” I tell her.
“I am close,” she says, walking ahead.
“That’s debatable.”
She throws a grin over her shoulder. “Relax, dragon king. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I glance at the mountains looming above us, jagged peaks like teeth against the sky. “You really want me to answer that?”
She laughs softly and keeps walking. The sound carries through the air, quick and bright, before it fades into the wind. We move higher, following a ridge where the snow thins enough for the stone to show through. The trees up here grow twisted from the wind, their branches heavy with ice. The air thins with every breath. “This is beautiful,” she says quietly.
Her voice doesn’t need to rise. It finds its place here, like she was meant to speak in places like this. She stops to touch the rough bark of a tree, running her fingers across it with reverence.
“You’ve seen trees before,” I remind her.
“From a window mostly. It’s not the same.”
She steps back, tilts her head to look up at the canopy. “They’re huge.”
“They’ve been here longer than I have,” I say.
“Then you must like them,” she teases. “They don’t talk much.”
I almost smile at that. We keep climbing. She doesn’t seem to tire. The cold doesn’t bite her. Every gust that sweeps through the ravine bends around her like the world is adjusting its course to suit her pace. I try not to notice the way the snow catches in her hair, or how her breath fogs in the air between us. The dragon’s presence is steady in my mind, watching, waiting.
She’s close to the heartlands, he says. You should turn back.
She wanted to see this, I answer.
Then show her. But protect her with your life.
The warning comes too late. A shadow passes over us, and snow slips from the branches above. The sound rolls across the valley like distant thunder.
Bella stops, squinting at the sky. “That’s not a cloud, is it?”
“No,” I say quietly.
A rush of air hits as the creature lands ahead of us. Claws sink into the ice. Bronze scales catch the light, and smoke curls from its nostril, wings half folded, and its eyes fixed on her. Bella doesn’t scream. She doesn’t move. The dragon growls, low and warning, and the ground trembles beneath it. Before thought has time to form, I shift. The change rips through muscle and bone, heat flooding out as scales replace skin. The other dragon freezes, and my wings unfurl, blocking its view of her. A growl rolls from my chest, deep and sharp. Mine.
The bronze dragon hesitates. Its head lowers slightly. It can smell her now. Smell me on her—the bond. The proof of claim written into her skin. I glance back to where she stands in the middle of the clearing, snow circling her in thin spirals. Frost collects in her hair and she laughs as a flurry lands on her nose. The other dragon tilts its head, almost curious, lowering its neck to get closer. I shift forward a fraction, a warning. The growl that leaves me rattles the trees. The bronze dragon stills. Then it bends lower until its chest touches the ground. A bow. Not to me alone, but to her.
Bella blinks. “Uh. Is that normal?”
I let out a short huff of air, smoke curling into the snow. She asks too many questions, my dragon says.
She’s still breathing. That’s all I care about.
The other dragon rises slowly, gives one last glance between us, and takes off. The wind from its wings scatters snow in every direction, a flurry that cloaks her for a heartbeat. I shift back before it clears. The air bites cold against bare skin.
“Oh gods,” she blurts, spinning around so fast her coat flares out. “Do you hate pants that much?”
I run a hand through my hair, trying to find dignity that doesn’t exist. “Shifting doesn’t preserve clothing.”
“Right,” she says, not turning back. “Convenient.”
The dragon’s voice curls in my mind, amused. She likes you embarrassed.
“Shut up.”
Make me.
I sigh and pull on the cloak I managed to release pre-shift. “You can look now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She peeks over her shoulder cautiously. Her relief is immediate. “Better,” she says, folding her arms. “So… what just happened?”
“They recognised the bond,” I tell her.
“The what?”
“The imprint.”
Her eyes widen. “So he bowed because—”
“Yes.”
“That’s… not creepy at all.”
“Dragons aren’t known for subtlety.”
She walks a slow circle around me, eyes narrowed. “You know, for a species with a reputation for devouring people, they’re kind of polite.”
“Only to those they respect.”
She glances up at me, a grin returning. “So I’m royalty now?”
“Something like that.”
The smirk softens. She looks out over the valley, the snow still swirling gently. “That was incredible.”
I nod once. “It was unexpected.”
“Do they always listen to you like that?”
“They listen,” I say. “But obedience and understanding are rarely the same thing.”
“Maybe they just needed someone new to impress.”
“Maybe.”
She steps closer, her boots crunching softly in the snow. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. Shift, I mean.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“To keep you safe.”
“I wasn’t in danger.”
I arch a brow. “You were in front of a wild dragon.”
She smiles faintly. “And yet, I’m still here.”
I shake my head at her. She's so reckless. Then the wind shifts and her scent brushes past me. My dragon stirs again, calmer now, content in the silence that follows. We start back toward the trail, the path glinting pale under the snow. She falls into step beside me, her stride light, eyes bright as she looks up at the ridges above.
When she speaks again, her voice is quiet. “You don’t have to keep protecting me, you know.”
“I’m not sure I could stop if I tried.”
She glances at me from the corner of her eye. “That sounds like a problem.”
“It is.”
Her laugh cuts through the cold. “Well, try not to make a habit of saving me. I might start expecting it.”
We reach the ridge just as the sun breaks through the clouds, scattering gold across the peaks. For a brief moment, the world looks untouched, snow stretching in every direction, sharp and bright and endless.
She stops, breath fogging in the air, and smiles. “Worth it.”
I look at her, not the view. “Yes,” I say quietly. “It was.”