Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~11 min read
Freya made it exactly three steps into the training yard before losing her nerve.
Lysander was still sparring—this time with Lord Theron, both of them moving with a speed and grace that reminded her these weren’t just men, they were predators. Dragon shifters who could destroy armies if they chose. And she was about to walk up and… what? Ask him about his day? Compliment his sword work? Admit she’d been watching him train shirtless?
Through the bond, she felt his awareness spike. He knew she was here. Could probably feel her nervousness through their connection.
“Lady Freya!” Theron called out, grinning. “Come to watch your mate show off?”
“He’s not my—” Freya started, but Lysander shot Theron a look that promised violence.
“Ignore him,” Lysander said, lowering his practice sword. He’d pulled on a shirt at some point—disappointing and relieving in equal measure. “He thinks he’s funny.”
“I am funny,” Theron protested. “Just ask—actually, don’t ask anyone. They’re all biased.”
Lysander ignored him, moving toward Freya with that predatory grace that made her heart skip. Up close, she could see sweat dampening his hair, could smell the clean scent of exertion and something indefinably him. The bond hummed between them, recognizing his proximity.
“You came down,” he said softly. Just for her. “I felt you watching.”
Heat flooded her face. “Lyssa was showing me the palace. The window overlooked the training grounds.”
“Is that all she was showing you?” His lips twitched. “Or were you getting a dragon culture lesson?”
“Both.” Freya crossed her arms, defensive. “She told me about the fated bond. What it means to dragons.”
Something flickered across his expression—vulnerability, hope, fear. “And?”
“And I’m trying to understand. Like I promised.” She took a breath. “But understanding and accepting are different things.”
“I know.” He glanced back at the training yard, where Theron was very obviously pretending not to eavesdrop. “Do you want to get out of here? Talk somewhere more private?”
“Where?”
“I could show you Drakemyr. Properly this time.” He hesitated. “If you trust me enough to fly with me.”
Freya’s stomach dropped. “Fly?”
“Not like the kidnapping. You’d be willing this time. Choosing to come with me.” His silver eyes were earnest. “I want to show you my world, Freya. Help you understand why I love this realm. Why I want to share it with you.”
Every logical thought screamed at her to say no. She’d been terrified during the kidnapping flight, clinging to dragon scales while her life was upended. Flying with him again felt like tempting fate.
But through the bond, she felt his hope. His desperate desire to share something beautiful with her. His willingness to give her this experience on her terms instead of forcing it.
“Okay,” she heard herself say.
Lysander’s expression transformed—surprise melting into pure joy. “Really?”
“Before I change my mind.”
He grabbed her hand, pulling her toward an open courtyard. “Theron, tell my mother I’m taking Freya flying.”
“Tell her yourself!” Theron called back. “I’m not getting involved in your courtship disasters!”
But Lysander was already shifting, magic crackling through the air as his human form dissolved into scales and wings and terrible beauty. The massive black dragon settled low, making it easier for her to climb onto his back.
Freya stared up at him, heart hammering. “I don’t know how to—”
The dragon lowered further, almost lying flat. Through the bond, she felt his patience, his understanding that this was scary for her.
“Okay. Okay, I can do this.” Freya approached slowly, running her hand along his scales. They were warm, surprisingly smooth, humming with barely contained power. “You’re not going to drop me, right?”
The dragon made a sound that might have been amusement.
“That wasn’t a yes.”
He turned his massive head, silver eyes meeting hers with unmistakable intelligence. Through the bond, his reassurance flooded her: Never. I’d die before letting you fall.
Freya took a breath and climbed onto his back, settling between his shoulder blades where the scales formed a natural seat. Her hands found purchase on the ridges of his spine, and the moment she was secure, she felt his satisfaction through the bond.
Ready?
“No. But do it anyway.”
The dragon launched into the sky.
Freya screamed—couldn’t help it—as the ground dropped away and wind whipped her hair back. Her stomach lurched, her hands clenched tight on his scales, and every instinct screamed that this was insane, humans weren’t meant to fly, she was going to die—
Then they leveled out, and her scream died in her throat.
Oh.
Oh.
The world spread out beneath them in impossible beauty. Mountains stretched endlessly, their peaks dusted with snow that glittered in the sunlight. Valleys of emerald green cut between the stones, rivers like ribbons of silver weaving through ancient forests. And in the distance, the Drakemyr Court rose like something from a dream—crystal spires catching light, bridges of magic connecting impossible architecture, dragons soaring in graceful patterns around their home.
“It’s beautiful,” Freya breathed, and through the bond, she felt Lysander’s pleasure at her words.
He banked left, taking them higher. The air grew thinner, colder, but the dragon’s body heat kept her warm. She stopped gripping quite so tightly, started looking around instead of just surviving.
Flying wasn’t terrifying anymore. It was exhilarating.
Lysander seemed to sense the shift in her mood because he started showing off—diving and spiraling, letting her feel the rush of freefall before catching the wind and soaring back up. Each maneuver was controlled, safe, but thrilling enough to make her laugh with pure joy.
Through the bond, his satisfaction was almost smug. She’s enjoying this. She’s happy. I did something right.
They flew for what might have been minutes or hours—Freya lost track of time in the wonder of it. She saw dragon courts built into mountainsides, fae villages that shimmered with enchantment, groves of trees that glowed with their own light. This realm was magic made physical, beautiful and ancient and nothing like the human kingdoms she’d grown up in.
Finally, Lysander descended toward a hidden valley. They landed beside a waterfall that tumbled down black rocks into a pool so clear it looked like glass. Wildflowers carpeted the banks, and the air smelled like pine and fresh water and magic.
The dragon shifted back to human form, and Freya slid down from his back on shaky legs. Her hair was a disaster, her face probably wind-burned, but she’d never felt more alive.
“That was…” She struggled for words. “That was incredible.”
Lysander’s smile was genuine, reaching his eyes in a way she’d never seen before. “You weren’t scared?”
“Terrified at first. Then…” She gestured helplessly. “It was like flying through dreams. Everything was beautiful. I didn’t want it to end.”
“It doesn’t have to.” He moved to the water’s edge, gesturing for her to follow. “This is my favorite place in all of Drakemyr. I’ve been coming here since I was young. When court politics get overwhelming or my dragon needs quiet, this is where I go.”
Freya joined him, looking out over the waterfall. The sound was soothing, the mist cool against her skin. “Why did you bring me here?”
Lysander was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Because you deserve beauty, not fear.”
The words hit her square in the chest. Simple, honest, and more romantic than any grand declaration.
“Everything since I met you has been chaos,” he continued. “Kidnapping, war threats, impossible choices. I wanted to give you something good. Something that shows you what life here could be like.” He looked at her, vulnerability written across his face. “Not the drama or the politics or the mate bond obligations. Just… beauty. Peace. A moment where nothing is demanded of you.”
Through the bond, she felt it—how hard he was trying. How desperately he wanted to give her reasons to stay that had nothing to do with duty or guilt or magical destiny. How much he wanted her to see his world and fall in love with it the way he had.
Her walls, carefully constructed since the moment he’d crashed through that cathedral roof, cracked slightly.
“It’s working,” she admitted quietly. “This place is…” She trailed off, watching sunlight catch in the waterfall spray, creating rainbows in the mist. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Second most beautiful.” His voice was soft. “You’re the first.”
Freya’s breath caught. It should have been cheesy—the kind of line that made her roll her eyes in romance novels. But through the bond, she felt his sincerity. He meant it. Every word.
“You can’t just say things like that,” she protested weakly.
“Why not? It’s true.” He moved closer, close enough that she could feel his warmth but not touching. Still respecting her boundaries. “Freya, I’m not good at human courtship. I bring dead sheep and write threatening poetry. But I can give you honesty. And honestly? You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Not just your face—though that’s nice too—but your spirit. Your strength. The way you fought me even when you were terrified. The way you demand respect instead of just accepting whatever men decide for you.”
“I’m not that strong. I’m terrified all the time.”
“Being scared doesn’t make you weak. Acting despite the fear? That’s courage.” His hand rose, hovering near her face without touching. “You stood up to me. Called me out for kidnapping you in front of my entire family. Demanded agency when everyone else was trying to decide your fate. That takes incredible strength.”
Freya looked up at him, this dragon prince who’d upended her life and was now looking at her like she hung the stars. Through the bond, she felt his emotions laid bare—hope, fear, desire, and underneath it all, a love so fierce it should have been impossible after knowing her for such a short time.
Unless the bond was right. Unless they really were meant for each other.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” she whispered. “With you. With everything I’m feeling.”
“You don’t have to know. Not yet.” His hand dropped. “Just be here with me. Enjoy the waterfall. Let yourself have one moment where nothing else matters except right now.”
So she did. They sat by the water, close but not touching, and Freya let herself just exist without thinking about war or bonds or impossible choices. The waterfall roared, birds sang in the trees, and through it all, she felt Lysander’s presence—steady, patient, devoted.
“Tell me about this place,” she said eventually. “When did you first find it?”
“I was twenty. Young and angry about something I can’t even remember now.” His lips quirked. “I flew until I was exhausted, landed here by accident, and realized I’d found paradise. I’ve been coming back ever since.”
“Do you bring other people here?”
“Never. This place is… mine. Sacred, I guess.” He looked at her. “You’re the first person I’ve ever shown it to.”
The significance of that wasn’t lost on her. This was his sanctuary, his private escape, and he’d chosen to share it with her. Not to impress her or manipulate her, but simply to give her beauty. To show her who he was beyond the prince and the dragon and the desperate need.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For bringing me here. For the flight. For trying so hard to give me reasons to stay.”
“Is it working?”
She smiled despite herself. “A little bit.”
Through the bond, his hope blazed bright enough to steal her breath. But he didn’t push, didn’t press his advantage. Just smiled back and returned his gaze to the waterfall.
They sat in comfortable silence as the sun moved across the sky. And for the first time since being kidnapped by a dragon, Freya thought maybe—just maybe—this could work.
Not because the bond forced them together.
But because when she was with him, in this moment of peace and beauty, she felt something she hadn’t felt in years.
Safe.
Valued.
Home.
The realization terrified her more than any flight ever could.
But she didn’t run from it.
And through the bond, Lysander felt her walls crack a little further.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.
Just reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and took her hand.
She didn’t pull away.
And in the shadow of the waterfall, with dragons soaring overhead and magic humming through the air, Freya Thornwood let herself fall a little bit in love with her kidnapper.
Just a little bit.
For now.
Reader Reactions