Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~14 min read
“So when a dragon lord challenges another’s territorial claim,” Lord Theron was explaining, gesturing animatedly with his hands, “the proper response is to set their favorite hunting ground on fire. Diplomatically, of course.”
Freya laughed, the sound echoing through the library. “That’s diplomatic?”
“By dragon standards? Absolutely. It shows you’re serious without actually killing anyone. Very civilized.” His eyes glinted with mischief. “Now, if you want to be really insulting, you steal their hoard and replace it with something worthless. Like rocks. Or poetry.”
“Poetry is worthless?”
“To a dragon who hoards gold? Devastating.” Theron leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I once replaced Lysander’s entire book collection with romance novels. He didn’t speak to me for three months.”
“You did not.”
“I absolutely did. Best prank of my century.” He laughed at the memory. “Though in hindsight, maybe it gave him ideas about dramatic rescues and kidnapping brides. My fault, really.”
They were in the library—Lysander’s library, technically, but he’d offered it to Freya for her lessons. Lord Theron had volunteered to teach her dragon politics and culture, claiming it would help her understand what she’d be getting into if she accepted the bond.
What he actually seemed to be doing was telling embarrassing stories about Lysander and making her laugh until her sides hurt.
“Tell me another one,” Freya said, wiping tears from her eyes. “About Lysander. I need ammunition.”
“Ammunition? I like the way you think.” Theron leaned forward conspiratorially. “Alright, so when he was fifty—which is young for dragons but old enough to know better—he decided he could fly through a thunderstorm to prove he was brave. Spoiler: he couldn’t. Lightning struck him three times, he crashed into a lake, and had to be rescued by his mother. She never let him forget it.”
“The great Dragon Prince, defeated by weather.”
“And maternal disappointment. Much worse than weather.” Theron grinned. “He was sulking for weeks. Wouldn’t shift to dragon form because he was ‘reconsidering his life choices.'”
Freya couldn’t help it—she burst out laughing again, the image of a younger Lysander sulking dramatically too perfect. Through the bond, she felt a distant flicker of awareness. He knew she was in his library. Knew she was with Theron. Didn’t seem concerned.
Yet.
“You know what the best part is?” Theron continued. “He still can’t fly well in thunderstorms. Gets all disoriented. Has to land and wait it out like a common bird.”
“I will absolutely use this against him.”
“Please do. He needs to be taken down a peg.” Theron’s expression softened slightly. “But in all seriousness, Freya—he’s good. Stubborn, overprotective, terrible at human courtship. But good. Loyal. Honorable. If you choose him, you’ll have someone who will never betray you, never stop fighting for you, never look at you with anything less than complete adoration.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It probably is. But it’s also rare. Most dragons don’t find their fated mates. Most dragons spend centuries in relationships that are good but never quite complete. What Lysander is offering—what the bond is offering—it’s special. Worth considering, at least.”
Freya fiddled with the edge of a book. “What if I’m only interested because of the bond? What if I accept and then realize I never actually wanted this?”
“Then you’ll have an eternity to work through it with someone who’s committed to making you happy.” Theron’s voice was gentle. “But Freya, I’ve watched you two together. The way you look at him when you think no one’s watching? That’s not the bond forcing anything. That’s genuine attraction.”
Heat flooded her face. “I don’t—”
“You absolutely do. And he looks at you the same way. Like you’re everything he’s been waiting for.” Theron leaned back, smirking. “It’s nauseating, honestly. But also kind of beautiful.”
“You’re terrible at pep talks.”
“I prefer to think of myself as brutally honest.” He stood, stretching. “Come on. Let me show you the historical tapestries. There’s one of the Great Dragon War that’s particularly dramatic. Lots of fire and political intrigue.”
They were halfway across the library, Theron explaining something about ancient dragon battle formations, when the doors slammed open with enough force to rattle the walls.
Lysander stood in the doorway, silver eyes blazing with dragon fire.
“Theron,” he growled, voice barely human. “Step away from her.”
Theron froze, hands raised in mock surrender. “Lysander. Buddy. We’re just studying—”
“I said step away.”
Through the bond, Freya felt it—pure, primal, overwhelming jealousy. His dragon had seen them together, laughing and close, and had completely lost its mind. Every rational thought had been consumed by the possessive need to separate his mate from a perceived rival.
“Lysander, we’re not—” Freya started.
But he was already moving, crossing the library with predatory speed. He grabbed her wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but firm—and pulled her behind him, putting himself between her and Theron.
“She’s MINE,” he snarled.
“Oh, for the love of—” Theron pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mate, I’m your best friend. I’m not trying to steal your human.”
“You were touching her.”
“I was gesturing while talking! That’s what hands do!”
“Too close. You were too close.”
“I was showing her a tapestry!”
Freya yanked her wrist free, fury replacing surprise. “Excuse me? I’m yours?”
Lysander turned, his dragon still far too close to the surface. “Yes. You’re my mate. He shouldn’t be—”
“I’m not a THING you own!” Her voice rose. “I’m a person! I can talk to whoever I want, laugh with whoever I want, learn from whoever I want without asking your permission!”
“He was touching you—”
“He was gesturing! Like a normal person having a normal conversation!” She shoved at his chest. “You don’t get to storm in here like a jealous—”
“I’m not jealous!”
“You’re absolutely jealous!” Freya gestured wildly at him. “Your eyes are literally glowing! Your dragon is going insane because your best friend was teaching me about dragon politics!”
“He was making you laugh.” The accusation came out rough, almost wounded.
“So?”
“You never laugh like that with me.”
The admission stopped her rage in its tracks. Through the bond, she felt the vulnerability underneath his jealousy—the fear that Theron was making her happy in ways Lysander couldn’t. That she’d choose friendship with someone easy and uncomplicated over the intensity of a mate bond.
“I’m going to leave now,” Theron said, backing toward the door. “This feels private. Very private. Possibly requiring relationship counseling—”
“Stay,” Lysander commanded.
“Absolutely not. This is between you two.” Theron was at the door. “Freya, for what it’s worth? He’s being an idiot, but it’s coming from love. Try not to kill him.” Then he fled, closing the door behind him.
Silence fell. Lysander and Freya stared at each other across the library, the bond crackling with emotion—his jealousy and fear, her anger and hurt.
“You don’t own me,” Freya said, quieter now but no less firm. “I’m not property. I’m not something you can just claim and control.”
“I know that.” He ran his hands through his hair, frustration evident. “My human side knows that. But my dragon—”
“Your dragon doesn’t care?”
“My dragon doesn’t understand logic!” The words burst out. “My dragon sees you close to another male and loses its mind. Wants to separate you, mark you, make it clear to everyone that you’re taken. And I’m trying—gods, I’m trying to control it, but it’s so hard.”
Through the bond, she felt the truth of it. The war raging inside him between human reason and dragon instinct. The constant battle to respect her boundaries while his very nature screamed at him to claim her completely.
“How hard?” she asked.
“Do you know how hard this is?” His voice cracked. “Watching you exist in my space but not be fully mine? Seeing other men near you and fighting the urge to destroy them? Giving you space and choice when every fiber of my being wants to lock you in my chambers and never let you out?” He took a shaky breath. “I’m white-knuckling my way through every moment, Freya. Constantly at war with myself. And I’m doing it—I am controlling my dragon—but it’s not easy. It’s torture.”
The raw honesty in his words made her chest ache. She’d known the bond was hard on him. She hadn’t fully understood just how hard.
“Lysander—”
“I’m sorry.” He cut her off. “I’m sorry I stormed in here like a possessive monster. I’m sorry I grabbed you. I’m sorry my dragon can’t handle seeing you happy with someone else without losing its mind. You deserve better than this.”
“I’m not interested in Theron,” she said quietly.
“I know.” His hands clenched into fists. “Rationally, I know. He’s my best friend. He’d never—and you’re not the type to—but my dragon doesn’t care about rational. My dragon sees you smile at another male and wants blood.”
“That’s not healthy.”
“I know.” He laughed, bitter and tired. “Dragon mate bonds aren’t healthy by human standards. They’re all-consuming, possessive, obsessive. We’re territorial about our mates in ways that don’t make sense to anyone else. It’s part of the package.”
Freya moved closer, studying his face. The exhaustion. The constant strain of fighting his own nature. The guilt for being unable to fully control his dragon’s reactions.
“You really are trying,” she realized. “This whole time, you’ve been fighting yourself. For me.”
“Every moment.” His silver eyes met hers, vulnerable. “The dead sheep, the flowers, the poetry—I’m trying to be human for you. Trying to give you the courtship you deserve. But underneath, my dragon is screaming. Always screaming.”
Through the bond, she felt it—the constant roar of possessive need, barely held in check by sheer force of will. He wasn’t just restraining himself occasionally. He was restraining himself constantly, every second, fighting a war he could never fully win.
“What does your dragon want?” she asked.
“You. In every way possible. Marked, bonded, claimed so thoroughly that no one could ever question who you belong to.” His voice dropped. “To lock you away where you’d be safe and mine and never at risk of being taken. To cover you in my scent so every creature that sees you knows you’re spoken for. To—” He stopped, jaw tight. “You don’t want to know what my dragon wants.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“To complete the bond. Right now. Regardless of whether you’re ready.” His eyes glowed brighter. “To make you mine in every possible way so this uncertainty, this fear of losing you, finally ends. That’s what my dragon wants. What it’s wanted since the moment I scented you.”
“But you won’t do it.”
“Never.” The word was absolute. “Because what I want matters less than what you want. Because forcing you would destroy us both. Because love without choice isn’t love—it’s imprisonment.” He took a step back. “So I fight my dragon. Every moment of every day. And I’ll keep fighting it until you’re ready. Even if that means fighting it forever.”
Freya’s anger had completely evaporated, replaced by something else. Understanding. Respect. And a growing realization of just how much he was sacrificing for her agency.
“I’m not interested in Theron,” she repeated. “Or anyone else. I was laughing because he was telling me embarrassing stories about you. Teaching me things that would help me understand this world better.”
“I know. I’m sorry I—”
“Stop apologizing.” She closed the distance between them, surprising them both. “You lost control for a moment. Had a jealous fit. It was possessive and problematic and you need to work on that.”
“I know—”
“But I also understand now. What you’re fighting. How hard you’re trying.” She touched his chest, feeling his racing heart beneath her palm. “Lysander, you can’t be perfect. You’re going to have moments where your dragon wins. Where you act on instinct instead of logic. And I need to understand that—accept that—if this is going to work.”
“You’re not angry?”
“Oh, I’m still angry. You grabbed me like property and snarled at your best friend like a jealous beast.” Her lips twitched despite her words. “But I’m also… impressed? That’s the wrong word. But seeing how hard you’re fighting yourself, how much control you’re actually maintaining—it makes me realize what you’re offering. Not just the bond. But the constant effort to be what I need.”
Through the bond, his hope blazed bright. “Does this mean—”
“It means I’m starting to see you. Really see you. Not just the dragon prince who kidnapped me, but the man underneath. The one who’s trying so hard it’s literally tearing him apart.” She rose on her toes, her face inches from his. “But Lysander? If you ever storm into a room like that again, if you ever pull me away from someone because your dragon is jealous—we’re going to have a serious problem. Understood?”
“Understood.” His breath ghosted across her lips. “I’ll work on it. Talk to dragon counselors, find better coping strategies, something. But Freya—” His voice dropped. “My dragon will always be jealous. Will always be possessive. That won’t change. I can control how I act on it, but I can’t change that I feel it.”
“I know. And I’m learning to accept that.” She pulled back slightly. “Just… trust me more. Trust that I’m choosing to be here. That when I laugh with Theron or anyone else, it’s not because I’m looking for an escape. It’s because I’m finally comfortable enough to be myself.”
“I do trust you.” His hands rose, hovering near her face without touching. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust. Every male who looks at you, who makes you smile, who might be a threat—”
“Needs to be incinerated by your dragon. Yes, I’m getting that.” Despite everything, she smiled. “You’re a jealous disaster.”
“I know. Is it a dealbreaker?”
She considered. This possessive, jealous side of him—it was part of the package. Part of being mated to a dragon. She could either accept it and work with it, or walk away from the entire bond.
“Not a dealbreaker,” she decided. “But it’s on probation. You get jealous again, you talk to me about it instead of storming in like a territorial beast. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Relief flooded through the bond. “Thank you. For understanding. For not leaving immediately.”
“I considered it.” She was only half joking. “But then I remembered—three weeks. I promised three weeks to figure this out. Can’t do that if I run every time you act like a possessive dragon.”
“I’ll do better.”
“You’ll try to do better. There’s a difference.” She stepped back, putting space between them. “Now apologize to Theron. He was helping me, and you treated him like a threat.”
“He was too close—”
“Lysander.”
He sighed. “You’re right. I’ll apologize.” He moved toward the door, then paused. “For what it’s worth? You laughing with someone else shouldn’t bother me. I should be happy you’re comfortable here, making friends, finding joy. My dragon just… doesn’t see it that way.”
“Work on that.”
“I will.” He opened the door, then looked back one more time. “Freya? Thank you. For not giving up on me.”
“Yet,” she corrected. “Not giving up on you yet. You still have three weeks to prove you’re worth the trouble.”
His smile was crooked, hopeful, and heartbreakingly vulnerable. “I’ll use every second.”
Then he was gone, leaving Freya alone in the library with racing thoughts and a bond that hummed with confused emotion.
She’d just had her first real fight with Lysander since the compromise. Had seen his possessive, jealous side at its worst. And instead of running…
She’d stayed.
Understood.
Started to accept that loving a dragon meant accepting all of him—including the parts that were problematic and possessive and would always be a work in progress.
Through the bond, she felt his presence across the palace. Felt him finding Theron, apologizing with genuine remorse. Felt his dragon slowly calming, satisfied now that she’d confirmed she wasn’t interested in anyone else.
“Three weeks,” she whispered to the empty library.
Three weeks to decide if she could live with a jealous dragon for eternity.
Three weeks to figure out if his jealousy came from love or possession.
Three weeks to determine whether being claimed by a dragon prince was freedom or just another beautiful cage.
But right now, alone in his library surrounded by his hoarded books, feeling his presence through the bond like a constant promise…
She thought maybe she already knew the answer.
And it terrified her almost as much as it excited her.
Reader Reactions