Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~14 min read
Freya found Lysander in the training yard the next morning, running through sword forms with a focus that suggested he was using physical exertion to manage the constant war with his dragon.
“I want to take you on a date,” she announced without preamble.
He nearly dropped his sword. “What?”
“A date. Tonight. You’ve been courting me for weeks—badly, then slightly better—but it’s always been you trying to win me.” She crossed her arms, suddenly nervous now that she’d said it out loud. “I want my turn. To court you. To show you that this isn’t just you chasing while I run away.”
Through the bond, she felt his shock melting into pure joy. “You want to court me?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m absolutely making it weird. This is the best thing that’s happened since you agreed to stay.” He set down the sword, moving toward her with that predatory grace that made her heart skip. “What did you have in mind?”
“That’s a surprise. Just—” She held up a hand when he got too close, maintaining space. “Meet me in your library tonight. Sunset. And Lysander?”
“Yes?”
“Dress comfortably. No prince formality. No trying to impress me. Just… you.”
His smile was devastating. “I can do that.”
Freya spent the entire day preparing, with Mira’s enthusiastic help and Princess Lyssa’s suspiciously detailed suggestions about what dragons found romantic.
“Books are good,” Lyssa said, lounging on Freya’s bed while Mira arranged flowers. “He’ll appreciate the thought. But you should also incorporate his hoard somehow—dragons are possessive about their hoards, so being invited into that space is intimate.”
“I’m planning the date in his library. That’s already his hoard.”
“Perfect. What about food?”
“Wine and small plates. Nothing too formal.” Freya arranged cushions near the fireplace, creating a comfortable space away from the formal seating. “I want it to feel… equal. Like we’re two people getting to know each other, not a dragon prince and his potential mate.”
“You are his potential mate.”
“I know. But tonight, I want us to just be Lysander and Freya. No bond obligations, no courtship pressure. Just conversation.”
Lyssa’s expression softened. “He’s going to love this. You know that, right? My brother has been chasing you for weeks, fighting himself constantly. You taking the initiative, showing him you’re choosing this—it’s everything he’s been hoping for.”
Through the bond, Freya could feel Lysander’s presence across the palace. He was distracted, excited, nervous. She’d never felt him nervous before.
It was endearing.
By sunset, everything was ready. The library was arranged with cushions and blankets near the fireplace. Wine breathed in crystal decanters. Small plates of cheese, fruit, and bread were artfully arranged. And she’d pulled several books from his collection—rare editions she’d noticed him handling with particular care—and set them nearby as conversation starters.
The final touch was her appearance. No formal gown, no elaborate hair. Just a simple dress in deep blue, her hair loose around her shoulders, comfortable and herself.
When Lysander arrived at exactly sunset, he stopped in the doorway and stared.
“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.
“You’re supposed to notice the setup, not me.”
“I noticed the setup. It’s thoughtful and perfect and clearly took effort.” His eyes hadn’t left her face. “But you’re beautiful, and I can’t not say it.”
He’d followed her instructions—comfortable clothes, no formal prince attire. Just soft pants and a loose shirt that somehow made him look more dangerous than his formal wear ever did. His hair was loose, falling to his shoulders, and without the trappings of royalty, he looked younger. More vulnerable.
“Come sit,” Freya said, gesturing to the cushions.
They settled by the fireplace, close but not touching, the bond humming between them with anticipation. Freya poured wine, her hands only slightly shaking.
“So this is a date,” Lysander said, accepting the glass. “I’ve read about these. In the romance novels.”
“Please tell me you didn’t get ideas from the novels.”
“Would it help if I said no?”
“Not even a little.”
He laughed—genuine and warm—and some of Freya’s nervousness faded. This was good. This felt right. Just the two of them, no pressure, no drama. Learning each other.
“I have a question,” she said. “Actually, I have a lot of questions. About you. Your life. Everything you’ve experienced in one hundred twenty-seven years.”
“That’s a long time to cover in one evening.”
“Then we’ll start small.” She curled into the cushions, wine glass cradled in her hands. “What do you dream about? When you sleep, what does a dragon prince dream of?”
Lysander was quiet for a moment, considering. “Flying, mostly. The freedom of it. No responsibilities, no expectations, just wind and sky and endless space.” He looked at the fire. “And lately, you. I dream about you constantly. Different scenarios—some from memory, some imagined. All ending with you choosing to stay.”
“Do I ever leave? In your dreams?”
“Every nightmare.” His voice dropped. “I dream that you walk away, that I fade, that my dragon dies screaming your name. Those dreams feel more real than any flight ever has.”
The raw honesty in his words made her chest ache. Through the bond, she felt his fear—the constant terror that at the end of two weeks, she’d choose to leave.
“What did you dream about before you found me?” she asked softly.
“Nothing specific. Just… loneliness. Endless days bleeding into endless nights with no one to share them with.” He turned to look at her. “My parents’ bond is beautiful. Complete. I grew up watching them be everything to each other, and I wanted that. Ached for it. Spent decades hoping, then centuries losing hope that I’d ever find my mate.”
“That sounds heartbreaking.”
“It was reality.” He took a sip of wine. “I threw myself into ruling, into training, into collecting books because they couldn’t leave me. Built walls around the parts of myself that hurt most. And I thought—maybe this is enough. Maybe I can exist without that completion everyone else finds.”
“But you couldn’t.”
“No. Because I’d seen what I was missing. Known it was possible, just not possible for me.” His silver eyes reflected firelight. “Then I scented you across a crowded ballroom, and those walls I’d spent centuries building? They shattered in a heartbeat. Suddenly everything I’d tried to convince myself I didn’t need—it was right there. Real. Within reach if I was brave enough to claim it.”
“Or reckless enough to crash a wedding.”
“That too.” He smiled slightly. “I’m not proud of the kidnapping. But I’m not sorry I did it. You were going to marry Viktor, and that would have destroyed you. At least with me, you have choice. Even if it took me a while to actually give you that choice properly.”
Freya reached for one of the books she’d set aside—a first edition of dragon poetry, one of his most prized possessions. “Why books? Most dragons hoard gold or jewels. You hoard knowledge.”
“Knowledge doesn’t lose value. Gold can be stolen, jewels can shatter. But books—” He took the volume reverently. “Books are immortal. The thoughts of authors long dead, preserved forever. Perspectives and stories and worlds that exist nowhere else. Every book is a treasure that can never be replicated.”
“And you’re sharing them with me.”
“Because you understand.” He looked at her with such intensity it stole her breath. “You love books the way I do. See them as gateways instead of objects. When I showed you my hoard, you didn’t see wealth—you saw wonder. Do you know how rare that is?”
“Most people see the gold?”
“Most people see dollar signs or bragging rights. You saw beauty.” He set the book down carefully. “That’s when I knew for certain the bond was right. Not because magic said so, but because you valued what I valued. Saw the world the way I see it.”
They talked for hours, the conversation flowing naturally from topic to topic. Freya asked about his childhood—apparently young dragons were chaotic disasters who accidentally set things on fire. He asked about her dreams before the forced marriage—she’d wanted to study, to travel, to have adventures instead of being married off.
“You can still do those things,” he said. “If you accept the bond, you’ll have centuries to study whatever interests you. We can travel anywhere you want—the fae realms, distant dragon courts, even human kingdoms if you want.”
“As your mate.”
“As my partner.” He corrected gently. “As someone who shares my life because she wants to, not because she has to.”
The wine and conversation warmed her, made her brave. “Tell me about the loneliness. Really tell me. What it was like to wait over a century for someone who might never come.”
Lysander was quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire. “It’s like being starved but functioning. You can survive, can go through the motions of existing, but you’re always aware something essential is missing. I watched my friends find their mates—watched them become complete in ways I couldn’t quite achieve on my own.” His voice grew rough. “And the worst part was not knowing if I’d ever find mine. If I was one of the unlucky dragons who’d spend five hundred years alone because the magic had made a mistake.”
“Did you ever give up?”
“I tried to. Told myself to accept reality, find a good partner who wasn’t my fated mate, build a life that was enough if not perfect.” He looked at her. “But I couldn’t. Because once you’ve seen what perfect looks like in your parents’ bond, once you know what you’re missing—you can’t settle for less.”
“Then you scented me.”
“Then I scented you, and everything made sense.” His hand reached out, hovering near hers. “The waiting, the loneliness, the years of feeling incomplete—it was all leading to that moment. To you. Every lonely night, every disappointed search, every moment of losing hope—it was worth it. Because they led me to you.”
Freya took his hand, interlacing their fingers. His breath caught at the contact.
“Lysander, I need to tell you something,” she said quietly.
“Anything.”
“I’m starting to feel the bond. Really feel it.” The admission came out shakier than she intended. “Not just your emotions bleeding through—my own feelings, separate from the magic. And it terrifies me.”
“Why?” His hand tightened on hers.
“Because what if it’s just magic? What if I’m only feeling this way because the bond is forcing it, and when we complete it, I’ll realize none of this was real? That I never actually wanted you, I was just responding to ancient magic manipulating my emotions?”
Through the bond, she felt his pain at her words. But when he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Can I tell you what I think?”
“Please.”
“I think you’re scared because you’ve never been allowed to want something this much before. Your whole life, your wants didn’t matter—your father’s needs, your family’s reputation, Viktor’s demands. You’ve learned to not trust your own desires because they were always dismissed or punished.” He shifted closer. “And now you’re feeling something real, something powerful, and you can’t believe it’s allowed. So you’re looking for reasons it might not be real. Ways to protect yourself if it disappears.”
The accuracy of his words made her eyes burn. “Maybe.”
“Freya, the bond doesn’t create love. It recognizes compatibility and amplifies what’s already there. What you’re feeling? That’s yours. Real. Magic might have helped you recognize it faster than you would have naturally, but it’s not manufacturing emotions that don’t exist.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I can feel you through the bond. And I can tell the difference between what the magic amplifies and what’s genuinely yours.” He brought their joined hands to his chest. “This fear you’re feeling right now? That’s real. The attraction when you watch me train? Real. The way your heart races when I’m close? Real. The bond enhances it all, yes. But it’s building on a foundation that was already there.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Then we spend eternity figuring it out together.” His smile was crooked. “But I’m not wrong. I know what the bond feels like, how it operates. And what I feel from you—it’s not manufactured. It’s genuine emotion that the magic is helping you recognize and accept.”
Freya wanted to believe him. Gods, she wanted to believe that what she felt was real, that falling for him wasn’t just responding to magical manipulation. But the fear was still there, whispering doubts.
“I don’t know how to stop questioning everything,” she admitted.
“Then don’t.” He pulled her closer, until she was tucked against his side. “Question everything. Test the bond in every way you can think of. Analyze your feelings until you’re certain. But Freya—while you’re doing all that, also pay attention to how you feel. Not what you think you should feel or what the bond might be making you feel. What you actually feel.”
“And what if I can’t tell the difference?”
“Then trust me to tell you. I can feel you through the bond. I know when your emotions are genuine versus when you’re trying to talk yourself into or out of something.” His arm wrapped around her. “Use me as your compass. If you’re unsure, ask. I’ll tell you if what you’re feeling is the bond or just you.”
It was a strange kind of reassurance—using their connection to verify her own feelings. But somehow, it helped. Having someone who could sense her emotions more clearly than she could, who could help her navigate the confusing tangle of bond magic and genuine attraction.
“I’m falling for you,” she whispered. “I’m terrified, and I’m still questioning everything, but I’m falling. And I don’t know how to stop.”
Through the bond, his joy was overwhelming. “Then don’t stop. Just fall. I’ll catch you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I’ll keep doing it. Forever, if you let me.”
They sat in comfortable silence, the fire crackling, the bond humming between them with promise and possibility. Outside, dragons soared through the night sky. Inside, two people who’d met in chaos were finally finding their way to each other in peace.
“Thank you,” Lysander said eventually. “For tonight. For planning this, for asking about my life, for treating me like more than just the dragon who kidnapped you.”
“You are more than that.” Freya looked up at him. “You’re complicated and possessive and sometimes infuriating. But you’re also kind and patient and trying so hard to be what I need. I wanted you to know that I see that. All of it.”
“Does this mean—”
“It means I’m still figuring it out. Still have doubts and fears and questions.” She smiled against his shoulder. “But it also means I’m trying. Really trying. To let myself feel instead of constantly analyzing. To trust that what’s between us is real.”
“That’s all I ask.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head—gentle, reverent, asking nothing more. “Two weeks left. Then you decide. Whatever you choose, at least I’ll have tonight. This moment. You, choosing to spend time with me not because you have to, but because you wanted to.”
Through the bond, Freya felt his contentment. For once, his dragon was quiet, satisfied. They were together, she was willingly in his arms, and that was enough.
And sitting there in his library, surrounded by his hoarded treasures, feeling the bond weave them closer together with every shared breath—Freya thought maybe it was enough for her too.
Not forever. Not yet.
But for tonight, it was everything.
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