Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~12 min read
The war horns sounded at dawn, shattering the fragile peace.
Freya jolted awake in Lysander’s arms—they’d fallen asleep in his secret room, surrounded by paintings, the bond humming contentedly between them after last night’s kiss. But the moment those horns echoed across the mountains, she felt Lysander’s entire body go tense.
“What is that?” she asked, though she already knew. Could feel his dread through the bond.
“War.” He was up instantly, shifting from peaceful to predatory in a heartbeat. “Viktor’s made his move.”
They rushed to the council chamber, Freya still wearing yesterday’s dress, her hair a disaster. But no one cared about propriety when war was literally marching toward their gates.
The chamber was already full—Queen Seraphine, King Aldric, Lord Theron, Princess Lyssa, and dozens of dragon lords, all gathered around magical projections showing the border.
And there, spreading across the valley like a plague—an army. Thousands of soldiers in Viktor’s crimson and gold. Siege weapons. Cavalry. Archers. More forces than Freya had imagined the Northern Kingdom could muster.
“Ten thousand strong,” an advisor was saying. “With reinforcements from the Western Alliance and Southern Kingdoms. They’re calling it the Alliance of Free Peoples—claiming they’re liberating Lady Freya from dragon enchantment.”
“Enchantment,” Lysander growled. “She’s under no enchantment. She chose to stay.”
“They don’t believe that.” Queen Seraphine’s voice was grim. “Viktor is claiming you used magic to manipulate her. That she’s been held prisoner and coerced into defending her captors.”
Freya stared at the projection, her stomach churning. “That’s not true. I’m here willingly. I chose—”
“They won’t believe you.” King Aldric cut her off, not unkindly. “Viktor has spent weeks spreading propaganda. Claiming dragons violated sacred guest-right, kidnapped a human noble, and now use dark magic to keep her compliant. He’s positioned himself as her rescuer.”
“But I don’t want to be rescued!”
“Doesn’t matter to him. This isn’t about you, Lady Freya. It never was.” The King gestured to the army. “This is about power. Viktor wants war with dragons. You were just the excuse he needed.”
The bronze-scaled dragon lord from before stood, his expression furious. “Then we give him war. We have every right to defend our realm. Viktor violated guest-right, sent assassins, and now marches an army to our borders. We crush them.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the council.
“How many would die?” Freya asked quietly.
Everyone turned to look at her.
“If you fight,” she continued, voice steadier now, “how many casualties? On both sides?”
“Thousands,” Queen Seraphine said honestly. “We’d win—dragons are more powerful than human armies. But it would be brutal. Bloody. The kind of war that echoes through generations.”
“All because Viktor can’t accept that I chose someone else.” Freya’s hands clenched into fists. “All because a human prince’s pride was wounded.”
“It’s more than pride now,” Lord Theron said. “He’s rallied other kingdoms to his cause. Convinced them dragons are a threat to human sovereignty. If we back down, we look weak. If we fight, we prove his point about dragons being violent.”
“So we’re damned either way,” Lysander said bitterly.
“Unless we surrender Lady Freya.” The bronze dragon’s voice was hard. “Return her to Viktor. Defuse the situation before it escalates.”
The temperature in the room dropped. Lysander’s eyes blazed silver, his dragon rising to the surface. “Never.”
“Your Highness, with respect—”
“I said NEVER.” Magic crackled around him. “She’s my mate. Mine. I won’t give her to that monster regardless of how many armies he brings.”
“Even if it means war? Even if thousands die?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “Even then.”
Through the bond, Freya felt his absolute conviction. He would watch the world burn before handing her back to Viktor. Would start a war, destroy kingdoms, become the monster everyone feared dragons were—all to keep her.
It was romantic and terrifying in equal measure.
“There has to be another way,” Princess Lyssa said desperately. “Some solution that doesn’t involve mass casualties or surrendering Freya.”
“There isn’t.” King Aldric’s voice was heavy. “Viktor has forced this. Either we fight, or we surrender his ‘property.’ Those are our options.”
“No.” Freya stood, her voice cutting through the debate. “Those aren’t our only options.”
Every ancient gaze turned to her.
“I won’t go back to Viktor,” she said firmly. “I chose to stay here. Chose Lysander. That’s my right, my decision, and no amount of armies changes that.”
“Lady Freya—” someone started.
“But I also won’t let you fight a war for me.” She looked around the chamber, meeting ancient eyes without flinching. “I won’t be responsible for thousands of deaths. Won’t be the excuse Viktor uses to paint dragons as monsters. There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t,” Lysander said, his voice rough. “I’ve spent weeks trying to find one. There’s no diplomatic solution. No negotiation that satisfies Viktor. He wants you, and he’s willing to burn the world to get you.”
“Then I challenge him.” The words came out before she’d fully thought them through. “Single combat. Me versus Viktor. Winner decides my fate.”
Silence crashed through the council chamber.
“Absolutely not,” Lysander said immediately.
“It’s the perfect solution. Ancient law recognizes trial by combat. It’s binding.”
“You’re a human woman with no combat training going against a warrior prince who’s trained his entire life to kill.” Lysander moved toward her, his expression somewhere between furious and terrified. “He’d destroy you.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“There’s no maybe! He’s bigger, stronger, trained—”
“And I’m desperate. Which makes me dangerous.” Freya straightened her spine. “Viktor thinks I’m weak. Thinks I’m some docile prize to be won. I’ll use that. Make him underestimate me.”
“By getting yourself killed?” Lysander grabbed her shoulders—not hard, but firm. “Freya, I just got you. I’m not watching you die.”
Through the bond, she felt his terror. The thought of losing her now, after she’d finally chosen him, was destroying him.
“I’ll train her.” Lord Theron stood, his expression serious. “One week. I can teach her enough to have a chance.”
“A chance isn’t enough!” Lysander’s voice rose. “She needs a guarantee, and there is none! Viktor fights dirty. He’ll cheat. He’ll—”
“He’ll kill me.” Freya cut him off. “I know. I’m not naive about what I’m proposing. But Lysander—look at the alternative. War. Thousands dead. Kingdoms destroyed. All because Viktor wants to own me.” She touched his face, feeling him tremble beneath her palm. “I’d rather die fighting for my choice than live knowing that many people suffered because I was too scared to face him.”
“I’ll fight for you,” he said desperately. “Challenge him myself. Dragon versus human—I’d win easily.”
“And prove Viktor right that dragons are violent monsters who don’t respect human sovereignty.” She shook her head. “It has to be me. Human versus human. My choice to make. My fight to win or lose.”
“I can’t—” His voice broke. “I can’t lose you. Not now. Not when I’ve finally—”
“You won’t lose me.” She pulled him down, pressing her forehead to his. “I’m not planning to die, you idiot. I’m planning to win.”
“How? You’ve never held a sword!”
“Then teach me. You and Theron and anyone else who can help. I have a week.” She pulled back to look at him. “A week to learn everything I need to beat Viktor.”
“It’s not enough time.”
“It has to be.”
Queen Seraphine stood, her voice cutting through their desperate whispers. “The council will vote. All in favor of Lady Freya’s challenge—trial by combat, her versus Prince Viktor, winner decides her fate?”
Hands rose around the chamber. Not all of them—some dragons clearly thought this was suicide. But enough. More than half.
“Opposed?”
Fewer hands, but Lysander’s was among them. “I oppose. This is madness. She’ll die.”
“Noted.” The Queen’s expression was sympathetic. “But the majority supports Lady Freya’s right to choose her own battle. We will send word to Viktor. Trial by combat in one week. Neutral ground. Binding under ancient law.”
“He might refuse,” someone pointed out.
“He won’t.” King Aldric’s smile was sharp. “He thinks he’ll win easily. Thinks he’s being generous allowing her the ‘honor’ of proving herself. His arrogance will make him accept.”
The council began discussing logistics—location, terms, witnesses. But Freya barely heard them. She was focused on Lysander, on the devastation in his silver eyes, the way his hands were still gripping her shoulders like he could keep her safe through sheer will.
“I can’t watch you die,” he whispered through the bond. “Please don’t make me watch you die.”
“Then help me win.” She took his hands. “Train me. Teach me everything. Give me a fighting chance.”
“A fighting chance isn’t enough. I want a guarantee.”
“There are no guarantees. You know that.” She squeezed his hands. “But I’m not helpless, Lysander. I’m angry, I’m desperate, and I’m fighting for something Viktor never gave me—choice. That’s powerful.”
Through the bond, she felt his struggle. Every instinct screamed at him to forbid this, to lock her away, to fight Viktor himself regardless of consequences. His dragon was raging, demanding he protect his mate from this threat.
But his human side understood. Understood that she needed this. Needed to face Viktor on her own terms. Needed to prove—to herself more than anyone—that she wasn’t a prize to be won. She was a person who could fight for her own fate.
“I’ll train you,” he said finally, voice rough. “Every moment of the next week. Everything I know. But Freya—” His eyes glowed silver. “If he starts winning, if you’re in real danger, I’m stopping the fight. Consequences be damned.”
“That would prove Viktor right about dragons—”
“I don’t care.” His hands tightened on hers. “I don’t care about politics or optics or proving anything. I care about you. And I won’t watch you die for the sake of diplomatic appearances.”
She should have argued. Should have insisted he let her fight regardless of the outcome. But through the bond, she felt his absolute conviction. If she started losing, he would intervene. Would become the monster Viktor claimed dragons were. Would start the war they were trying to prevent.
All to save her.
It was possessive and problematic and completely, devastatingly Lysander.
“Fine,” she said. “But I won’t lose. I’m going to beat Viktor. Then this is over. No war, no more running, just—” She paused. “What happens after? If I win?”
“Then you’re free.” Queen Seraphine’s voice was gentle. “Free to stay, free to leave, free to choose the bond or walk away. By defeating Viktor, you’ll have proven your autonomy. No one—dragon or human—can question your choices after that.”
“And if I lose?”
Silence.
“You won’t lose,” Lysander said fiercely. “I won’t let you.”
But through the bond, she felt his fear. His absolute terror that he was about to watch the woman he loved die in combat against a trained warrior, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it beyond training her as best he could in seven days.
“One week,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “Seven days to prepare.”
“Seven days,” he agreed, pulling her close. “And then you fight the bastard who tried to own you. And you win. Because losing isn’t an option.”
Through the bond, his determination flooded her. He would give her every advantage, every tool, every skill he possessed. Would train her until they both collapsed from exhaustion. Would pour everything he had into making sure she survived this.
Because the alternative—watching her die—wasn’t something his dragon could survive.
Around them, the council dispersed with plans to arrange the combat, send messages, prepare for either war or trial by combat.
But Freya barely noticed. She was focused on Lysander, on the way he was holding her like she might disappear, on the bond humming between them with desperate hope and terrible fear.
“I’m going to win,” she whispered.
“You have to.” His voice broke. “Because I just found you, and I’m not ready to lose you.”
“Then make sure I don’t lose.”
“I will.” He pulled back to look at her, silver eyes blazing with determination. “Starting now. No rest, no breaks, nothing but training until the combat. I’m going to make you into a warrior if it kills us both.”
Through the bond, she felt his fierce protectiveness, his desperate love, his absolute refusal to accept her death as a possibility.
And surrounded by dragons who’d agreed to let her fight, with a war postponed but not prevented, Freya made herself a promise:
She would win.
She would beat Viktor.
She would prove that being taken by a dragon was the best thing that ever happened to her.
And then—finally, freely—she would choose her fate.
On her terms.
In her time.
As herself.
Not Viktor’s prize.
Not even Lysander’s mate.
Just Freya Thornwood, fighting for her own damn future.
“Let’s begin,” she said.
And the dragon prince who loved her smiled—fierce and proud and terrified—and led her to the training yards to turn a kidnapped bride into a warrior.
One week.
Seven days.
To save her life and choose her destiny.
No pressure at all.
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