Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~11 min read
The flight felt like it lasted forever and no time at all.
Freya’s fingers ached from gripping dragon scales, her stomach churned from the altitude, and her wedding dress—thirty pounds of now-ruined silk—tangled around her legs like a beautiful prison she couldn’t escape even at ten thousand feet. Beside her, Mira had given up screaming and now just whimpered quietly, her face buried against Freya’s shoulder.
But the view.
Gods, the view was breathtaking.
They’d left the human kingdoms behind miles ago, crossing mountain ranges that touched the clouds. The world below transformed from neat farmland and orderly cities to wild forests and crystal rivers that looked like veins of silver cutting through emerald valleys. The air grew thinner, colder, tinged with something that made Freya’s skin prickle with awareness.
Magic. She was flying through actual magic.
The dragon—Lysander—banked left, and Freya’s stomach dropped as they descended toward a mountain peak that seemed to shimmer in and out of focus. One moment it was just stone and snow. The next, massive spires of crystal and gold materialized, towers that spiraled toward the sky, bridges made of light connecting impossible architecture.
The Drakemyr Court.
It looked like something from a fairy tale. Beautiful. Ancient. Utterly alien.
They landed in a courtyard paved with black stone that gleamed like polished obsidian. The impact jolted through Freya’s bones, and she gasped as Lysander’s claws carefully released her and Mira onto solid ground. Her knees buckled immediately—apparently three hours of dragon flight did terrible things to one’s legs—and she caught herself on her hands, wedding dress pooling around her.
Magic crackled through the air, and suddenly Lysander was human again.
Still naked.
“Someone get him clothes!” Freya snapped, her face burning as she deliberately looked anywhere else. “Does he just… shift naked every time?”
“Usually,” a female voice said, amused. “It’s rather inconvenient for laundry.”
A woman appeared—practically materialized—holding a robe. She was tall, elegant, with black hair shot through with silver and eyes that matched Lysander’s. Dragon royalty, if Freya had to guess. The power rolling off her was suffocating.
Lysander took the robe, shrugging it on without apparent embarrassment. “Thank you, Lyssa.”
“Don’t thank me. Mother is going to murder you.” The woman—Lyssa—turned her silver gaze on Freya, and her expression shifted to delighted surprise. “Oh. Oh, you actually found her. Your fated mate. Kael, she’s perfect!”
“Don’t call me Kael in front of—”
“And you kidnapped her!” Lyssa clapped her hands together. “On her wedding day! To another man! This is the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done. I’m so proud.”
“It wasn’t kidnapping,” Lysander said tersely. “It was a rescue.”
“It was DEFINITELY kidnapping!” Freya found her voice, fury replacing shock as she struggled to her feet. Her legs shook, but anger gave her strength. She whirled on Lysander, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You crashed through a cathedral roof, declared I was yours in front of three hundred witnesses, and flew away with me! That’s the definition of kidnapping!”
“You came willingly.”
“I came desperately! There’s a difference!”
“You said yes.”
“I said yes to not marrying Viktor! Not to being dragged to some magical dragon realm without explanation!” Freya’s voice rose, weeks of suppressed emotion finally breaking free. “You had no right! No right to just… just claim me like property and fly off like—”
“You’re right.”
That stopped her mid-rant. “What?”
Lysander met her eyes, his expression serious. “You’re right. I should have explained first. Should have given you more choice. But I couldn’t—when I saw you standing there, about to bind yourself to him—” His hands clenched into fists. “My dragon wouldn’t let me leave you there. I’m sorry for the method, but I’m not sorry I took you.”
“That’s not an apology!”
“It’s the best you’re going to get.”
Freya stared at him, this infuriating dragon prince who’d upended her entire life, and felt the urge to hit him. Or scream. Or possibly both.
Before she could do either, the air pressure changed.
It was subtle—just a shift in the atmosphere—but suddenly everyone in the courtyard was bowing. Even Lyssa dropped into a curtsy. Lysander’s jaw tightened, but he inclined his head respectfully.
A woman descended the steps from the main palace.
She was breathtaking in a way that had nothing to do with conventional beauty and everything to do with raw power. Tall, regal, with midnight hair and eyes like molten silver. A crown of twisted gold and dragon bone sat on her head, and her gown seemed to be made of shadows and starlight.
Queen Seraphine. The Dragon Queen herself.
Freya’s anger evaporated, replaced by instinctive terror. This woman could probably incinerate her with a thought.
“Lysander.” The Queen’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Explain why you brought an unwilling human to court.”
“She’s my mate!” Lysander stepped forward, protective. “Mother, I found her. After all these years, I finally found her.”
“I can see that.” Queen Seraphine’s gaze slid to Freya, assessing. “The bond recognized her. But does she know that?”
“He mentioned it,” Freya said before she could stop herself. “While kidnapping me.”
The Queen’s lips twitched. “I see.”
“Your Majesty, I can explain—” Lysander began.
“No need.” Queen Seraphine raised a hand. “I know my son. Subtle he is not. Romantic, perhaps, in a disaster-prone sort of way. But subtle?” She shook her head. “You crashed her wedding.”
“It was a terrible wedding.”
“That’s not the point.”
“She was terrified!”
“Still not the point.” The Queen turned to Freya, and her expression softened fractionally. “Child, what is your name?”
“Freya. Freya Thornwood, Your Majesty.” The words came out automatically, years of noble training kicking in even through the chaos. She dropped into a curtsy, her ruined wedding dress making the gesture absurd.
“Well, Lady Freya Thornwood.” The Queen stepped closer, and Freya fought the urge to step back. “My son has created quite the diplomatic incident. By dragon law, he has the right to claim his fated mate. But by the treaty between our kingdoms, kidnapping a human noble on her wedding day is… problematic.”
“I understand, Your Majesty.”
“Do you?” Those silver eyes seemed to see straight through her. “Do you understand that the mate bond is real? That what my son feels for you isn’t a choice or a whim, but an ancient magic that recognized you as his perfect match?”
Freya swallowed hard. “He… mentioned something about that. Before the kidnapping.”
“And how do you feel about it?”
How did she feel? Terrified. Angry. Confused. But also—and this was the part that scared her most—curious. Because when Lysander had looked at her in that cathedral, when he’d asked her to come with him, she’d felt something. A pull. A recognition that went deeper than logic.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know anything about dragon bonds or fated mates or any of this. I was supposed to marry a cruel prince to save my family from ruin. Then a dragon crashed through the ceiling. I’m still processing.”
Queen Seraphine smiled—a real smile that transformed her face from regal to almost warm. “An honest answer. Good. I was worried my son had chosen someone weak-willed.”
“She’s not weak,” Lysander said immediately. “She stood up to me. Called the kidnapping exactly what it was.”
“I like her already.” Lyssa bounced forward, grabbing Freya’s hand before she could protest. “Hello! I’m Princess Lyssa, Lysander’s sister and your new sister-in-law. Well, future sister-in-law. Once you accept the bond. Which you will, because Lysander is actually wonderful once you get past the whole broody dragon prince thing.”
“Lyssa—” Lysander growled.
“And this must be your maid!” Lyssa turned to Mira, who looked ready to faint. “Don’t worry, we don’t eat humans. Much. That’s a joke! We don’t eat humans at all. Anymore. That’s also a joke!”
“You’re not helping,” Lysander muttered.
“I’m helping tremendously.” Lyssa beamed. “Come on, let’s get you both settled. You need to change out of that wedding dress—it’s gorgeous but completely impractical—and then we can give you the tour and explain everything about dragon culture and the mate bond and—”
“Lyssa.” Queen Seraphine’s voice cut through the chatter. “Perhaps give Lady Freya a moment to breathe?”
“Right. Sorry. I’m excited. Lysander finally found his mate! Do you know how long we’ve been waiting? Over a century! I’ve been taking bets on when he’d find her. I lost, actually. I bet it would happen in a dragon court, not a human wedding—”
“Lyssa.”
“Going now!” She grabbed Freya’s hand. “Come on. I promise the guest chambers are lovely. No cages or anything. My brother isn’t that type of kidnapper.”
Freya let herself be pulled forward, mostly because her brain had stopped working. Mira trailed behind, wide-eyed and terrified. As they crossed the courtyard, Freya looked back at Lysander.
He was watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. Not possessive, exactly. More like… desperate. Like he was afraid she’d disappear if he looked away.
Through the chaos of her thoughts, she felt something. A warmth that wasn’t hers. An emotion bleeding through from somewhere else.
Please don’t run, it seemed to say. Please give me a chance.
Freya looked away first, following Lyssa into the palace.
Behind her, she heard Queen Seraphine’s voice, quiet but stern. “You have created a mess, my son.”
“I know.”
“The human kingdoms will demand her return. Prince Viktor will call for war.”
“Let him.”
“You cannot simply kidnap your mate and expect no consequences.”
“I don’t care about consequences.” Lysander’s voice was fierce. “I care about her. She was trapped, Mother. Terrified. I couldn’t leave her there.”
A pause. Then, softer: “No. You couldn’t. You’re your father’s son—when you love, you love with everything you have.” A sigh. “But this will not be easy.”
“Nothing worth having ever is.”
Freya stumbled on the threshold, those words echoing in her mind. She was something worth having? This prince who barely knew her thought she was worth starting a war over?
It was absurd.
It was terrifying.
It was—she couldn’t even finish the thought because Lyssa was pulling her through corridors of impossible beauty, chattering about dragon traditions and mate bonds and how thrilled everyone was going to be.
“Here!” Lyssa threw open a door. “Your chambers. Well, guest chambers. Eventually they’ll be your permanent chambers when you accept the bond, but one step at a time, right?”
The room was stunning. High ceilings, windows that overlooked mountains and clouds, furnishings that looked like they cost more than her family’s entire estate. A bed large enough for a dragon to sleep on in human form. Tapestries showing dragons in flight.
A beautiful prison. Or a beautiful sanctuary. Freya couldn’t tell which yet.
“I’ll have clothes sent up,” Lyssa was saying. “And food. You must be starving. And Mira, we’ll set you up in the servants’ quarters right next door so you’re close—”
“Thank you,” Freya interrupted, exhaustion finally hitting her. “Princess Lyssa, I appreciate the welcome, but I need… I need a moment. Please.”
Lyssa’s expression softened. “Of course. I’m sorry. This is a lot. I’ll send up dinner and leave you alone. But if you need anything—anything at all—just ask.” She hesitated at the door. “For what it’s worth? My brother is an idiot about a lot of things. But he’s not wrong about the mate bond. You really are meant for each other.”
Then she was gone, the door closing with a soft click.
Freya stood in the center of the room, still in her ruined wedding dress, and felt the weight of the day finally crash down on her.
She’d been kidnapped by a dragon prince.
Brought to a magical realm.
Claimed as a fated mate by ancient magic she didn’t understand.
And somehow, impossibly, part of her was relieved.
“My lady?” Mira’s voice was small. “What do we do now?”
Freya looked at her loyal maid—terrified but still here—and felt something fierce settle in her chest.
“Now?” She started unlacing the cursed wedding dress. “Now we figure out exactly what a fated mate bond means. And whether a dragon prince who kidnaps his mate deserves to keep her.”
Outside her window, a massive black dragon soared past, silver eyes gleaming.
Freya watched him fly and felt that strange warmth in her chest again.
Mine, something whispered.
She wasn’t sure if it was his thought or hers.
And that terrified her most of all.
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