Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~11 min read
Freya lasted exactly two hours before the questions became unbearable.
She’d bathed—an elaborate affair involving servants who materialized and disappeared like ghosts, leaving behind soaps that smelled of mountain herbs and water that stayed perfectly hot without any visible fire. She’d changed into clothes that fit like they were made for her—soft leggings and a tunic in deep forest green that was comfortable enough to move in but elegant enough to feel appropriate for a palace.
Mira had been settled in adjoining quarters, finally calm enough to stop shaking. Dinner had been delivered—roasted meat, fresh bread, vegetables she didn’t recognize but tasted incredible, and wine that was definitely magical because two sips made her feel warm and relaxed in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.
And through it all, she could feel him.
It was subtle. A warmth at the edge of her awareness. Emotions that weren’t hers bleeding through—frustration, longing, fierce protectiveness, and underneath it all, a bone-deep satisfaction that made her skin prickle.
She’s here. She’s safe. She’s mine.
The thoughts came through like whispers, and Freya didn’t know if she was imagining them or if this was what a mate bond felt like. Either way, she needed answers.
She found a servant in the hallway—a young woman with pointed ears and eyes that reflected light like a cat’s. Fae, probably. Everything in this realm seemed to be touched by magic.
“I need to speak with Queen Seraphine,” Freya said, trying to sound authoritative rather than desperate. “Is that… can I do that? Request an audience?”
The servant smiled. “Her Majesty has been expecting you, my lady. She’s in the library. I’ll take you there.”
Of course the Dragon Queen had been expecting her. Freya was starting to suspect that very little happened in this palace without Queen Seraphine knowing about it.
The library was exactly what Freya would have designed if she’d had unlimited resources and magic at her disposal. Three stories of books, shelves carved from dark wood that spiraled up toward a glass ceiling showing stars she didn’t recognize. Floating lanterns provided warm light, and the whole space smelled like old paper and leather and something indefinably magical.
Queen Seraphine sat in a high-backed chair near a fireplace, reading. She looked up when Freya entered, unsurprised.
“Lady Freya. I wondered how long you’d wait before seeking answers.”
“Not very long, apparently.” Freya moved closer, her hands clasped in front of her to hide their trembling. “Your Majesty, I need to understand what’s happening to me. This bond that Prince Lysander mentioned—is it real?”
“Sit.” The Queen gestured to the chair opposite hers. “And yes, it’s real. As real as the ground beneath your feet or the air you breathe. The fated mate bond is one of the oldest magics in existence, older than dragons themselves. Some say the gods created it. Some say it’s simply the universe’s way of ensuring balance.”
Freya sat, her mind racing. “But I’m human. I don’t have magic. How can I be part of a dragon bond?”
“The bond doesn’t care about species.” Queen Seraphine set her book aside, giving Freya her full attention. “It recognizes souls, not bodies. My son’s soul recognized yours. His dragon knew you the moment he scented you—knew that you were the one person in all the realms who could complete him.”
“That’s…” Freya struggled for words. “That’s insane.”
“Is it?” The Queen’s eyes glinted with amusement. “You feel it, don’t you? The connection. His emotions bleeding through. The warmth in your chest when he’s near.”
Freya’s breath caught. “How did you—”
“Because that’s how the bond begins. With awareness. With recognition. Over time, it deepens—you’ll be able to sense his location, feel his pain, share his joy. Eventually, if the bond is completed, you’ll be able to speak mind to mind.”
The implications made Freya’s head spin. “That’s… that’s terrifying. Having someone in my head like that.”
“Or it’s beautiful. Imagine never being alone. Never being misunderstood. Having someone who knows you completely and loves you anyway.” Queen Seraphine’s expression softened. “I have that with my mate, Freya. Lysander’s father. We’ve been bonded for three hundred years, and I still feel grateful every day that the magic chose him for me.”
Three hundred years. Freya couldn’t even imagine living that long, let alone loving someone for that entire time.
“What happens if I refuse?” The question came out smaller than she intended. “If I say no to the bond?”
The Queen’s face grew serious. “Then my son loses his dragon.”
Silence filled the library, heavy and terrible.
“Explain,” Freya whispered.
“The mate bond, once recognized, must be completed. If both parties accept willingly—through ritual, through consummation, through the exchange of vows—the bond solidifies. Both mates are strengthened. A dragon bonded to their mate lives longer, fights harder, loves fiercer. It’s the greatest gift our kind can receive.”
“And if they don’t accept?”
“If a mate is rejected…” The Queen’s voice grew heavy. “The dragon begins to fade. Slowly at first. They lose their ability to shift. Their magic weakens. They become a shadow of what they were. Eventually, they die. Not quickly—it can take years. But it’s inevitable.”
Horror crawled up Freya’s spine. “So if I say no, Lysander dies?”
“Not immediately. But yes, eventually. His dragon will abandon him, and without that fundamental part of himself, he’ll fade.” Queen Seraphine leaned forward. “But child, you must understand—the bond cannot be forced. If you accept out of guilt or obligation rather than genuine willingness, it won’t work. The magic knows the difference. Both mates must choose each other freely, or the bond remains incomplete.”
Freya’s hands clenched in her lap. “That’s not fair. That’s not a choice at all. How can I say no knowing he’ll die? How can I say yes knowing I’m only doing it to save him?”
“I don’t have an answer for that.” The Queen’s expression was sympathetic. “The mate bond is many things, but fair isn’t always one of them. My son should have approached you differently. Should have courted you, explained things, given you time to understand what you meant to each other before the bond was recognized.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No. Because he saw you about to marry another man, and his dragon took over. Dragon instincts are powerful, Freya. When we recognize our mate, we claim them. It’s not rational. It’s not gentle. It’s absolute.” She paused. “That doesn’t make it right. But it is what it is.”
Freya stood, unable to sit still anymore. She paced to the window, looking out over the impossible beauty of the Drakemyr Court. “I don’t want anyone to die because of me. But I also don’t want to be forced into another marriage—even a magical one. I just escaped that fate.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t even know him! He crashed my wedding, kidnapped me, brought me to a magical realm, and now I’m supposed to just… accept that we’re meant for each other because ancient magic says so?”
“No.” Queen Seraphine’s voice was firm. “You’re supposed to take your time. Get to know my son. Understand what the bond means. And then, when you’re ready—if you’re ever ready—make your choice. But make it freely, child. Don’t let guilt be your guide.”
Freya turned back to face her. “How much time do I have?”
“Months, at least. Maybe a year before the incomplete bond begins causing him physical pain. Dragons are resilient.” The Queen stood, moving to join Freya at the window. “But I’ll be honest with you—the longer the bond remains incomplete, the harder it becomes. The pull between mates grows stronger over time. Fighting it causes suffering for both parties.”
“So I’m damned either way.”
“Or blessed, depending on how you look at it.” Queen Seraphine placed a gentle hand on Freya’s shoulder. “My son is stubborn, overprotective, and apparently terrible at romance. But he’s also loyal, honorable, and when he loves, he loves with everything he has. Give him a chance to prove himself. That’s all I ask.”
Freya looked out at the courtyard below, where a massive black dragon was landing. Lysander shifted to human form—someone really needed to give him a robe collection in strategic locations—and looked up directly at her window.
Even from this distance, his silver eyes found hers.
The warmth in her chest flared, and she felt his emotions crash through the bond—hope, fear, desperate longing.
Please don’t hate me. Please give me a chance. Please stay.
She looked away first, her heart hammering.
“What if I fall for him and it’s just the magic?” she asked quietly. “How will I know what’s real and what’s the bond forcing us together?”
“The bond doesn’t force love, Freya. It recognizes compatibility, creates connection, makes the path to love easier. But the love itself? That’s always choice. Always real.” Queen Seraphine squeezed her shoulder gently. “My advice? Stop trying to separate the magic from the feelings. They’re intertwined by design. What matters is whether you want him, bond or no bond. Whether he makes you happy. Whether you can imagine a life with him.”
“I can’t imagine anything right now. My life was upended six hours ago.”
“Fair enough.” The Queen smiled. “Then start smaller. Can you imagine dinner with him tomorrow? A conversation that doesn’t involve kidnapping? A chance to see who he is beyond the dramatic rescue?”
Freya thought about it. About Lysander’s desperate expression when he’d asked her to come with him. The way he’d promised to bring her back if she truly wanted to leave. The respect in his eyes when she’d called him out for kidnapping her.
“Maybe,” she admitted.
“Then that’s enough for now.” Queen Seraphine moved toward the door, then paused. “One more thing, child. My son told you that rejecting the bond would kill him. That’s true. But what he didn’t tell you is this—if you accept the bond, you’ll gain dragon magic. Not the ability to shift, but longevity. Strength. You’ll live as long as he does. Five hundred years, perhaps more.”
Freya’s breath caught. “I’d become immortal?”
“Nearly. You’d age slowly, stay young and healthy for centuries. You’d watch your human family grow old and die while you remained unchanged. It’s a gift and a curse, depending on your perspective.” The Queen’s expression was serious. “I tell you this because you deserve to know all the consequences. Accepting my son means accepting a life that’s no longer fully human. It’s a choice you can’t undo.”
With that, she left, the door closing softly behind her.
Freya stood alone in the library, surrounded by ancient knowledge and impossible choices.
She could say yes and gain centuries of life, magical power, and a mate who would love her with the intensity of a dragon’s devotion. But she’d lose her humanity, watch everyone she’d ever known die, and bind herself to a man she barely knew.
She could say no and return to her old life. Except her old life didn’t exist anymore. Viktor would never let her go. Her family would still be in debt. She’d be trapped in a different cage, without even the promise of magic to make it bearable.
Or she could stay here, in this strange in-between, and figure out who Prince Lysander of Drakemyr really was beneath the scales and silver eyes.
“What would you choose?” she asked the empty library.
The books, of course, didn’t answer.
But through the bond—that impossible, terrifying, beautiful connection—she felt Lysander’s presence. Waiting. Hoping. Trying so hard to give her space even though his dragon was screaming to be near her.
Freya closed her eyes and let herself feel it. Really feel it. The bond wasn’t forcing her to love him. But it was showing her that he already loved her—with a completeness that should have been impossible after knowing her for hours.
Unless the magic had been preparing them for this moment for their entire lives.
“This is insane,” she whispered.
But insane was better than Viktor.
Insane was better than a loveless political marriage.
Insane, at least, came with the possibility of choice.
And maybe—just maybe—the possibility of something more.
She looked out the window one last time. Lysander was gone, probably giving her the space she needed. But she could still feel him, a constant warmth at the edge of her awareness.
I won’t force you, his presence seemed to say. But I’ll wait. However long it takes.
Freya touched her chest where the bond lived, warm and terrifying and real.
“Then you’d better be worth the wait, dragon prince,” she said to the empty room.
And somewhere in the palace, through magic and fate and ancient forces neither of them fully understood, she felt his answering surge of hope.
The game had begun.
Now she just had to figure out the rules.
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