Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~13 min read
Freya couldn’t stay in her chambers.
She’d tried. Gods, she’d tried. Mira had helped her change into a nightgown, brought tea, offered to stay and talk. But every time Freya closed her eyes, she saw it—armies marching, cities burning, people dying. All because a dragon prince had decided she was his.
All because she’d said yes when she should have fought harder.
The guilt ate at her like acid, made worse by the constant awareness of Lysander through the bond. He was distressed too, pacing somewhere in the palace, his dragon barely contained. She could feel his rage at Viktor, his fear for her safety, and underneath it all, the terrible knowledge that he’d put her in this position.
But he still wouldn’t let her go.
Around midnight, Freya gave up on sleep. The palace allowed her to wander—she’d discovered that much already. No guards blocked her path, no doors were locked. If she was a prisoner, she was the most trusted prisoner in history.
Or maybe they knew she had nowhere to run.
She walked through corridors of impossible beauty, past rooms that defied architecture, under ceilings that showed galaxies instead of stone. The magic here was so thick she could taste it, making her human senses feel dull and inadequate.
This isn’t my world, she thought. I don’t belong here.
Through the bond, she felt Lysander’s response—sharp disagreement, fierce insistence that she belonged exactly where she was. But he didn’t approach. Didn’t try to stop her wandering. Just… watched. Aware of her every step through their connection.
Freya found herself on a balcony overlooking the mountains. The night air was crisp and cold, smelling of pine and snow and something indefinably magical. The multiple moons cast strange shadows, and in the distance, she could see dragons flying—dark shapes against the starlit sky, free and powerful and nothing like the trapped feeling in her chest.
She wasn’t alone on the balcony.
A massive black dragon lay coiled on the far end, silver eyes reflecting moonlight. Lysander. She’d recognize that presence anywhere now, bond or no bond. He was in dragon form, clearly distressed—she could feel it rolling off him in waves.
For a moment, she considered leaving. This felt private, like she was intruding on something raw and vulnerable. But through the bond, she felt his awareness of her. His desperate hope that she’d stay. His need for her presence even though his pride wouldn’t let him ask.
Freya moved closer, her bare feet silent on the stone.
The dragon’s head turned, silver eyes tracking her movement. He didn’t shift to human form. Maybe he couldn’t right now—she’d learned that dragons sometimes got stuck in their beast form when emotions ran too high.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
The dragon made a low sound—not quite a growl, not quite a whimper. Through the bond, his emotions crashed into her: guilt, fear, desperate longing, and a fury so intense it made her breath catch.
Not at her. Never at her. At Viktor. At the situation. At himself.
Freya sat down on the balcony edge, several feet from the dragon’s massive form. “I can feel what you’re feeling,” she said. “Through the bond. Is that normal?”
The dragon’s tail twitched—an acknowledgment.
“It’s overwhelming. All that emotion. I don’t know how you carry it.” She wrapped her arms around herself, staring out at the mountains. “I didn’t think dragons felt things so intensely. I thought you were all cold and logical and ancient.”
Another low sound. This one felt like bitter amusement.
Through the bond, images flickered. Not quite thoughts, but impressions: Dragons feel everything. Too much. That’s why the mate bond matters—someone to share the intensity. Someone to ground the fire.
“I’m not very good at grounding anything,” Freya admitted. “I’m terrified all the time. Of Viktor, of this bond, of what happens next. Three days until war, and I don’t know how to stop it.”
The dragon shifted, moving closer. Still not touching, but near enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his scales. Near enough that the bond strengthened, their emotions intertwining until she couldn’t tell where hers ended and his began.
You could stop it, the thought came through crystal clear. Go back to Viktor. Accept the marriage. Save the kingdoms.
Freya’s breath caught. “You want me to leave?”
NO. The thought was so fierce it made her flinch. Never. I’d rather die than let him have you. But I can feel your guilt. Your fear that people will die because of me. Because of us.
“They will die, though. If there’s war—”
Then there’s war. The dragon’s eyes glowed brighter. I didn’t start this, Freya. Viktor did when he thought he could own you. When he terrorized you into that wedding. This was always going to happen—me claiming you just accelerated the timeline.
“Your mother said the same thing. That the war was coming anyway.”
Mother is wise. Annoying, but wise.
Despite everything, Freya almost smiled. “Is it hard? Being in dragon form right now?”
Yes. No. Both. Images flickered through the bond: the relief of letting the beast out, the frustration of not being able to speak properly, the fear that she’d be frightened of him like this. Do I scare you?
“Should you?” She studied the massive creature beside her—scales that could deflect swords, claws that could tear through stone, teeth designed for rending flesh. “You’re terrifying, objectively. A predator in every sense. But scared? No. I can feel you through the bond. Feel that you’d die before hurting me.”
I would. A thousand times over.
“That’s not healthy, you know. That level of devotion to someone you barely know.”
The bond knows you. I’ve known you across lifetimes, in every version of myself that’s waited for you. This body, this mind—they’re just catching up to what my soul already understands. The dragon shifted, resting his massive head on his claws. You think it’s magic forcing me to feel this way. It’s not. The magic just removed the barriers. Showed me the truth faster than years of courtship would have.
Freya pulled her knees to her chest. “What if the truth is wrong? What if we’re terrible for each other and the bond made a mistake?”
The bond doesn’t make mistakes. Absolute certainty flooded through their connection. But even if it did—even if we were the worst match imaginable—I’d still choose you. Every time. In every life.
“You can’t know that.”
I can. Because I’ve waited one hundred twenty-seven years for something to matter. Someone to matter. And then I scented you, and suddenly everything made sense. The loneliness, the waiting, the feeling that I was incomplete—all of it led to you.
Tears burned Freya’s eyes. “That’s too much. I can’t be someone’s entire reason for existing. What if I disappoint you? What if I’m not what you think I am?”
The dragon moved—carefully, slowly, giving her time to pull away—until his massive head rested near her feet. Not touching, just close. Offering comfort without demanding she accept it.
You’ve already disappointed me, he thought, and she felt his wry amusement. You called me a kidnapper. Multiple times. With witnesses. Very disappointing.
“You are a kidnapper.”
I prefer ‘romantic rescuer’.
“Nobody prefers that except you.”
My sister thinks it’s romantic.
“Your sister is enabling your terrible behavior.”
Through the bond, his laughter rumbled—deep and genuine and so at odds with the distress she’d felt earlier that it made her chest ache. You’re arguing with me. Even now, even scared and guilty and overwhelmed—you’re still fighting. That’s why you’re perfect.
“I’m not perfect. I’m a mess.”
You’re MY mess. The thought came fierce and possessive. And I’m yours. That’s what the bond means. Not that we’re perfect, but that our imperfections match. Your sharp edges fit my soft places. Your fears balance my certainty. Your humanity grounds my dragon.
Freya reached out tentatively, her hand hovering over the dragon’s scales. “Can I…?”
Permission flooded through the bond—eager, hopeful, desperate.
She touched his scales, and they were warmer than she expected, surprisingly smooth. Power thrummed beneath the surface, barely contained. This close, she could feel his heartbeat—slower than a human’s, deeper, like thunder in the distance.
“You’re worried,” she said softly, reading the emotions beneath his bravado. “About the war. About losing me. About whether you made the right choice.”
I’m terrified. The admission came raw and honest. I’ve faced armies, fought rival dragons, survived a century of loneliness. But the thought of losing you—of Viktor taking you back, of you choosing to leave, of war separating us before we’ve even begun—that terrifies me more than anything I’ve ever faced.
“I’m scared too.” Freya’s hand stayed on his scales, the connection grounding both of them. “I don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to go back to Viktor, stop the war, save everyone. But the rest of me—” Her voice broke. “The rest of me wants to stay. And I don’t know if that’s the bond or if it’s really me.”
It’s you. Certainty flooded through their connection. The bond doesn’t create feelings, Freya. It amplifies what’s already there. You want to stay because you’re finally free. Because for the first time in your life, someone’s offering you a choice instead of a cage.
“Viktor would call that a cage too. Just a prettier one.”
Is it? The dragon’s silver eyes met hers. You can leave anytime. Walk out those doors, return to the human kingdoms, tell them I forced you here. I wouldn’t stop you. It would destroy me, but I wouldn’t stop you.
“Then why haven’t you told me that before?”
Because I’m a selfish dragon who wants to keep his mate. His tail curled around protectively, not trapping but sheltering. But I’m also someone who loves you enough to let you go if that’s what you truly want.
The word hit her like a physical blow. “Love? We’ve known each other two days.”
My soul has known yours forever. My dragon recognized you the moment I scented you. And every moment since has only confirmed what the magic told me—you’re it. You’re everything. The dragon shifted, and suddenly Lysander was there in human form, naked as usual but she was getting used to that. His silver eyes were intense, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen. “I love you, Freya. Bond or no bond. Magic or no magic. I love you, and I’ll let you choose. Even if you choose to leave.”
Freya’s heart hammered. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Because it’s too fast, too intense, too—”
“Too real?” He knelt in front of her, close but not touching. “I know it’s overwhelming. But dragons don’t lie about bonds. We can’t. The magic won’t let us.” He took a shaky breath. “I’m not asking you to say it back. I’m not even asking you to accept the bond. I’m just asking you to stay. Figure out what you want. Give us a chance to be more than a kidnapping and a crisis.”
Through the bond, she felt everything he was offering—patience, understanding, and underneath it all, that fierce, unwavering devotion that should have terrified her but instead made her feel cherished.
“Three days,” she whispered. “We have three days until Viktor’s deadline.”
“Then we have three days to show him you’re not his to claim.” Lysander’s jaw set with determination. “I won’t let him take you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. And I won’t apologize for crashing your wedding and giving you an escape route.”
“Even if it starts a war?”
“Even then.” His eyes glowed silver in the moonlight. “You’re worth fighting for, Freya. Worth dying for. And definitely worth starting a war for.”
She should have argued. Should have insisted he was being irrational. Should have reminded him that she was just one person and hundreds would die.
Instead, she found herself asking, “What if I’m not worth it? What if you’re wrong about the bond and I’m just… ordinary?”
Lysander’s smile was soft, devastatingly genuine. “Then I’ll spend eternity being grateful for ordinary. Because ordinary with you is better than extraordinary with anyone else.”
The tears finally fell, and she let them. Let herself feel the overwhelming weight of being valued, cherished, fought for. No one had ever looked at her the way Lysander did—like she was precious beyond measure, like her happiness mattered more than kingdoms.
“I don’t want people to die because of me,” she said through tears.
“They won’t.” He reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and wiped her tears with gentle fingers. “We’ll find another way. Together. That’s what mates do—we face problems together.”
“We’re not mates yet. I haven’t accepted the bond.”
“You will.” Not arrogant, just certain. “Not because you have to. Not because of guilt or duty. But because you want to. When you’re ready.”
Freya leaned into his touch, exhausted and overwhelmed and somehow, impossibly, feeling safer than she’d felt in months. “You’re very confident for someone whose mate keeps calling him a kidnapper.”
“You haven’t called me a kidnapper in at least three hours. I’m taking that as progress.”
“It’s definitely still kidnapping.”
“Romantic kidnapping.”
“That’s not a real thing.”
“It is now.” He pulled her closer, and she let him, resting her head against his bare shoulder. Heat radiated from his skin, dragon fire kept carefully banked. Through the bond, she felt his relief, his gratitude that she wasn’t pulling away.
They sat like that on the balcony, the unwilling bride and her dragon prince, while the moons crossed the sky and war loomed on the horizon.
“I’m still scared,” Freya admitted.
“Me too.” His arms tightened around her. “But at least we’re scared together.”
And somehow, that made all the difference.
Through the bond, their emotions intertwined—fear and hope and desperate longing mixing until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.
This is what it means, Lysander’s thought whispered through their connection. The bond. Not magic forcing us together, but magic showing us we were never meant to be apart.
Freya didn’t answer with words.
But she didn’t pull away either.
And for a dragon who’d waited one hundred twenty-seven years for his mate, that small surrender was everything.
Reader Reactions