Morning crept into the chamber slowly, casting pale golden light through the crystal dome above their bed. The sheets were tangled, perfumed with sweat and skin, and the warmth of two bodies still wrapped in the aftermath of something deeper than desire.
Isolde stirred first.
She blinked up at the soft light filtering across the ceiling, heart still fluttering like a trapped bird. Valen's arm was draped across her waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep, his breath warm against her shoulder.
He hadn't let go of her all night.
Not even once.
She tilted her head slightly to look at him.
The Dragon Prince—so feared, so ruthless—slept with his brow creased, as if still fighting wars even in dreams. But with his body pressed to hers, there was nothing but peace. Safety. Heat.
She should have been afraid. She should have felt marked, conquered.
But instead, she felt… chosen.
And that was far more dangerous.
Her fingers brushed over his bare chest, tracing one of the deep, pale scars that marred his otherwise flawless skin. It made him real. Mortal, in ways the world would never believe.
Suddenly, his eyes opened—bright, crimson, alert.
He didn't speak at first. Just stared at her. Studied her.
Then he whispered, "You're still here."
She smiled faintly. "Where else would I be?"
His hand slid up her back slowly, reverently. "Gone. Regretting last night. Running from what this means."
"I don't run, Valen."
His smile was crooked, a little wild. "No. You don't."
He leaned in and kissed her softly, lips lingering like a silent vow.
But the moment was broken by the deep clang of bells echoing from somewhere in the castle.
Valen tensed.
"What is that?" she asked, sitting up.
He was already rising, pulling on dark trousers, eyes narrowed. "A council summons. They've learned you spent the night in my chambers."
Her stomach tightened. "How?"
He shot her a wry glance. "This is a palace. Someone always knows."
She stood, grabbing one of his silk shirts and slipping it over her bare body. "Then we deal with it. Together."
He paused.
"You don't have to. I can protect you from the storm. I can say nothing happened."
She crossed the room and looked him dead in the eye.
"I'm not ashamed of what we did. And I won't let anyone treat me like a mistake."
Valen stared at her like she'd just set the world ablaze. Then, slowly, a fire lit in his eyes.
"You are dangerous, Isolde Renn."
She smirked. "So are you."
An hour later, they entered the war council together—side by side.
Whispers filled the hall. Councilors stared. Guards shifted uncomfortably.
Valen didn't let go of her hand.
He walked with his head high, his steps loud, his aura unmistakably claimed. And when they reached the throne dais, he didn't sit.
He turned to face them all.
"I bring before you a truth," he said clearly, the room falling into silence. "Lady Isolde Renn is no longer a political guest. She is my intended. My mate."
Gasps.
Shock.
And then—
"You would bind yourself to a foreign girl without council approval?" snapped Lord Verek, a wrinkled noble with a sharp tongue.
Valen didn't flinch. "I'm not asking. I'm declaring."
Another voice: "She's human. You're dragon-blooded. That union is forbidden."
Valen's voice was deadly quiet. "Then I'll rewrite the laws. Or break them."
Isolde stood tall beside him, her chin lifted, her spine straight.
She wasn't just the girl who'd arrived as a pawn anymore.
She was the future queen of dragons.
And the council, despite all their power and pride, looked at her with something new in their eyes.
Fear.