Chapter 5 — Fire Beneath the Silence
The night after the forbidden incident passed without peace.
Lyra couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the faint red glow of the chained door… and heard that heartbeat again, echoing softly inside her chest.
She rolled over in her bed, tangled in sheets that smelled faintly of roses and smoke. Outside her window, the moon was high — pale and distant — and the wind carried a whisper from the forest below the cliffs.
For the first time since she arrived at the palace, she felt small.
The king had not spoken to her all day. No word, no glance. Only a silent meal at the long dining table, where her hands trembled as she reached for her spoon. The courtiers stared. The servants bowed lower than usual, as if the air itself had changed.
But she remembered his voice — cold yet uncertain — when he caught her at the tower door.
> "You shouldn't have been there."
> "Why?" she had whispered.
> "Because not everything in this palace obeys me."
Those words burned in her mind.
She sat up suddenly. The clock ticked past midnight. Somewhere in the distance, she heard footsteps — slow, deliberate, echoing down the marble corridors. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and peeked out the window.
Down in the courtyard, torches flickered as the guards changed shifts. And near the fountain, she saw him.
The Dragon King.
Even from that distance, she could tell it was him by the way the flames seemed to bend toward his presence. He wasn't wearing his crown or cloak — just dark robes, his hands folded behind his back. He stood by the fountain for a long time, staring into the water.
Lyra pressed her hand to the glass. She could almost feel his loneliness from there — the kind that no throne could cure.
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At dawn, she joined the palace attendants in the library, trying to distract herself. The library smelled of old paper and dragonsteel ink. Dust danced in golden light that filtered through high windows.
"Your Majesty said this section is restricted," said a maid nervously as Lyra touched a row of ancient books.
"Then I won't open them," Lyra smiled softly. "I just like how they smell."
The maid relaxed. "You're… different from the others," she said quietly.
Lyra tilted her head. "The others?"
"The chosen ones before you. They only cared about jewels and mirrors."
Before Lyra could reply, a deep voice came from behind:
> "Leave us."
The maid froze and bowed. "Y-Your Majesty!"
He entered the library like a storm contained in human form. Tall, broad-shouldered, and silent. His eyes — molten gold beneath the shadows — found hers immediately.
Lyra's throat tightened. "Good morning, Your Majesty."
He walked closer, stopping a few steps away. "You were awake late last night."
She blinked. "You saw me?"
"I see everything in my palace." His tone was flat, but his gaze flickered with something she couldn't name. "You should rest more."
"I couldn't," she murmured. "It's too quiet here… and yet, it isn't."
He looked past her at the books. "The silence hides many things. It's better that way."
"Do you ever sleep, Your Majesty?"
A faint smile crossed his lips — but not of amusement. "Dragons don't rest easily."
They stood there for a long moment, the air between them heavy but warm. Then he turned to leave, but stopped at the door.
> "Lyra," he said without turning around, "if you ever feel lost here… do not go looking for answers in the shadows. They'll answer back."
She wanted to ask what that meant, but he was already gone.
And when she finally looked down at the table, she saw something resting there — a silver ribbon with faint burn marks along its edge.
It hadn't been there before.