Imogen flinched at the confession. Not because it wasn’t true but because hearing it from him made it real. He wasn’t the Dragon King at that moment. Just a man realizing the cost of his orders.

  “I'm sure it wasn’t-,” her voice trailed off trying to find the words to say.

  “I thought she could handle it,” he said sharply, self-loathing bleeding into every syllable. “I told her to protect you. I made it sound like that was all she was good for. Like she was just- just a weapon to be pointed at danger.”

  His shoulders trembled, the weight of everything pressing in.

  “She’s more than that. And I treated her like she wasn’t.”

  Imogen’s voice broke. “She almost died because of me.”

  Darius looked down at her, his jaw tight, his eyes storming. “No. She almost died because of me.”

  Silence stretched, thick, suffocating.

  “…I have to fix this,” he breathed finally, almost like a vow. His voice cracked like splitting ice. “Before I lose them both.”

  Above them, Axel soared through the darkness, Malachite limp in the stretcher. Her cracked slated scales bled onto the canvas stretcher. Her breathing was shallow.

  He flew faster.

  Stay with me, Axel begged silently, teeth clenched, his chest on fire. Please, Mal… I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not when I just

  He didn’t finish the thought.

  He just flew.

  Toward the lights of the healer’s guild.

  The villagers were already gathering. They’d heard the distant roars. They’d seen the serpent bodies dragged in by scouts. They knew something terrible had happened.

  But nothing prepared them for the sight of Axel.

  The emerald-scaled dragon cut through the night sky like a streak of green lightning, wings beating hard, chest heaving and clutched tightly against him was Malachite.

  When his clawed feet hit the earth just beyond the village square. With great care, he gently lowered the stretcher to the ground, breath ragged, his body trembling. Then, with a flicker of green light and a shuddering breath, he shifted back into his human form.

  “Help!” he roared, voice hoarse and breaking with desperation. “Healers! NOW!”

  The crowd burst into motion. Villagers rushed forward warriors, elders, smiths all drawn by the voice that had never sounded like this before.

  And leading them was the smith.

  Malachite’s father pushed his way to the front, eyes locked on his daughter’s bloodied, broken form. His face went pale, his heavy boots slamming against the earth as he dropped to his knees beside her.

  Axel hovered close, eyes wide and wild, blood and dirt still streaking his face. He didn’t say a word, staying by her side .

  “Malachite…” her father choked out, the name barely escaping his throat. His voice once gruff was replaced by fear. “My girl…”

  The healers surged in, robes fluttering, hands glowing faintly with magic. They spoke quickly to one another, tension coiling through every word as they assessed the damage, cracked plating, deep internal wounds, signs of venom still pulsing beneath her skin. One reached for her jaw and pried her mouth open carefully, uncorking a thick, glowing potion.

  “She won’t last long without it,” the healer muttered.

  Malachite squirmed weakly, instinctive defiance flickering in her battered body. The smith and Axel both moved without speaking one hand on each side, bracing her gently but firmly. She trembled in their grasp, too weak to fight them off, too stubborn to go quietly.

  Axel’s voice trying to soothe the anxiety she must feel. “Please, Mal… let them help. Please just… hang in there, alright? Just let them work.”

  Her rocky brow furrowed, a faint flicker of her soul still burning in her pain-glazed eyes. She blinked slowly, dragging her gaze toward him.

  “…Bossy…” she rasped, barely a whisper but a ghost of that crooked, defiant grin tugged at her bloodied lips.

  Axel let out a desperate laugh. He leaned forward, his voice shaking.

  “Damn right I’m bossy,” he whispered, fiercely. “Now stay still and let them work.”

  More healers rushed in, robes brushing the dirt, their movements swift and practiced. Bandages were unrolled with sharp snaps, salves uncorked, their hands glowing brighter now as they hovered over her cracked ribs and broken plating.

  “Focus on the vitals!” barked the lead healer a silver-scaled woman with deep lines of worry etched into her brow. “If she tries to shift again like this, her own body will rip her apart.”

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  They whispered incantations under their breath, ancient dragon-tongue humming low as glowing magic seeped into her wounds. The air thickened with the scent of herbs, blood, and raw power.

  Axel stepped back a fraction, his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged bursts. His fists were clenched so tightly at his sides his arms shook. He didn’t notice the villagers whispering.

  “A drake?”

  “No wings? Gods, she really jumped without them?”

  “Did he know…?”

  He didn't care, none of it mattered. All he could see was her.

  She was a fighter, she refused to give the Reaper the satisfaction.

  Her father stayed rooted beside her, silent and grim, his eyes glassy.

  Axel sank down low, one knee pressed into the dirt, arms braced against his thighs. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, but his gaze never left her face.

  Every time her breath hitched, every time her body seized or the healers exchanged hushed, sharp words, he flinched. As if it hit him instead.

  The crowd quieted around them, the air heavy with reverence and fear. Even the youngest children sensed the harsh gravity that came when a warrior danced too close to the edge of death.

  A shift in the crowd. Boots crunching on gravel. Not hurried, but deliberate.

  Axel’s head turned just slightly, his muscles taut.

  Darius stepped through the ring of onlookers, his presence like thunder waiting to break. His eyes flicked to Malachite… then to Axel.

  But Axel didn’t rise. Didn’t salute or speak, he just turned his head back to her.

  Darius exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening, his fists flexing faintly at his sides as he stood still, Imogen hovering close beside him, her small hand slipping tentatively into his larger one.

  For once the Dragon King said nothing. He simply watched.

  But finally his voice low, quiet, edged in something raw —

  “Axel… can we speak? Over there.”

  Axel’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t look up. After a slow breath, he rose stiffly to his feet. Still, he didn’t meet Darius’s eyes.

  Didn’t want to hear what the king had to say but still, out of habit, out of long years of loyalty, and the heavy gaze of the crowd, he followed.

  Darius exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening faintly. “She’s alive,” Darius said quietly, carefully. “She held the line.”

  Axel’s fists clenched tighter, his knuckles pale and straining. “…I know,” he rasped, voice rough and raw.

  Darius took a cautious step forward, his gaze steady, his mouth tight. “I never wanted her to-”

  But Axel’s head lifted slightly, his jaw trembling. “Save it, Darius,” he cut in sharply, still not turning fully to face him. His voice cracked, low and rough, thick with something barely contained. “She’s not… just a soldier.”

  Quietly, the Dragon King stepped back, his broad figure tense, the sharp weight of unspoken words settling heavy between them. The tension still tight in his chest, the heavy weight of everything left unsaid pressing down like a stone on his shoulders.

  His eyes locked on Axel, his best friend since childhood, his brother in all but blood and for the first time, Axel looked like a stranger.

  “She’s what, Axel.” Darius said stiffly.

  Axel flinched, his fists trembling, his head bowed. But slowly he lifted his gaze and locked eyes with Darius.

  For a long, taut breath, neither of them spoke.

  Then Axel’s voice broke softly, raw and cracked. “She’s not just a soldier.”

  Darius’s jaw tightened further, his teeth gritting faintly. “What am I missing, Axel?” he hissed, his voice low, sharp. “You keep throwing that in my face tell me, damn it! What makes her different?!”

  Axel’s fists clenched even tighter, his whole frame trembling.

  “She’s Mal.” His voice wavered, cracking. “She’s the one who laughs when everything’s gone to hell. The one who jumps in first, even when she’s terrified. The one who…”

  He choked faintly, his eyes glistening.

  “…the one who’s mine.”

  For a long, aching moment, Darius just stood there, his eyes frozen, the weight of Axel’s words slamming into him like a blow.

  Imogen, kneeling quietly beside Malachite, her heart twisting painfully as she watched the two men who had always been unshakable now stand fractured and silent, separated by grief, loyalty, and something neither of them knew how to say aloud. For a long, brittle moment, Axel said nothing.

  His fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned bone-white, his shoulders rising and falling with sharp, ragged breaths.

  Darius’s eyes narrowed faintly, his jaw flexing as he took another slow step forward, his cold voice cutting low. “She’s mine too, Axel. “Do you think I don’t care?” Darius went on, his voice hard, “do you think I don’t feel the weight of every life that’s sworn to me? That I don’t carry every death? I am the king, Axel and she is part of my army. ”

  That broke something.

  Axel’s head snapped up his eyes blazing with a wild, raw fire and he stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his chest heaving.

  “No, Darius!” Axel snarled, his voice cracking with pent-up fury. “You don’t get to say that!”

  Darius stiffened faintly, his mouth tightening, but Axel didn’t stop.

  “You don’t get to stand there, all calm and cold, and act like you cared!” Axel’s voice shook hard, thick with unshed tears. “She wasn’t a soldier to you, she was a tool! A piece on your damn chessboard!”

  The villagers around them froze, wide-eyed, watching the two men who had always stood side by side now facing off like strangers.

  Axel’s fists trembled as he jabbed a finger at Darius’s chest. “She nearly died because of you! Because she thought she had to prove herself, because you pushed and pushed, because you made her believe that she wasn’t strong enough. Like she didn’t matter!”

  Axel continued his arms dropped helplessly to his sides. “She’s mine, Darius. And you…” his voice cracked. “You were supposed to protect her too.”

  The weight of those words slammed into the space between them, raw and heavy, cutting through the brittle silence.

  Imogen stood from Malachite’s side her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and shimmering as she watched the two men she had thought unshakable now fraying right in front of her.

  For a long, taut moment, Darius just stared at Axel, his sharp, kingly mask faltering, something tight and painful flickering behind his gaze.

  Axel’s eyes unyielding, his breath shaking as he tried to keep his anger under control feeling so much anger toward the man he considered his brother. Darius stood a few feet away, silent, eyes locked on Axel, the echo of She’s mine still hanging heavy in the air.

  Imogen walked quietly beside the two men. For a long moment, Axel said nothing.

  But then, his voice broke softly, rough and raw “…It started this morning.”