Inside the healer’s hall, the light had shifted warmer now, golden and soft through the high windows but Malachite didn’t feel it.

  She lay half-curled on the cot, her breath shallow, her fingers still tangled in the blankets she hadn’t realized she’d shredded slightly at the seams.

  Everything felt like too much and not enough all at once.

  The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful. It was echoing. Empty. Like it knew she was barely holding herself together.

  Her body ached not just from battle wounds or cracked bones or burned-out energy but from something deeper. A hollow weight in her chest that pulsed with every breath she didn’t want to take.

  Why didn’t I feel it?

  The question hadn't stopped circling.

  She’d tried to convince herself it didn’t matter. That being someone's mate wasn’t what defined her. That she didn’t need a magical soul bond to be whole.

  But the truth scraped at her. Axel had felt it. And she… hadn’t.

  What if this was it? What if this was proof she’d always been different? Less? A drake, born from elemental stone and stubborn grit, not the soaring, fire-blooded kind that lit the skies.

  No wonder she hadn’t felt the pull.

  Maybe there wasn’t anything to feel.

  She blinked hard, staring at the worn grain of the wooden ceiling above her, eyes burning, throat tight.

  Maybe this is what happens when you spend your whole life pretending you don’t care, you forget how to recognize something real when it finally tries to reach you.

  The tiniest crack in her voice slipped out.

  A broken whisper to no one. “Why couldn’t I just be enough?”

  A quiet knock broke her concentration. Too polite to be Imogen.

  Too deliberate to be a healer.

  Her fingers froze. The silence held its breath with her.

  Someone was at the door. And for the first time since she woke up… she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be alone anymore.

  Axel?

  Maybe he’d come back. Maybe he’d felt her slipping again and couldn’t stay away. Maybe…

  Her heart thundered in her ears. But when the door eased open, it wasn’t him.

  It was Darius.

  The Dragon Commander. Her king.

  Her gut twisted a faint, guilty pang of disappointment she shoved down immediately. She could feel it trying to rise, like shame clawing up her throat, and she buried it fast.

  She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t him.

  Still instinct overrode everything.

  She moved.

  Too quickly.

  The blanket fell away from her shoulders as she scrambled to sit up, then stand. Her body screamed in protest, ribs flaring, legs trembling slightly from a half-healed injury, heart hammering with panic now instead of sadness.

  She almost slipped, caught herself on the edge of the cot, and forced her spine straight.

  No pain. No weakness. Not in front of him.

  Darius paused in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over her not harsh, but quiet. Calculating. Noting everything she was trying not to show.

  She lifted her chin, summoning every ounce of the soldier she still was beneath the cracked shell.

  “Commander,” she said, voice tight but clear. “Apologies. I wasn’t expecting-”

  “You don’t need to stand,” Darius said quietly.

  “I’m fine,” she lied.

  A flicker of something passed behind his eyes. Not pity. Not quite concern.

  Recognition.

  He stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft click, his hands folded loosely behind his back like he wasn’t here to command. Just to be present.

  “I know you are,” he said. “You always are.”

  Her jaw twitched faintly. She didn’t reply.

  But inside?

  Everything was cracking all over again.

  Her jaw twitched faintly. She didn’t reply.

  Darius didn’t move closer.

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  He gave her space.

  Instead, he stood just inside the room, quiet for a long beat. Then, slowly, he spoke voice low and even, but threaded with something real beneath the calm.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  Malachite blinked, startled. She didn’t know what she’d expected, maybe orders, questions, even a careful check on her condition. But not… this.

  She straightened instinctively, her body groaning in response. “Sir-”

  “I gave the order,” he said, cutting her off gently. “I knew it was a risk. I saw the strategy on paper, but I didn’t stop to weigh the cost for you. Not really.”

  His gaze found hers, sharp and clear.

  “I made you believe your life was expendable. That it was acceptable… even necessary… to throw yourself between death and my mate.”

  Malachite’s breath hitched, a strange heat prickling at the corners of her eyes.

  “That wasn’t your burden to carry,” Darius continued softly. “But you took it anyway. Without hesitation.”

  He stepped closer now just enough to be level with her, not looming or commanding. “And for that,” he said, voice deeper now, warmer, “you have my respect.”

  He paused.

  “My gratitude.” His eyes didn’t waver. “And my loyalty.”

  Malachite swallowed hard, unsure where to look. The fire that always lived in her chest felt like ash now, and she didn’t know how to hold this moment or how to hold praise that didn’t come with expectation.

  “I wasn’t thinking about any of that,” she muttered, her voice low. “I just saw her. I felt what was coming. And there was no time to-”

  “You protected her,” Darius said simply. “My precious mate. Your queen.”

  The title landed softly, but it carried weight. “She lives because of you. Because you were remarkable.”

  Malachite’s mouth parted slightly as if to argue. To downplay it. But the words wouldn’t come.

  And for the first time since waking, the noise in her chest stilled.

  The silence that followed his words wrapped thick around her too kind, too close.

  Malachite’s jaw tightened.

  She didn’t like the way it made her feel. Exposed. Like he was looking through her instead of at the soldier she was trying to be.

  Her lips pulled into a tight, humorless smirk. “Didn’t realize doing my job deserved a personal visit from the king.” Darius didn’t blink.

  But she didn’t wait for him to respond.

  “I’m a soldier,” she snapped, sharper now. “It’s my duty to risk my life. That’s the job, isn’t it? Protect the realm, protect the crown, protect your mate.”

  She turned slightly, arms crossing tight over her chest, her shoulders rigid.

  “I don’t need a speech about how brave I am. I don’t need thanks. I did what I was trained to do.”

  A beat. Then her voice dropped lower bitter and cold, like a cracked edge of steel.

  “Or is this about the bond?”

  Darius’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger. In focus.

  Malachite kept going, the words tumbling out now, brittle and fast.

  “Is that it? You found out I’m Axel’s… whatever I’m supposed to be and now suddenly I get royal bed side chats and long stares like I’m some precious thing that needs fixing?” She let out a sharp breath, her fingers digging into her arms. “You don’t have to humor me, Commander. I didn’t feel it. I don’t feel it. So if this is about pity-”

  “It’s not,” Darius said firmly.

  The interruption wasn’t loud. But it cut clean through the air like a drawn blade.

  Malachite froze.

  Darius took a single step closer, his expression calm but grounded.

  “This isn’t about pity. Or the bond,” he said. “It’s about the truth.”

  He held her gaze. “You stood between death and the queen. Not because of magic. Not because of fate. Because you chose to.”

  He paused. “And I see you, Malachite. Not as Axel’s mate. Not as a symbol. As you.”

  Malachite froze mid-breath, eyes narrowing slightly.

  But Darius didn’t let her regain control.

  He stepped forward again close now, not towering, not threatening, but impossible to ignore.

  “You brought up the bond,” he said, his voice low, cutting clean through her defenses. “So don’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”

  She flinched and Darius saw it and pressed on.

  “You think I came here because I pity you?” His tone sharpened, not angry. “I came because you are one of my own. Because Axel nearly scorched the earth trying to keep from losing you. Because Imogen is barely breathing after what she saw happen to you. And because you, a soldier trained to die quietly if ordered, faced an army of killers just to keep her safe.”

  Her breath hitched, but he didn’t give her room to retreat.

  “And yes,” he added, voice steadier now, quieter, but piercing. “I know about the bond. I’ve felt it in others. I’ve watched it consume warriors and fortify cowards. I’ve seen it drive people mad, and I’ve seen it save them.”

  He held her gaze not with pity.

  With force.

  “But what you’re feeling now? Or not feeling?” he said. “That doesn’t make you broken. It makes you part of this world. A world that’s lost its magic in pieces. A world where bonds don’t snap into place like they used to. Where even the strongest dragonkin sometimes had to fight for the connection their blood was promised.”

  He stepped in one final breath closer close enough that the quiet in his voice landed like thunder.

  “You don’t feel it yet? Then we find out why. Together. But don’t you dare stand there and act like this bond, this soul-deep tether is something you’re unworthy of just because it didn’t come easy.”

  A long silence stretched between them.

  Malachite’s throat moved in a tight swallow. Her arms had dropped somewhere during the speech, and her hands hung limply at her sides. Her chest rising and falling like the words had knocked the air out of her.

  She didn’t know what to say. Because for the first time, someone hadn’t backed off.

  He hadn’t flinched at her anger. He’d met it.

  And still stayed. But Darius wasn’t done.

  His voice dropped lower, not gentler. Harder. More grounded. Like stone grinding against stone.

  “We will figure it out,” he said. “If you want that. If you want to try. If you want to understand what this bond could be, what it’s meant to be then I’ll put every damn resource in this kingdom behind finding out why it’s silent right now.”

  She flinched slightly, but didn’t interrupt. Darius’s eyes burned into hers.

  “But if you don’t” his voice sharpened, more steel than breath now “then you need to reject him. Clearly. Cleanly.”