Leroy stared. Lorraine stared. Even Vaeronyx paused mid-breath.
Damian lifted his chin, trying to look regal.He had co all this way prepared to secure political alliances for the war he planned to wage at Leroy’s side against the Emperor of Vaeloria...
But then, inconveniently, he discovered they had a dragon.
Which complicated matters.
"Let get this straight," Leroy said slowly. "You wanted to find my wife... so she could find you a wife?"
How does that make sense?
Damian shrugged. "Well... I trust her judgent. She’s better at it."
Leroy arched a brow. "Are you even interested in won?"
Damian scoffed, offended. "Are you warming up to , Leroy?" he blinked his eyes coquettishly. "I can be your mistress if you want." With a smirk, he flicked imaginary dust from Leroy’s sleeve. "I don’t mind."
Leroy opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again—nothing ca out. I fell right into that trap, didn’t I?
Lorraine, however, did not hesitate. "I mind. My husband is not having any mistresses. Certainly not a prince."
She snatched the portraits from Damian’s hand. "Lights," she commanded.
Leroy looked at Vaeronyx.
Vaeronyx exhaled, the deep, grudging sigh of a mighty ancient creature who once ruled nations and now...sohow, served as a lantern for a bold mortal woman he could neither intimidate nor dislike.
Firelight bathed the clearing, warm and flickering, gilding Lorraine’s determined face as she examined the portraits with the seriousness of a queen making a state decision.
Leroy watched her, his fierce, focused, beautiful woman, knowing without doubt that whatever she decided tonight, it would reshape yet another corner of their world.
Lorraine placed her hands on her hips, surveying the hallway of portraits like a rchant inspecting questionable produce. "Right," she declared. "Let’s begin."
Damian already looked dood.
The first portrait showed a noblewoman with perfect posture and the emotional warmth of a polished gemstone.
Lorraine tilted her head. "Absolutely not. She looks like she’d file a complaint if your smile wasn’t symtrical."
Damian recoiled. "I—I do smile symtrically."
"No, you don’t," Leroy muttered under his breath before he could stop himself.
Damian gasped, mortally wounded. "I do too!"
Vaeronyx rolled his eyes so hard the air shifted. "Mortal unions used to be decided by feats of strength, not... chin symtry."
Lorraine moved on before Damian could defend his chin.
The next portrait revealed a noblewoman with a sharp jaw, elegant attire, and eyes that held a calculating chill. A Vaelorian through and through.
Lorraine’s expression darkened, just slightly.
Damian stiffened. He didn’t need to say it aloud: nobles like this were the ones he’d been "gifted" to, passed between hands with polite smiles and unspeakable implications.
Leroy saw the tension in the prince’s shoulders and felt sothing hot and protective coil under his ribs.
Lorraine exhaled slowly. "No," she said, voice softer. "Not her. She’d never treat you as more than an ornant."
Damian swallowed, throat tight. "...Yeah."
Vaeronyx snorted. "In my era, ornants were carved from jade. Mortals were not traded like jewelry."
Leroy did not correct him; this wasn’t the mont.
The next portrait was of a warrior woman with impressive arms, a deadly spear, and an eyebrow scar that practically scread I can and will throw my husband across a courtyard.
Lorraine tapped her chin thoughtfully. "...Interesting."
Damian and Leroy... froze.
"Lorraine," Damian whispered urgently, "she could break ."
"So n like that," Lorraine said, entirely too thoughtfully.
"I don’t!"
Vaeronyx muttered, "In my court, that would simply be foreplay."
Damian made a strangled noise. Leroy choked on air.
Lorraine waved them off and approached the next painting. This one held a gentle-faced scholar—soft eyes, ink-stained fingers, soone who looked like she’d apologize before even thinking of offending anyone.
Leroy stiffened. Sothing about the woman irritated him. Maybe it was the serene smile. Or the fact that Damian leaned forward just a bit as if intrigued.
Lorraine humd. "She seems... nice."
Damian brightened. "She does look kind. And he teaches poetry—"
"No." Lorraine said it instantly.
Damian deflated. "Why not?!" She’s be the life of the party in Lystheria.
"She’d write a tragic ballad every ti you argued. Imagine the royal records..." Lorraine said with a shiver.
Damian paused. "...Okay, you’re right. Next."
Vaeronyx made a low rumble of ancient disapproval. "Mortals now fear poetry? The world has declined."
Finally, Lorraine stopped at a portrait almost hidden behind, like a curtain. It portrayed a woman with a warm, steady gaze—soone neither beautiful nor fierce nor aristocratically perfect.
But there was sothing unmistakably safe in her painted expression. A groundedness. A kindness that did not demand or devour.
Lorraine’s heart eased, just a fraction. Soone like this would understand Damian’s fractures... and wouldn’t use them. She would stand by his side, no matter what and return his kindness tenfold.
She smiled—soft, decisive. "This one."
Damian blinked. "...Really?"
"Yes. She looks like soone who’d hold your heart carefully, not squeeze it for sport."
Damian looked at the portrait again, eyes turning glossy with sothing fragile. Sothing hopeful. "...I—I think I like her."
Vaeronyx crossed his arms. "At least the mortal doesn’t look like she’ll die within a season. Acceptable."
Damian finally exhaled, almost laughing with relief. "Lorraine... thank you." He truly was thankful. The one Lorraine chose... he wouldn’t have chosen such a simple-looking woman. But the more he looked, the more he understood why Lorraine chose her.
She nudged him lightly. "You deserve soone good, Damian. Soone who sees all of you—and still stays."
Damian ducked his head, voice teasing but trembling at the edges. "You’re going to make cry in front of the god-dragon."
Vaeronyx sniffed. "I have witnessed mortals weep for centuries. I am immune."
Damian wiped the corner of his eye. "I’ll need your blessings."
"Be blessed. And treat her well," Vaeronyx said, sounding—for once—like a creature who rembered what love looked like instead of loss.
Lorraine grinned, triumphant. "So it’s decided."
And for the first ti in a long, long ti, Damian looked like soone imagining a future instead of bracing for the next wound.
He drew a careful breath, the hope in his chest rising like sothing that had been suffocating for years.
His gaze drifted to Lorraine and Leroy.
They were standing close... closer than they ever realized, bathed in the amber glow of the dragon’s light. Lorraine’s smile was soft, proud. Leroy’s eyes were warm, lingering on her with a gentleness Damian had always envied, always admired, always feared he’d never have for himself.
A quiet, aching warmth spread through Damian’s ribs.
One day... one day he wanted this too. Not borrowed comfort. Not conditional affection. Not hands that claid him because they could.
But sothing real. Sothing his.
His fingers curled around the portrait of the painted woman with steady eyes and a calm smile.
Lady Aelindra. Her na settled in his mind like a whispered promise.
Damian’s smile widened, not the flattering, trained one he offered the court, but sothing tender, unguarded, almost boyish.
I’ll love you with all my heart for the rest of my life, he vowed silently, clutching her image to his chest.
Not because he was desperate to be loved... but because he wanted to build sothing like what he saw before him...
Lorraine’s quiet radiance, Leroy’s steady devotion, and that unspoken thread tying them together even when they pretended not to see it.
Damian let out a soft breath, one hand brushing the fra as though it were already precious.
Hope that was gentle, frightening, and unbelievable, finally unfurled in him.
And for the first ti, he felt like the future might hold a place where he was wanted too.
Reviews
All reviews (0)