POV: Ravenna
I was walking through the west corridor—quiet, empty, probably should have brought a guard—when Brock appeared from a side room.
Great. Perfect. Exactly what I needed today.
He looked terrible. Hair disheveled, clothes rumpled, eyes bloodshot. And he REEKED of wine.
Drunk. Wonderful.
"Princess." He said it too loud, with too much emphasis. Like he'd been practicing.
"Brock." I kept my voice cold. Professional. "You should return to your quarters. Sleep off whatever you've been drinking."
"Need to talk to you." He swayed slightly. "Important."
"It can wait until you're sober."
"No." He stepped into my path, blocking the corridor. "Needs to be now."
Every instinct screamed danger. But I was a princess in my own palace. I couldn't just run from a drunk nobleman. That showed weakness.
Stupid pride.
"Move," I said flatly. "I'm not having this conversation with you drunk."
"Dragon's Choosing was a mistake." The words came out slurred but determined. "Solace should've chosen someone strong. Someone noble. Someone like me." He stepped closer. Too close. "Not some scarred common soldier."
My hands clenched. "Solace chose based on worth, Brock. Clearly she found you lacking."
His face twisted. "You don't know what you're missing. What I could give you. Power. Prestige. A consort who knows how to—"
"I know exactly what I'd be missing." I cut him off. "Nothing I want."
"You could still change your mind." Another step closer. I backed up, hit the wall. Trapped. "Reject Theron. Choose me instead. I'd treat you like a queen."
"I don't want to be treated like a queen." My voice was sharp. "I want to be treated like a person. Something you're clearly incapable of understanding."
"You just need to see—" He reached for me.
"DON'T—"
His hand grabbed my wrist. Not gently. Hard enough to hurt.
Panic flared hot and immediate. Solace snarled inside me, demanding I shift, demanding I burn him to ASH—
"Release. Her. Now."
The voice came from behind Brock. Quiet. Cold. Absolutely lethal.
Theron.
Thank the GODS.
Brock turned, still holding my wrist. "We're just talking—"
"You're assaulting her." Theron walked forward with terrifying calm. Each step measured. Controlled. Like he was restraining something violent. "Let go. Immediately."
"I wasn't—I didn't—" Brock's grip loosened slightly.
"NOW." The single word cracked like a whip.
Brock dropped my wrist like it burned him.
I stumbled away from the wall, putting distance between us. My wrist throbbed where he'd grabbed it. Probably bruising already.
Theron's eyes tracked to the red marks on my skin. Something in his expression went cold. Not hot rage. Cold. Calculating. Deadly.
"I was just trying to talk to her," Brock blustered. "To make her see reason—"
"You cornered her." Theron's voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it. "In a deserted corridor. While drunk. You grabbed her wrist without permission." He stepped closer to Brock. "That's not talking. That's assault."
"You're overreacting—"
"Am I?" Theron was close enough now that Brock had to crane his neck to look up at him. "Let me be very clear about something. You don't touch her. Ever. Without her explicit permission. You don't approach her alone. You don't corner her in corridors. You don't make suggestions that she should reject our bond."
"I have a right—"
"You have NO rights regarding her." Theron's voice dropped lower. More dangerous. "She is my bonded. Mine to protect. And if you EVER come near her again—if you so much as look at her wrong—I will consider it a threat and respond accordingly."
The promise of violence was crystal clear.
Brock's face went white. "You can't threaten a nobleman—"
"That wasn't a threat." Theron smiled. It was terrifying. "That was information. So you can make informed decisions about your future behavior." He paused. "Do we understand each other?"
Brock swallowed hard. Nodded.
"Good. Now get out of my sight before I forget I'm supposed to be civilized."
Brock LEFT. Fast. Nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get away.
The corridor fell silent.
I stood there with my back against the wall, shaking slightly. Adrenaline crash hitting hard.
Theron turned to me immediately. The cold lethal expression melted into concern. "Are you all right?"
"I—" My voice came out strangled. "Yes. I'm fine. He just—he grabbed me and I couldn't—"
"Let me see." His voice was gentle now. So different from the cold violence of moments ago.
I held out my wrist. Red marks where Brock's fingers had dug in. Going to be spectacular bruises by tomorrow.
Theron's jaw clenched but he touched my wrist carefully. Gently. Like I might break.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should have been here sooner."
"How did you even know—"
"The hum." He looked at me. "I felt your fear. Your panic. I was three corridors away and I RAN."
Oh.
Oh.
The bond. Of course. He'd felt my distress through the bond and came immediately.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For—for coming. For making him leave."
"You don't need to thank me for that." His voice was firm. "Protecting you is not a favor. It's my JOB. It's what bonded do for each other."
"Still. Thank you."
He nodded. "Can you walk? Or do you need a moment?"
"I can walk." I pushed off the wall, trying to look steadier than I felt. "I just—I want to get back to my chambers. Away from here."
"I'll walk with you."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm walking with you." No room for argument.
We walked through the palace together. He stayed close but not crowding. Steady presence beside me. Protective without being possessive.
I felt safe. For the first time since Brock had appeared, I could breathe properly.
"You scared him," I said finally. "Brock. When you got cold like that. He looked genuinely terrified."
"Good. He should be."
"You would have actually hurt him if he didn't leave."
"Yes." Theron's voice was matter-of-fact. "I would have."
"That doesn't scare you? Being capable of that kind of violence?"
"No." He looked at me. "Violence is a tool. I've been using it my entire life. The question isn't whether I'm capable. It's whether I'm in control." He paused. "With you threatened, I was BARELY in control. But I was in control. That's what matters."
"What if you hadn't been?"
"Then Brock would be in the healing wing instead of his quarters." He said it calmly. Like it was just a fact. "And I wouldn't apologize for it."
Something about that certainty—that absolute commitment to my safety—made something warm bloom in my chest.
"You felt my fear through the bond," I said. "From three corridors away."
"Yes."
"That's—that's not normal, is it? Feeling emotions that specifically from that far?"
"No." His voice was quiet. "Most bonded pairs feel general awareness. Location. Wellbeing. Strong emotions sometimes." He paused. "This bond is stronger than normal. Deeper. I can feel you even when I'm trying not to."
"Is that—do you mind?"
"No." He looked at me directly. "Do you?"
I thought about it. About the hum that had been constant since the moment our dragons recognized each other. About how I could sense him too—not as clearly as he sensed me, but enough. Enough to know when he was near. When he was troubled. When he was thinking about me.
"No," I admitted. "I don't mind."
We reached my chambers. He stopped at the door, clearly intending to leave me here.
"Theron." I caught his arm before he could go. "Thank you. Again. For coming when I needed you. For making me feel safe."
His expression softened. "Always. Whenever you need me. I'll be there."
"I know." And I did know. Trusted it completely. "That's what scares me."
"Why?"
"Because it means I'm starting to depend on you." The admission came out quiet. Vulnerable. "And depending on people is terrifying."
"I know." He covered my hand where it rested on his arm. "But maybe—maybe it's okay to be terrified sometimes. If it means you're not alone anymore."
My throat felt tight. "When did you get so wise?"
"When I survived five rejections and realized being alone is worse than being afraid."
I squeezed his arm gently. "I'm glad you survived. I'm glad you're here. I'm glad—" I stopped. Swallowed. "I'm glad you're mine."
His breath caught. "Ravenna—"
"Goodnight, Theron." I said it quickly, before I could admit anything more. Before I could tell him I was falling and couldn't stop.
I slipped into my chambers and closed the door.
Leaned against it, heart hammering, while Solace hummed pleased approval inside me.
Safe, she sent. He makes us safe.
"Yeah," I whispered. "He does."
And that terrified me almost as much as it thrilled me.
Because depending on someone meant trusting them not to leave. Not to reject me. Not to decide I wasn't worth staying for.
But maybe—just maybe—Theron had already proven he wasn't going anywhere.
Maybe I could trust this.
Maybe I could let myself fall and trust him to catch me.
The thought was still scary.
But after tonight, after he'd come running because he felt my fear, after he'd threatened Brock with cold violence to protect me—
After all that, being scared seemed worth it.
If it meant I didn't have to be alone anymore.