POV: Ravenna
Three days. Seventy-two hours. Four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes until Theron has to fight for his life.
Not that I'm counting. Except I am. Constantly. Every minute feels like an hour and every hour feels like drowning.
Day one starts before dawn. I don't sleep—again, what else is new—so I'm awake when Theron and Hadrian head to the training yards. I watch from my window as they shift to dragon form. Havoc and Hadrian's bronze dragon circling each other. Testing. Sparring.
It looks brutal even from a distance.
"You're going to wear a hole in that floor," Morgana says from the doorway.
I realize I've been pacing. "I can't just sit here."
"So don't. Go down there. Watch. Be present."
"He doesn't need distractions—"
"He needs to know you're there." She crosses her arms. "He's fighting for YOU, Rav. The least you can do is show up."
She's right. Damn her, she's always right.
I dress quickly and head to the yards. Saren falls into step beside me immediately—doubled guards means he's basically my shadow now. I don't complain.
The training yards are empty except for Theron and Hadrian. Smart. They don't need an audience. Don't need nobles gawking and gossiping.
But when I arrive, Theron's dragon—Havoc—turns his massive head toward me. Those amber eyes find mine across the distance.
The bond pulses. Warm. Steady. Alive.
I sit on a bench at the edge of the yard. Morgana sits beside me. We watch in silence as Havoc and Hadrian's dragon clash again and again. Testing speed. Strength. Strategy.
Hadrian is pushing him hard. No mercy. Because Lucien won't show mercy either.
Hours pass. The sun rises higher. Theron doesn't stop.
Finally, around midday, they shift back to human form. Both breathing hard. Covered in sweat. Theron's arm is bleeding from a slash Hadrian's dragon made.
"You're getting sloppy when you're tired," Hadrian says bluntly. "That's when he'll strike. When you think you can't go anymore."
"I know," Theron says.
"So we train past that point. Push until you break. Then push more."
"Hadrian—"
"No." Hadrian's voice is hard. "You don't get to go easy. You don't get to rest. Because in two days, you're going to be exhausted and bleeding and terrified, and you're still going to have to fight. So we train for that."
Theron nods. "Again."
They shift again. Fight again.
I watch it all. Every brutal minute. Every time Havoc takes a hit. Every time he stumbles and gets back up.
This is what the next three days will be. Training until he breaks. Then training more.
And I can't do anything but watch.
***
Day two is worse.
Theron trains from before dawn until after dark. I watch most of it from my bench. Morgana brings me food that I can't eat. Saren watches the perimeter for threats from House Ashford.
Around midday, Hadrian notices me and walks over during a break.
"You should go inside, Princess," he says quietly. "This isn't easy to watch."
"He's fighting for me," I say. My voice sounds hollow. "The least I can do is witness what that costs."
Hadrian studies me for a long moment. Then nods. "You're tougher than I gave you credit for."
"That's not a compliment."
"It is, actually." He pauses. "He's stronger with you here. Fights harder. Doesn't give up as easily."
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're here." Hadrian's voice is rough. "That's everything."
He walks back to Theron. They shift again. Train again.
I sit on my bench and feel every hit Theron takes like it's landing on me. The bond makes it worse—I can sense his exhaustion, his pain, his determination.
He's breaking himself to prepare. And I can only watch.
That evening, Morgana corners me in my chambers.
"Talk to me," she says.
"About what?"
"About the fact that you're falling apart and pretending you're fine."
I want to deny it. Want to snap at her and tell her I'm perfectly fine.
But I'm so tired of lying.
"I'm terrified," I admit. Voice breaking. "I'm terrified he's going to die. That the bond will shatter. That I'll lose him before I—"
"Before you what?"
"Before I can tell him that I—" I can't finish. Can't say it out loud.
"That you love him?" Morgana says gently.
"I don't know if it's love." But my voice is small. Uncertain. "How do I know if it's love or just the bond?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes! Because if it's just the bond, then—"
"Then what? It doesn't count?" Morgana sits beside me and takes my hands. "Rav, the bond brought you together. But everything since then? That's been you. your choice to keep vigil over him. Your choice to defend him. Your choice to sit on a bench for two days watching him train even though it hurts." She squeezes my fingers. "The bond creates the foundation. But you're building something real on top of it."
"What if he dies before I can figure out what that something is?"
"Then you'll regret not telling him how you feel while you had the chance."
The truth of that sits heavy in my chest.
***
Day three. The final day before the combat.
I don't watch the training this time. Can't. It's too much. Seeing him push past exhaustion into something that looks like desperation.
Instead, I pace my chambers. I try to read. I try to eat. I fail at both.
Around mid-afternoon, Saren appears at my door.
"Your father wants to see you," he says.
Oh gods. What now?
I follow Saren to Father's private study. He's standing at the window, looking out over the kingdom.
"Sit," he says without turning.
I sit.
He's silent for a long moment. Then: "Do you love him?"
The question steals my breath. "What?"
"Theron." Father turns to face me. "Do you love him?"
I open my mouth. Close it. "I—I don't know. Maybe. I think—I think I'm falling in love with him, yes."
"Why?"
"Why?" I repeat. Thrown by the question.
"Why him?" Father's voice is curious, not judgmental. "What is it about him specifically? Beyond the bond. Beyond dragon recognition."
I think about Theron's gentle hands on that arrow wound. His quiet strength. The way he looks at me like I'm precious instead of difficult. The way he survived five rejections and kept going anyway.
"He makes me want to be better," I say quietly. "Not because he demands it. But because he deserves better. He's been broken so many times and he's still KIND. Still gentle. Still honorable." My throat tightens. "And I don't—I don't want to be another person who breaks him. I want to be someone who helps him heal."
Father's expression softens. "That's love, Ravenna. Maybe not fully formed yet. But it's growing."
"What if he dies tomorrow?"
"Then you will grieve." Father's voice is heavy with experience. "You will hurt in ways you didn't know were possible. The bond will tear something in you that may never fully heal." He pauses. "But you will survive. Because you're my daughter. Because you're Elara's daughter. Because you're stronger than you know."
"I don't feel strong."
"Strength isn't feeling brave. It's being terrified and showing up anyway." He moves to sit across from me. "If Theron wins tomorrow, he will have proven himself beyond all doubt. To the kingdom. To House Ashford. To everyone who questioned the choosing."
"And if he loses?"
Father's jaw tightens. "Then we lose a good man. And you lose someone you were beginning to love. And the kingdom loses a warrior who survived the impossible."
The silence between us is heavy.
"I don't know how to just sit here and wait," I whisper. "How to do nothing while he fights for his life."
"You're not doing nothing." Father's voice is gentle. "You're giving him something to fight for. Something beyond survival. You're giving him a future worth living for."
"What if that's not enough?"
"Then it's not enough," Father says. "But it's more than he had before you."
***
That night, I don't even try to sleep.
I sit at my window and watch the stars and feel Solace churning inside me. She's frantic. Terrified for Havoc. I try to send comfort through the bond but I don't know if it reaches him.
Theron is somewhere in the palace. Resting, hopefully. Preparing mentally for what comes at dawn.
I press my hand to my chest where the bond lives. That steady thrumming pulse that connects me to him.
"Don't leave me," I whisper. Again. Like I have every night for three days. "Please, please don't leave me."
The bond pulses back. Once. Twice. Steady and strong.
I cling to that. To that proof that he's still here. Still alive. Still mine.
For one more night.
Tomorrow at dawn, he fights.
Tomorrow I find out if the bond holds.
Tomorrow I find out if I get to keep him.
Or if I lose him forever.
I close my eyes and make a promise to whatever gods might be listening.
If he survives this—if he wins—I'll tell him the truth.
I'll tell him that I don't just accept the bond anymore.
I'll tell him that somewhere between the arrow and the Fear Walk and watching him train himself to breaking—
I fell in love with him.
The scarred, broken, impossibly strong warrior who survived five rejections and might not survive a sixth fight.
I fell in love with him. And I need him to live long enough for me to say it. Dawn comes too fast. It's time.