Part 1
The morning light spilled over the Obsidian Palace like liquid gold, dancing on the marble floors and seeping through the tall crystal windows. Isolde stood still as servants fluttered around her like birds, fussing over her ceremonial gown. It was the color of burning embers—deep red with golden embroidery that curled like dragon fire across her bodice and sleeves.
She hated how beautiful it looked on her. She hated how her body reacted to the thought of him.
"His Highness is expecting you," murmured a maid, bowing low as she gestured toward the towering doors of the great hall.
Isolde's fingers trembled slightly as she gripped her skirts. Every step forward brought her closer to him—to the prince she barely knew, to the man who had declared her his wife by law and fire.
The doors groaned open.
Valen Ignis sat on his throne of blackened steel, carved with ancient dragon runes. He wore a dark cloak that shimmered with flame-thread, and his crown was simple—just a single red gem blazing on a circlet of gold. His gaze pierced through the crowd the moment she entered.
The great hall fell silent.
All eyes turned to her, but it was his eyes she felt on her skin.
His voice rang clear, deep, and regal. "Approach me, Lady Isolde."
She lifted her chin and walked forward, refusing to tremble. She would not give this dragon-hearted prince the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
When she stood before him, Valen rose from his throne. "Today marks the union between House Renn and House Ignis. A sacred joining bound by the Flame of Ancestry."
The high priest stepped forward, flame-tipped staff glowing. "Do you both enter this bond willingly?"
Isolde swallowed hard. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
She remembered the deal. This wasn't about love—it was politics. She would be his bride, his queen, but never his equal.
Still, she nodded.
Valen's voice was unwavering. "I do."
As the flames circled them in ritual, Isolde dared to look up at the man she now called husband. There was something unreadable in his expression—something deeper than the power he wore like a second skin.
Desire. Possession. Or something darker?
The fire flared between them.
And so began a union that would shake kingdoms.
Part 2 –
The golden torchlight flickered along the cold stone walls, but the warmth that simmered between them outmatched it tenfold.
Valen stood still, as if rooted by some invisible magic. His crimson eyes locked onto hers, and though he'd just sworn to stay away—to not break her—it was clear he was already fighting the urge to do just that.
"I said I would not take you by force," he rasped, voice low, tortured. "But Isolde, you are... testing every restraint I possess."
She swallowed hard. "I'm not afraid of you," she whispered, though her fingers trembled slightly at her sides.
"Don't be foolish." He stepped closer again. "You should be. You're standing in the dragon's den, provoking the very beast who wants you naked and moaning beneath him."
A sharp inhale escaped her lips. "Then why don't you?"
He was silent for a long, loaded moment. Then, with a sudden movement, he slammed his hand against the stone behind her—not touching her, not yet—but caging her in.
"Because you deserve more than just heat and hunger," he said roughly. "You deserve worship."
Isolde's breath caught in her throat.
"I've never worshipped anyone," he continued, leaning closer until his lips were a whisper away from her ear. "But the moment I touched you... I knew I would kneel."
She didn't know whether to cry or reach for him. Everything inside her ached and burned, confused and aroused in equal measure.
"I'm not a toy, Valen," she whispered. "I won't survive being used and discarded."
His hand came to her face then, surprisingly gentle as he cupped her jaw. "Neither will I," he said. "So don't tempt me, unless you're ready to be claimed—mind, body, soul. Dragonfire doesn't burn halfway, Isolde."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. "Then stop waiting," she breathed.
And the moment snapped.
His mouth crashed against hers—not soft or questioning, but with a hunger that had been growing since the first time their eyes met. She clung to his shoulders as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his hardened body. His tongue pushed past her lips, tasting, claiming.
Isolde moaned into his mouth, heat coiling between her thighs.
He spun her around suddenly, pressing her back to the wall, his thigh slipping between hers as he kissed a fiery trail down her throat. Her head tipped back, fingers diving into his silken black hair.
"Say the word," he growled against her skin. "And I'll stop."
She gasped. "Don't. Don't you dare."
He lifted her, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The friction of their bodies was maddening, and she whimpered as his lips teased hers again.
But then he stilled, resting his forehead against hers.
"I want your first time to be in my bed," he said hoarsely. "Not against a wall like some savage beast."
She was trembling when he lowered her gently to the ground. "Then take me there."
His eyes flared, the dragon in him responding to her plea. But he pulled away, chest heaving.
"No. Not yet."
"Why?" she demanded, breathless.
"Because once I start, I won't stop," he said. "And once you're mine, Isolde Renn, I will never let you go."
They stood in silence for a long moment, the crackling torches the only sound between them. Then Valen turned and stalked away, leaving her against the wall—throbbing, aching, and more drawn to him than ever.
Isolde sank slowly to the cold floor, fingers touching her swollen lips.
She had entered this palace as a pawn.
But the Dragon Prince was teaching her something dangerous.
She was no one's pawn.
And perhaps… just perhaps…
She was the fire he never saw coming.
Part 3: The Game of Restraint and Fire.
Isolde remained on the floor long after Valen vanished into the shadows of the corridor, her breathing ragged, her body humming with unsatisfied need. Her fingers pressed lightly to her lips, still tingling from his kiss—no, his claim. Because that's what it had felt like. A warning. A promise. A possession.
She rose slowly, her legs still weak, and wrapped her arms around herself. The cold stone of the corridor could do nothing to cool the fire that raged inside her.
Why hadn't he taken her?
Why did he walk away when he clearly wanted her just as badly?
Because once I start, I won't stop…
His words echoed in her mind. And she realized that Valen Ignis wasn't just battling desire—he was battling something deeper. Something ancient and volatile. Something bound to the dragon in his blood.
And maybe… he was afraid of what that would do to her.
She made her way back to her chambers, the silence of the castle pressing heavily against her ears. Servants bowed as she passed, but she barely noticed. Her mind was filled with crimson eyes and the way his hands had felt on her body—possessive, reverent, shaking with restraint.
Once inside her room, she locked the door and fell onto the bed, heart thundering.
Was this what it meant to be desired by a dragon?
Because it didn't feel like lust. It felt like fate.
Elsewhere in the palace, Valen paced his war chamber like a caged beast.
His blood burned. His hands trembled. And the scent of her—sweet, maddening—still clung to him like smoke.
He wanted her.
Not just her body, but her fire. Her defiance. Her soul.
And that terrified him.
Dragons didn't fall in love. They conquered. They devoured.
But Isolde Renn… she was undoing centuries of cold-blooded control with nothing but a glance, a whisper, a moan.
He roared and slammed a fist into the wall, stone cracking beneath the force.
He had to be careful. Because if he gave in—if he truly let himself go—there would be no turning back.
And he wouldn't just claim her.
He'd burn the entire kingdom to keep her.
The moon hung high above the obsidian towers of Drakos, casting silver light through the arched windows of Isolde's chamber. She hadn't slept. Couldn't. Her body still pulsed with the memory of his touch, the ache of unfinished longing coiling tightly inside her like a live wire.
She rose from the bed and paced the stone floor barefoot, her silken nightdress clinging to her skin. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—those burning red eyes, that voice like velvet fire.
"You deserve worship."
A shiver ran down her spine.
No man had ever said that to her.
She had been bartered, dismissed, overlooked. Even in her own kingdom, she had been a pawn for treaties and political gain. Her beauty had been praised, but never revered. Her mind had been silenced, her heart ignored.
Until now.
Valen hadn't touched her in lust alone. He'd looked at her like she was made of starlight and sin—like resisting her was destroying him. And that truth struck a dangerous chord inside her.
She wasn't just falling for the Dragon Prince.
She was beginning to burn for him.
Meanwhile, in the northern wing of the castle, Valen stood under a cold cascade of enchanted water, its icy bite barely dulling the heat beneath his skin. His palms were braced against the marble wall, his head bowed, muscles taut with restraint.
His mind replayed the moment her lips had parted beneath his. The sound of her moan. The way she had wrapped around him like she belonged there.
He had almost lost control.
His dragon—wild, ancient, and fiercely possessive—had surged to the surface, demanding he mark her. Mate her. Claim her in the oldest, most sacred way.
But she wasn't ready.
And he wouldn't take her until she begged to be taken—not out of fear or seduction, but choice.
She deserved that.
Still, his restraint came at a cost. His body ached, his soul burned, and the voice inside him whispered one damning truth: She is yours. And soon… all of you will belong to her.
Back in her chamber, Isolde moved to the window, resting her forehead against the cool glass. Somewhere out there, he was fighting the same storm she was.
Why?
Why hold back when everything between them screamed more?
Maybe it was fear.
Or maybe… it was respect.
And that, somehow, only made her want him more.
She closed her eyes, imagining what it would feel like to surrender to him fully—to see what worship looked like in the arms of a dragon.
A knock at her door startled her. She turned, heart racing.
It wasn't one of her handmaidens.
It was the scent of fire and smoke that reached her first.
Her pulse surged.
"Come in," she whispered.
The door opened slowly.
And Valen stepped in.
His eyes met hers in the dark, and they said everything his lips did not.