Chapter 20 — The Words He Never Thought He'd Write
The Dragon King had never written a love letter.
He had written treaties, declarations, warnings carved into stone. But never something soft. Never something meant to be folded and held close.
Until now.
He sat in the observatory, the stars blinking above him like patient witnesses. A single candle flickered beside the parchment. The ink shimmered faintly — dragonsteel mixed with starlight, reserved only for sacred things.
He stared at the blank page.
Then, slowly, he began.
> *To the one who sings storms to sleep,
>
> I do not know how to begin.
>
> You are not the first to walk these halls.
> But you are the first to make them feel like home.*
He paused.
The words felt strange. Not wrong. Just… unfamiliar.
> *I have watched you speak to flowers as if they were old friends.
> I have seen you touch broken things without flinching.
> I have felt your presence calm fire that even I could not tame.*
He leaned back, the candlelight catching the edge of his jaw.
> *You do not ask for answers.
> You do not demand truth.
> You simply stay.
>
> And in staying, you have taught me what peace feels like.*
He closed his eyes.
Memories rose — of her laughter in the garden, her glow beneath the storm, her voice humming lullabies to walls that had forgotten how to listen.
> *I do not know what I am becoming.
> But if I become it beside you, I will not fear it.*
He signed the letter — not with his title, not with his name.
Just a symbol.
A dragon curled around a flame.
---
He didn't send it.
Not yet.
He folded it carefully, placed it inside a small box carved from moonwood, and tucked it beneath his cloak.
Because some letters are not meant to be delivered immediately.
Some are meant to be carried — close to the heart — until the moment is right.
And when Lyra entered the observatory later that night, her glow soft and steady, he didn't speak of the letter.
He simply looked at her.
And she smiled.
As if she already knew.