Chapter 29 — The Letter She Didn't Send
The room he built for her was quiet that morning.
Lyra sat at the small desk near the open window, the frostbloom petals he'd pressed into glass glowing faintly in the sunlight. The harp hummed softly in the corner, as if remembering the lullaby she'd sung days ago.
She opened the journal.
The one he left blank.
The one that waited for her voice.
---
She didn't know how to begin.
Not with "Dear." Not with "To." Just… with feeling.
So she wrote:
> *I don't know what I am to you.
> But I know what you are to me.*
Her hand trembled slightly.
> *You are the quiet I never knew I needed.
> The warmth I didn't know I could deserve.
>
> You are the reason I glow.*
She paused.
The ink shimmered faintly — not with magic, but with truth.
> *I don't want to be your queen.
> I want to be your morning.
> Your garden.
> Your reason to rest.*
She closed the journal gently.
Didn't tear the page out.
Didn't fold it.
Just… left it there.
Because some letters aren't meant to be handed over.
Some are meant to be found.
---
Later that evening, the Dragon King entered the room.
He didn't touch the journal.
But he saw it open.
And he smiled.
Because even without reading the words, he felt them.
And he knew:
She had begun to love him.
Not with fire.
With staying.