Alaric's hand was pinned next to my head, his fingers digging into the ancient masonry. I could see the faint, shimmering scales on his knuckles—proof that the dragon was clawing at the surface of his skin, hungry and restless.
"Listen, Seraphina," he hissed, his voice vibrating in his chest. "I know you are trying to play with me. I have spent years watching you weave your lies like a spider. I won't let you do it again. I know very well that you just want to use me for the Malcor name."
I looked up at him, and for a moment, my heart broke.
This was the man I had spent months reading about under my covers in the rain. I knew his favorite food, I knew he hated the smell of lavender, and I knew that he only shifted into a dragon because he felt it was the only way to be "useful" to a kingdom that feared him.
To him, I was a villain. To me, he was a hero who had never been loved. The disappointment tasted like ash in my mouth.
"No, Alaric," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I just want to know you more. I want to be a part of your life... your real life. Not just the one in the ballroom."
The more I spoke, the more Alaric's grip became strange. It wasn't just a hold anymore; it was a desperate, crushing weight. His eyes, once gold, were now glowing a deep, dangerous orange. The air around us began to shimmer with heat.
"Alaric... it's heating up. Please, loose it," I gasped. The silk of my sleeve was starting to singe against the wall.
He blinked, as if waking from a trance, and abruptly released his grip. He stepped back, his chest heaving, his hands shaking. He looked at his own palms as if they were weapons he couldn't control.
I took a shaky breath, the cool air of the room feeling like a blessing. I didn't run. Instead, I stepped back into his space.
"You think I want to use you?" I asked, my violet eyes locking onto his glowing ones. "I know about the nightmares, Alaric. I know that every time you shift, you feel like you're losing a piece of your humanity. I know about the weight of that crown—how it feels like a collar of hot iron around your neck. I'm not the woman you remember."
The silence that followed was heavy. The only sound was the crackle of the fireplace and the rain lashing against the stained-glass windows.
Alaric looked at me, his gaze sharp and suspicious. "Then who are you now? What, you think I will just believe you because you speak a few soft words? You are Seraphina von Malcor. You are the woman who tried to sell my secrets to the Southern Rebels."
He stepped closer again, but this time, he didn't pin me. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, searching for a lie.
"If you aren't her," he whispered, his breath smelling of smoke and winter, "then show me. Because the woman I married would never look at a monster with pity."
"It's not pity, Alaric," I said, reaching out. I hesitated, then pressed my palm directly against his cheek, over the shimmering scales.
He flinched. He expected me to pull away in disgust. Everyone did. The scales were rough and hot, pulsing with a life of their own. But I didn't move. I leaned in, my thumb brushing the edge of his jawline.
"It's recognition," I whispered. "I'm not the girl who wants your gold. I'm the girl who wants to make sure you don't burn alive from your own fire."
His orange eyes widened. For a split second, the dragon's glow faded, leaving behind the tired, sapphire-blue eyes of a man who was exhausted. His head tilted slightly into my hand—a subconscious movement, like a wolf seeking a touch it hadn't felt in years.
But then, he pulled away, his expression hardening again. The "obsessive" wall he built around himself was too high to fall in one night.
"Get some rest, Seraphina," he said, turning his back to me. His voice was cold, but it lacked the bite it had before. "The contract signing is at dawn. If you want to be 'part of my life,' you will start by proving you can handle the thorns that come with it."
He strode out of the room, his black cloak billowing behind him like wings.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my hand still tingling from the heat of his skin. I was in a dangerous game now. I was a fan who had walked into her favorite tragedy, and I had just told the most dangerous man in the world that I knew his secrets.
I have to change the ending, I thought, looking at the rain-streaked window. Because in the original book, tomorrow is the day the first assassination attempt happens. And if I don't save him, there won't be a kingdom left for me to live in.
Is I need to tell him or how I can stop him?
The thought circled my mind like a trapped bird. If I told Alaric the truth—that an assassin's blade would seek his heart tomorrow at the border—he would only laugh. He would think it was another one of Seraphina's twisted traps.
He never believe me. But I have to do something I can't. I want he lives he rule the kingdom. I want him to see the peace I read about in the final chapters, a peace he hasn't reached yet.
I stood up, my silk gown rustling against the cold floor. I couldn't sit and wait for the tragedy to happen. I had to act now, in the dark of night.
"Call a servant," I commanded the empty air, then hurried to the door. "Call that man!"
A moment later, a tall, scarred man appeared. He was the captain of the estate guard, a man named Kael who, in the book, was loyal only to the crown. He looked at me with deep suspicion, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"Lady Seraphina?" he asked, his voice rough. "It is nearly midnight. Why are you out of your chambers?"
I took a deep breath, trying to hide the trembling in my hands. I stepped closer to him, the flickering torchlight making my violet eyes look dark and serious.
"Listen carefully," I whispered, pulling him into the shadows. "Tomorrow a denger is waiting for Alaric so we have to save him. But if he knows about that he never let us to help and the big problem is he don't believe me."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Danger? The King is the strongest warrior in the land. Who would dare—"
"The Shadow Sect," I interrupted, using the name of the assassins from the book. "They will attack at the Iron Pass when the sun is at its peak. They know the King will be exhausted from his partial shift tonight. They plan to use dragon-suppressing arrows."
Kael froze. The mention of the secret arrows made his face turn pale. It was information no noblewoman should have.
"How do you know this?" he hissed.
"It doesn't matter how I know," I said, my voice growing stronger. "What matters is that tomorrow I'll go with you all and we have to prepare for the war. We need shields lined with lead to stop those arrows, and we need a secondary unit to flank the pass."
"You? Going to the border?" Kael looked shocked. "The King will have my head if I allow the Queen into a battlefield."
"He will have your head anyway if he dies tomorrow!" I snapped. "I am not asking for permission, Kael. I am telling you what must be done to keep your King on his throne."
The rain outside intensified, a sudden crack of thunder shaking the stone walls. I felt that familiar shiver—the sense that the story was moving, and I was the only one with the power to change the ending.
"Prepare the horses and the men," I said, looking toward the dark corridor that led to Alaric's room. "We leave two hours before dawn. Alaric must not know. If he sees me there, he might be angry, but at least he will be alive to be angry at me."
Kael looked at me for a long time, searching for the "villainess" he knew. But all he saw was a girl with a desperate, burning fire in her eyes. Slowly, he bowed his head.
"As you wish, My Lady. We prepare in secret."
As he walked away, I leaned against the cold wall. I was terrified. I was just a reader who loved a book, and now I was going to a war to save a man who didn't even want my help. But as I thought of Alaric's tired, golden eyes, I knew I couldn't let his story end in blood.