9. Soft Monsters and Sacred Things

The moment carriage disappeared through the palace gates, the smile slipped off my face, replaced by that familiar hollowness that always followed good things.

You don't get to keep moments like this. Not in this family.

So I didn’t go back inside.

Instead, I slipped through the side corridors of the palace, barefoot by the time I reached the servants' wing. Past the crumbling walls, the disused courtyard, and then through the old iron gate that groaned like a secret every time it opened.

Behind the palace, it waited.

What used to be a garden.

A long, long time ago, it had belonged to my grandmother. She loved this place more than she loved her family, I think. It was soft here. Filled with lilies and silverleaf trees and a tiny pond shaped like a crescent moon.

But after she died, after Cyrion erased every trace of her softness, no one tended it anymore. The vines took over. Trees grew wild. Flowers strangled each other. The crescent pond dried up.

And the garden forgot it was ever a garden.

It became a forest.

The same forest I was thrown into once when I was twelve, barefoot and bleeding, for talking back to father. Left there all night to learn my lesson.

But instead of fear… I found them.

My children.

Roxy came bounding through the brush first, just a blur of tawny fur and speed. Her cheetah-like form darted through the tall grass like wind itself, her spotted coat gleaming with hints of gold under the fading sun. She skidded to a stop in front of me, panting, her soft red eyes practically glowing with joy.

"Hey, little beast," I whispered, dropping to my knees as she nuzzled into my arms, her purr low and rough.

A soft rustle followed, and then—

Dravonyr.

He stepped into the clearing like a god descending. Towering. Powerful. His black mane rippled like shadows, and his wolf-like face tilted slightly as he locked eyes with me. That look, always assessing, always calm. Like nothing in the world could touch him unless he let it. He was the size of a horse but a little bigger and muscular.

He let out a soft snort and came closer, lowering his massive head to mine so I could rest my forehead against his.

"I missed you too," I murmured.

And then…

Zevrathen.

The forest hushed when he moved. His long, serpentine body slid over moss and rock, iridescent scales shimmering in waves of emerald, red, and cobalt. He had a predator’s grace, silent but impossible to ignore. His bat-like wings folded behind his back, and when he reached me, he lowered his head, not like a beast bowing to a master.

But like a son greeting his mother.

I stood there for a second, overwhelmed, blinking back something stupid and wet.

This is mine.

This… this is where I’m safe. Where I’m known.

Not the palace. Not the politics. Not even Davian.

Here.

With them.

My strange, beautiful, dangerous family.

Roxy curled up beside me as I sat in the patch of soft moss, her head on my thigh like some oversized, loyal cat. Dravonyr settled behind me, guarding as always, his breath steady and warm against my back. Zevrathen coiled half around the clearing, tail flicking rhythmically like he was listening even if he didn’t say anything.

I plucked a tiny flower blooming between the roots of a tree and twirled it between my fingers, staring at the petals more than anything.

"So…" I started, voice low, "there’s this man."

Roxy let out a small huff, as if unimpressed already.

"No, he’s not awful," I said, smiling a little. "He’s just… Davian. You remember I told you about the marriage thing? The one I didn’t ask for?"

Zevrathen’s tail gave a sharp thump. Protective. Always.

"I know. I hated it too," I whispered. "Still do, in a way. But…"

I hesitated, fingers tightening around the stem.

"He’s… not what I expected. He listens. Actually listens. He took me to the sanctuary today, and then the market, and he bought me this stupid little glass rabbit I liked when I thought no one was watching. Who does that?"

They all stayed quiet. But I swear, even the trees leaned in.

"And when I talk, he doesn’t interrupt me. Or mock me. He… looks at me like I’m something real. Not a deal. Not a pawn. Not a daughter of Cyrion."

I glanced up at Dravonyr, who was watching me with that same unreadable expression.

"I don’t trust it yet," I admitted. "I don’t trust him yet. But I think I’m starting to… like him."

The words felt terrifying on my tongue.

"I know I shouldn’t. But sometimes, when he smiles at me, or tucks my hair back, or—" I stopped, cheeks warming, "—when he just stands there looking at me like I matter… I forget I’m supposed to hate this."

Silence.

Then Roxy let out a soft, approving growl and snuggled closer.

Zevrathen finally moved, shifting his body so that his long neck wrapped loosely behind me. His scales were cool against my back, anchoring.

Dravonyr lowered his head until it rested gently beside mine.

I stayed longer than I meant to.

The sun dipped low, casting a warm orange glow through the trees. The forest, once so alive with sound and rustling, went still, like it knew it was time to say goodbye. Roxy curled up near my feet. Dravonyr lowered his massive head, letting me rest my palm between his ears one last time. Zevrathen just stared, his way of saying "don’t forget who you are."

"I’ll come back soon," I told them, though I didn’t know when I would. "Don’t eat any dumb animals without me, alright?"

Roxy snorted.

My dress had bits of grass stuck to it, and I smelled like leaves and fur, but I didn’t care. It was the best I’d felt in a long time.

The moment I stepped out of the forest and into the back courtyard of the palace, it felt like the weight dropped back onto my shoulders. The air was too clean. Too still. Like nothing here had ever been allowed to feel real.

A maid spotted me and gave that usual blink of surprise, like seeing me out in daylight was some rare celestial event. I ignored it.

As I made my way inside, something tightened in my chest. That stupid little ache again. Missing them already? I hated how soft I was getting.

It was late afternoon when he came again.

I was curled up in bed, rereading one of my old favorites for the hundredth time, when the knock came.

"Come in," I called, already sitting up straighter.

Davian stepped in, looking casual, like he hadn’t spent the last week rebuilding a sanctuary and shaking hands with nobles. His coat was off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and in his arms—

Books.

More of them.

This time, thick volumes with worn leather covers and golden inlays. I tilted my head, curious.

"You're trying to make me your nerd bride, aren’t you?" I scoffed.

He gave a small smirk. "If the title fits."

He placed the books beside me carefully, almost reverently, like they were ancient relics. I glanced at the titles. Chronicles of Elara’thia. The Nine Witches. Forbidden Sigils and Rituals.

Witches.

All of them about witches.

My fingers brushed the covers. "You brought these… for me?"

"You said you didn’t know much about them. Thought you might want to."

I blinked, a little thrown off. No one ever followed up on the things I said. Let alone remembered them.

"These aren’t even from the palace library," I murmured. "Where did you get these?"

"I asked around. Pulled a few strings."

Of course he did. Because Davian didn’t half-do anything.

"You didn’t have to go this far," I whispered, suddenly unsure what to do with all the warmth bubbling up in my chest.

He shrugged. "I wanted to."

And that was that.

He sat at the edge of the bed, not too close, just near enough. I pulled one of the books into my lap, flipping through yellowed pages that smelled like old rain and ink. It was like a different world opened right there in my room.

"You’re not afraid to talk about them?" I asked, glancing at him sideways. "Most people still treat witches like they’re cursed just for existing."

"I don’t think they’re cursed," he said, meeting my eyes. "I think they’re powerful. Complicated. Important."

And dangerous, I almost said. But didn’t.

I studied him for a moment longer, trying to understand what angle he was playing at. But there wasn’t one. He was just… being decent.

That stupid ache in my chest bloomed again.

I looked back down at the pages, at the drawn diagrams and family trees and old, smudged spells.

Davian didn't moved much. He was leaned back slightly, arms resting on his thighs, watching the way the sunlight filtered through the curtains like it held answers.

He spoke without looking at me. "You know… I saw you once before. Before all this."

My brows knit. "When?"

"Your eighteenth debut. At court. You were wearing that… coral gown. The one with the pearls on the sleeves."

I blinked. "That was almost two years ago."

He smiled, a little crooked. "I remember thinking you looked bored out of your mind."

That actually made me laugh. "I was. I hated that night. They made me talk to four different suitors. One of them kept trying to guess my favorite flower."

"Did he guess right?"

"I told him it was nightshade, just to make him leave."

Davian laughed, low and real. "Of course you did."

A beat passed.

Then his voice softened. "I watched you dance with that Lord from Velmond. Everyone said he was the most eligible heir that year. But all I could think about was how unfair it was… that someone like you had to smile at men like him."

My chest tightened unexpectedly.

"I remember that moment," he continued. "You turned for a second and looked toward the edge of the ballroom. Right where I was standing."

I looked at him now, full on. "I didn’t even know you were there."

"You didn’t have to. I saw enough for both of us."

Why is he saying all this? My throat felt tight. Why now?

"I was still unmarried then. But they were already arranging things. And I knew better than to reach out to a Draevin girl."

"Because we’re poison?" I said, trying to make it a joke, but it came out quieter than I meant.

"Because I wasn’t allowed to want something I couldn’t have," he said simply.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

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