chapter 5

I was still me.

And I would not stay in this gilded cage, no matter how gently he touched me, no matter how soft his voice got when he called me "mine."

Because I wasn't.

Not now. Not ever.

Tonight-I'd slip from my chambers. I'd seen where the key was hidden. He trusted me enough to leave the window unbarred, the balcony unguarded.

That was his mistake.

And if the gods were kind, I'd be gone before sunrise.

If not...

Then I'd find out what it truly meant to defy a dragon.

Alexander's POV (Dark, Twisted Happiness, Obsessive):

She was here.

That alone filled me with a kind of joy I hadn't felt in centuries-raw, primal, and impossibly dangerous.

She walked through my halls like a flame through fog-flickering, wild, beautiful. The only human in a realm of dragons, and yet she was the one who unsettled the air. She was the threat. She was the dream I had pulled from the veil between worlds.

And I had her now.

I watched her closely-always. When she stood by the window too long. When she traced the carvings in the walls with distracted fingers. When she sat at the breakfast table and barely touched her food, too tense to breathe.

She thought I didn't notice.

I noticed everything.

She was planning something. I could feel it in the way her eyes lingered on the guards, the doorways, the keys. Her defiance bloomed like a stubborn rose in winter, and still... I felt nothing but warmth.

Let her try.

Let her think she could escape me.

The idea that she believed she had a choice-it amused me.

It made me smile in the dark.

Because even if she ran, even if she found a crack in my world wide enough to squeeze through-I would find her.

And when I did, I would chain her in silk and kiss her until she forgot what she was running from.

For now, I let her move freely. Let her pretend I was growing soft. Let her believe she was winning.

Because I was happy.

For the first time in an eternity, I was happy.

Because Elora was mine.

Even if she didn't know it yet.

The moon was the only witness.

Silver light spilled through the high window of her chamber as Elora slipped silently from her bed. Every sound felt too loud-every breath, every step against the cold marble floor. Her heart beat like war drums beneath her ribs, but she didn't stop.

She'd waited weeks for this.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled the key from the hidden crack in the stone column-exactly where she'd seen the handmaiden place it days ago. A quiet turn, a soft click, and the balcony doors creaked open.

The wind bit at her skin, sharp with mountain chill. Below her, the vast courtyard stretched out in shadow. The drop wasn't far-not for someone who wanted to fall. She gripped the rope she'd stolen from the stables and tied it to the railing, praying the knots held.

Don't look back. Don't think. Just go.

She climbed down slowly, her bare feet scraping against rough stone. Halfway down, the rope jerked suddenly-and snapped.

She screamed as she fell, her body twisting midair before crashing hard into the earth below. Her knees buckled. Her shoulder hit first, then her hip. Pain exploded through her side, blinding, sharp. She choked on her breath, biting back a sob.

But she didn't stop.

She couldn't stop.

Dirt smeared her nightdress. Blood trickled down her leg, warm and steady from a gash along her thigh. Her hands were scraped raw, her ankle throbbing with every step-but she kept moving. Through the twisted trees that bordered the castle. Past glowing stones and strange flowers that pulsed faintly under moonlight. Deeper into the unknown.

She didn't know where she was going.

She only knew she had to get away from him.

From those golden eyes that always seemed to see too much. From the way he spoke to her like she was already claimed. From the cage he called kindness.

And for a while, she believed she might make it.

Until she saw the light.

Soft. Golden. Familiar.

And then she saw him.

Standing at the edge of the woods, arms crossed loosely, as if he'd been waiting there for hours. His dark robes fluttered in the wind. That same calm, unreadable look on his face.

The Dragon King.

"Did you really think I wouldn't know, Elora?" he asked, voice soft, almost amused.

Her heart sank. "No. No-no, no-" She turned and ran.

But her body betrayed her.

Her injured leg gave out. She stumbled, crashing to her knees in the cold dirt. Her palms tore open again as she tried to push herself up, but the pain-oh, gods, the pain-was too much. She sobbed, frustrated, wild.

Then came footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Closer.

He knelt beside her silently, reaching out.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, trying to scramble back.

But he caught her. Gently, infuriatingly gently. One arm looped beneath her knees, the other cradled her back as he lifted her with no effort at all. Like she weighed nothing. Like she wasn't even struggling.

She beat her fists against his chest.

"Let me go! I hate you! I hate you-!"

"I know," he murmured, walking through the trees without looking down. "But I warned you, didn't I? That you were mine."

His voice was soft. Too soft.

That was what frightened her most.

Elora felt her fury crumbling, replaced by exhaustion and the horrible sting of failure. She stopped hitting him. Her blood smeared across his robes like paint. Her body shivered from the cold. From the pain.

But when they reached the courtyard again, everything changed.

He stopped walking.

And looked down at her-the calm finally gone.

"You hurt yourself," he said, voice low.

"It's nothing," she muttered through clenched teeth.

He looked at her bloodied leg. Her torn hands. Her face, scratched by thorns.

And then the air shifted.

The ground trembled beneath them as heat rolled off his skin in waves. His claws lengthened. His eyes-normally molten gold-flared brighter, flickering like the core of a fire.

"You bled for them," he snarled.

"Wh-what?" she whispered.

"You bled to get away from me," he said, voice shaking with something violent. "You hurt yourself-broke yourself-just to escape."

The rage that followed was silent and terrible.

He set her down carefully on the stone steps, then turned from her.

And unleashed hell.

A roar tore from his throat-not human. Not restrained. The sky cracked above them as the towers around the courtyard shook. Stone split. Trees burst into flame. The air turned molten, roaring with ancient power.

He didn't look at her as he destroyed it all.

The fountain shattered first, then the walls near the gate. The guards fled. Fire spiraled into the sky in violent columns as windows exploded in bursts of heat. He let it all burn-every inch of the world that had dared let her think she could leave him.

Elora stared, wide-eyed, heart in her throat. It was like watching a god break the world open.

And then-suddenly-it stopped.

Ash drifted through the air like snow. Smoke curled around them. He stood in the center of it all, chest heaving, shoulders tight, his back to her.

Silence.

When he turned again, his expression was unreadable. But his hands-still clawed-shook.

He returned to her, knelt once more, and gathered her back into his arms.

This time, she didn't fight.

"You're hurt," he murmured, voice hoarse. "I'll heal you."

She should've screamed again. Should've kicked and cursed and spit.

But she couldn't look away from the way his jaw clenched. The way his hands trembled as they touched her, barely brushing her skin. He was furious-but not at her.

At everything else.

And in that terrifying, broken moment, Elora realized something:

She hadn't escaped him.

She'd never escape him.

Because he would burn the world down just to keep her in it.

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