Chapter 42: The Dragon’s Price
Arthur made his way through the palace’s eastern wing, where the guest chambers had been hastily converted into a recovery suite.
The corridors here carried a different energy—ancient and wild.
Two guards flanked the doors, but they stepped aside without question at Arthur’s approach. His authority was absolute now, unquestioned after the events in the medical wing.
The chamber beyond was spacious, with high windows that let in streams of afternoon light. But it was the figure reclining on the oversized bed that commanded all attention.
Sera Nightwind was even more magnificent than his fragmented memories from the rescue had suggested. Her recovery had progressed remarkably—the gaunt, tortured woman from the Syndicate facility was gone, replaced by someone radiating ancient power despite her current vulnerability.
Long silver hair cascaded over bare shoulders, and when she turned toward him, her golden eyes held depths that spoke of millennia. She was beautiful in the way that dangerous things often were—all sharp edges wrapped in deceptively soft curves.
"Prince Arthur," she said. "Or should I say, King Arthur? Word travels quickly through these halls."
"Just Arthur," he replied, settling into the chair beside her bed. "Titles feel unnecessary between us, don’t you think?"
She laughed. "How refreshingly direct. Most rulers insist on ceremony, even in private."
"I’m not most rulers."
"No," she agreed, her gaze sharpening as she studied him. "You’re not. I can feel it through our bond—the changes in you since that night. The Primordial’s touch runs deeper than you’ve told the others."