The Dragon King's Hated Bride
Chapter 117: The One Who Stands For me

Chapter 117: The One Who Stands For me

>>Aelin

I woke up with a gasp.

My lungs struggled for air like I’d been drowning in sleep. My skin was slick with sweat, clinging to the sheets, and my heart thrashed violently against my ribs like it wanted out.

The dream had been too vivid. Too cruel. And far too real.

I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to my chest, trying to ground myself. The room was still, silent, the only sound the rhythm of my breathing—fast and uneven. The sunlight had already slipped through the curtains, golden and warm, casting long lines across the floor.

Morning. It was morning.

I should’ve felt peace at the light. Safety.

But all I could feel was the lingering grief in my chest, coiled tight and suffocating. The ache from a memory that had buried itself so deep in me, it had become part of my bones.

I turned my face toward the window, let the light hit me. It helped, a little. But the pain didn’t lift. Not really.

I could still see her—my mother—still covered in that white cloth, still cold and still and... gone.

And I could still hear Raya’s voice screaming in my ears. Reagan’s disgust. The way Keal looked through me like I was a ghost. The way my father never even asked me why I’d done it.

Just silence.

And I could still feel it—how one careless demand, one innocent wish had broken everything.

It had been my fault. That was the truth. The others could pretend otherwise, but I knew. I’d always known.

I swung my legs over the bed and sat at the edge for a moment. My head hung forward, hair falling like a curtain as I stared at the floor. My hands trembled in my lap.

I had no tears left. Only that awful weight. That hunger for forgiveness I knew I’d never receive.

Raya would never forgive me. Reagan had made sure of it. And Keal... Keal had just vanished from my life like I never existed.

My father had been relieved. One less daughter to pretend to care for.

I pressed my lips together and exhaled slowly, forcing my feet to move.

I didn’t think about it. I just stood, dressed, and let my feet carry me.

Where, I didn’t know—until my heart answered for me.

Draegon.

I needed to see him.

I didn’t even realize how desperately until my hands were already pushing open the main hall doors. The marble beneath my feet had a slight chill, but I barely noticed. My body moved on instinct, guided by something deeper than thought.

Amongst all of my despair, he felt like the only light. A ray of hope. Although he had no idea what I had gone through, I still wanted to see him. After what that nightmare, I can’t seem to find any solace in any other person

But him

As I turned down the corridor toward the council chambers, I heard voices ahead.

Not just any voices.

His.

I walked faster

Draegon’s voice, low and steady, followed by the sharper tone of King Orin. When I heard father’s voice, I slowed down a little.

"I understand your concern, but the Abyss isn’t acting alone," Orin was saying. "And for some reason, it just keeps happening. Someone orchestrated this."

"Agreed," Draegon said. "We’ll need to investigate every site of sacrifice in the surrounding regions. The cults are growing, I’m afraid."

I paused, my hand on the edge of the slightly open open doorway, heart suddenly caught between wanting to enter and needing to vanish.

They were in a meeting. I shouldn’t interrupt. I should go.

I turned slightly, about to step back—

"We also need to talk about Aelin," King Orin said.

I froze.

My fingers curled against the wood.

Talk about me?

"I saw what she did," Orin continued, his voice unreadable. "She burned one of the major spawn clean through. That kind of power... it’s not normal, and for someone like Aelin to have it..." His voice carried disappointment.

My chest tightened.

"She’s not normal," Draegon said, and I couldn’t quite tell what his tone meant. I held my breath.

"She’s not stable either," Orin pressed. "There are cracks in her. I can feel them. As her father, I know that she isn’t a bright kid. She won’t be able to do anything with those powers of hers!"

It felt like something was gripping me, blocking my airways.

Draegon didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched just long enough to make my stomach tighten.

"I’m not blind," Draegon finally said, and his voice was low, harder. "I see the way you treat her."

"What?"

"I noticed it at the party too. She is supposed to be your daughter. How come you are so cold to her?" Draegon’s words stunned me. Weirdly enough though, I felt my chest tighten even more.

"I am not cold to her." Father stated, "And my relationship with her doesn’t matter. I’m discussing what she has. You can’t let her fall," Orin warned. "But that child!" He clicked his tongue, "She won’t amount to much."

"She won’t fall," Draegon snapped. "Because I won’t let her." My breath caught. Something inside me went still. "She’s stronger than you think. Stronger than she knows. But if you try to box her in—try to turn her into something she’s not—you’ll only break what she’s finally starting to rebuild."

Another silence.

"Rebuild?" King Orin said, "Rebuild what? She didn’t have much to contribute to, but it seems God gave her a chance to be a good weapon."

A weapon.

I didn’t know what to feel about those words.

Then Draegon added, quieter this time, "She’s not a weapon. She’s my wife." Then his voice grew sternere, "And I would not have you disrespect her."

!!!!

I bit my lip hard, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

I didn’t leave.

I stepped back from the door, leaned against the cold stone wall, and let myself breathe.

Just breathe.

The weight in my chest didn’t vanish. But it shifted. Something loosened. Some ancient guilt that had clung to me like a second skin began to peel away—because for the first time, maybe in my whole life, I realized someone was actually taking my side.

It made me realize why I was looking for Draegon as soon as I woke up

My back pressed against the stone wall, cold and grounding. But it wasn’t enough.

Something had bloomed in my chest. It was slow at first—like the gentle opening of a flower, petals stretching toward light after years in shadow. But then it quickened. Expanded. Became something wild.

My heart was racing.

No—not racing. Pounding. A furious rhythm, like it was trying to tell me something in a language I didn’t understand. I pressed a hand against it, hoping it would slow. It didn’t.

It beat harder.

Faster.

And with it came something else. Heat rising up my neck. My lungs catching. That strange, wild bloom inside me kept spreading, like sunlight and fire all at once. Like warmth, like fear, like—

It was too big, too consuming. It was something I hadn’t let myself feel in years, because it was too dangerous to want. Too fragile to trust. It was a feeling too foreign for me to understand right away.

But here it was, swelling through me, until I felt like my ribs might crack from the pressure of it.

The rush of emotion became unbearable. My chest clenched again, my throat tightened, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

I sucked in air, but it didn’t come. My lungs refused to open. The walls tilted. My vision blurred.

It was too much. Too much feeling.

It scared me.

What was happening?

I stumbled sideways, one hand fumbling for the wall.

Then everything slipped.

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