The Dragon King's Hated Bride
Chapter 91: Broken Bonds

Chapter 91: Broken Bonds

>>Aelin

The corridor leading to our chambers was quieter than I expected. Still perfumed from the festivities, but silent now—save for the sound of our footsteps echoing off the obsidian walls and the distant throb of torches.

Draegon’s arm was warm beneath my hand, but I couldn’t stop the way my fingers trembled against his sleeve. I waited, waited until the last turn in the hall, until we were out of sight and out of earshot.

Then I said, quietly, "You should tell them."

He didn’t slow. "Tell who?"

"Your brothers," I murmured. "About the tower."

His stride faltered, only slightly. A shadow passed across his expression, but he kept moving, jaw tightening. I didn’t press, not yet. I let the silence stretch a few more steps, but the air was shifting. Heavy.

Tense.

"You saw the way they looked at you tonight," I tried again. "It’s not just grief or hate, Draegon. It’s confusion. They don’t know. They don’t understand. But they should."

He stopped this time.

Right in the center of the corridor, between flickering torches, beneath a vaulted ceiling that arched like ribs overhead.

"No,"His voice was low. Steady.

"Why not?" I asked, "This can prevent-"

"No one ever cared about her," He cut me off, "Not for decades."

"What?" It took me a moment to understand what he was trying to say

"My birth mother,"

"Wait, I’m sure that’s not true-"

"Yes, it is." His gaze met mine, unflinching. "My mother was locked in that tower since I was a boy. The previous queen—" he exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound brittle, "—wouldn’t even let servants approach. No food unless passed through the wall chute, like all the other supplies." His purple eyes stared into mine, "You’ve seen how it’s locked from the outside."

I swallowed. "But Draken and Drakkar—"

"They never visited her either. Not even once." His voice didn’t rise, but there was a tremor beneath it that I’m sure no one could tell about except me. "They obeyed the rules. They accepted the silence. Because my mother was a concubine, she had no place in the palace." He looked away, the shadows deepening the angles of his face.

I looked down as I pursed my lips, "..." I did not know how to answer him

"You weren’t there," he said. "You didn’t hear the way she whispered through the walls." I looked up at him but he looked at the window which was a little further away from us, "Only I would go to visit her, climbing the tower to reach that one window on top so I could enter the place where she was imprisoned." His words struck something deep in me. The ache of it filled my chest. "And it was the only way, the only time, I could tell a parent’s love."

I bit my lower lip in frustration. I understood his anger, but;

"So what’s happening now in the tower..." I said slowly, "You think they don’t deserve to know?"

He turned back to me, and this time, the ice in his eyes wasn’t cold—it was resolute. Hardened by years of silence and grief.

"No," he said. "It’s fair that they don’t know."

"Fair?" I echoed, barely a breath. "Is this vengeance, then?"

"It’s justice," he said. "They respected the rules. I respected the rules for years. And they both know I didn’t violate any rules, not even when I killed their mother."

My stomach twisted. "Draegon, I—" I hesitated, then pushed through the fear rising in my throat. "I’m afraid. Afraid this silence, this secret... it’ll only make things worse. Between you and them."

His expression softened at that. Just a little.

He stepped closer, lifting a hand to brush a loose strand of hair from my face.

"If they have any wisdom," he said, "they’ll come to understand that nothing I did was wrong. Nothing."

"And if they don’t?" I asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

Only lowered his hand and slipped it back around mine as we began walking again.

Then he murmured, "Then let them hate me. I’ve lived with that before."

I couldn’t speak.

The corridor stretched ahead, lit and endless, but I felt as though we were walking into fog. Together, but still surrounded by shadows neither of us could name.

The door to our chambers opened with a low groan of iron hinges, the scent of burning cedar and black wine trailing behind us from the hall.

Draegon stepped in first, already unfastening the high collar of his ceremonial coat. I followed more slowly, my steps hesitant across the thick velvet rugs.

Our room was dimly lit—only two sconces flickered on the far wall, casting shadows like wings across the high ceiling. The bed was already turned down, soft sheets gleaming like silver under the low light.

Draegon paused at the hearth, then turned to me. His eyes were tired, the fire in them dulled, but his voice remained composed. "I have meetings."

I blinked. "Now?"

He nodded once, as if it wasn’t unusual. "The council won’t wait. They want decisions. Answers. And of course, the problem with Abyss worshippers can’t wait."

Something inside me caved, just a little.

"But... you’re not coming back?"

He didn’t look away. "No."

One word. Firm. Final.

The crown might’ve rested on his head for less than an hour, but already, I felt the distance between us growing like a fissure.

"I understand," I said, even though I didn’t.

What was there to argue? He was the King of Demons now. I couldn’t ask him to stay...

Still, I hated the quiet ache that settled in my chest as he crossed the room, brushing his hand over my shoulder in parting. The gesture was soft. Too soft. Like an apology too ashamed to speak itself aloud.

Then he was gone.

The door closed behind him with a click that sounded far too much like a lock.

I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do, of how to be in a space that suddenly felt too big for me alone. The silence pressed in like hands around my throat.

Finally, I moved toward the bed and sat at the edge, my dress pooling around me like smoke. I glanced at the empty spot beside me. My fingers curled into the sheets.

Cold.

...

With a steadying breath, I turned toward the blackwood table in the corner, where the Cosmic book lay half-open.

If Draegon couldn’t be with me, then at least I’d make use of the silence.

***

>>Ariston

The corridor was quiet at this hour, the only sound was the faint noise of my boots against the floor. I was going around doing patrol near the Princess’s quarter. But the truth was, I’d been wandering for a while now.

Restless.

My mind unsettled.

I let out a sigh and was about to turn around and go stand guard when I saw him.

Drakkar.

He was walking from the opposite direction, that same fluid grace in his steps but unlike his usual self, he had a distant expression on his face. His eyes caught mine for the briefest moment. Just a flicker. Barely even that. And then—he looked away.

Cold.

Dismissive.

As if I were no one.

!!

He kept walking, didn’t slow down, didn’t say a word as he crossed by me. And I—

I stopped.

I was not used to something like this coming from him. But seeing how he ignored me, made my heart sting.

My footsteps faltered, breath catching, and I stood there like an idiot, as my chest felt constricted.

I remained there for a moment, trying to accept his cold attitude, then out of curiosity, I turned slightly to watch him go. But by the time I glanced over my shoulder, the corridor was already empty.

!!!

And that shocked me even more. He hadn’t even bothered to look back. Not once.

The sting came sharp and fast, like something pulling tight beneath my ribs. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to breathe it away, but it lingered. A dull ache.

This is what I wanted, wasn’t it? His distance. His silence. I’d told him it was better this way.

I meant it. I had told him to stay away from me countless times and would get annoyed at how he wouldn’t listen.

So why did it feel like something inside me had cracked open now that he did exactly what I wanted?

The coldness in his eyes when they brushed past mine wasn’t cruel. That might’ve been easier to handle. No, it was worse than that. It was indifferent. Like I no longer existed to him.

I turned back to the window, placing a hand on the ledge. The stone was chilled, but not unpleasantly so. Just real. Something to ground me.

Moonlight poured through the arched glass in thick beams, painting silver across the floor and my hands. The full moon hung heavy in the sky, luminous and aching. And something about it—something about the light, the quiet, the stillness—dragged me backwards.

To that night.

The first time.

The first time we shared an intimate night. And also the time when he discovered my secret.