The Dragon King's Blind Mate

Bracelet From Shima

The grand throne room was thick with the scent of burning copper and heavy, suffocating darkness. Two human prisoners knelt on the cold stone floor, their eyes vacant as wisps of pure life force drifted from their chests directly into Xalvador’s open palms. He inhaled sharply, his veins pulsing with black lines before the bodies collapsed into dust.

Xalvador wiped his mouth, his dark eyes settling on Cain, who stood at the base of the dais.

"Is she still doing well?" Xalvador asked, his voice echoing in the empty hall.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Cain replied, bowing his head. "A few days have passed, and everything seems perfectly normal. The guards are keeping a close watch on her at all times, just as you ordered. She hasn't noticed the extra monitoring at all."

"Good. Keep it that way. She needs to be protected, especially while the curse is flaring like this." Xalvador stepped down from the throne, his boots clicking heavily. "What about the seers?"

"We are scouring the outer realms, Sire. But finding a true seer who can withstand your dark aura is proving difficult. It is as if someone has wiped them from the map. However... a package arrived at the castle gates just moments ago. It was addressed specifically to you."

Cain stepped forward, holding out a sleek, unadorned black box.

Xalvador snatched it, tearing the lid off. Inside sat a strange, ancient metal bracelet, etched with faint, glowing runes that hummed with a bizarre power. Beneath it was a small piece of parchment. Xalvador unfolded it, his eyes narrowing as he read the sharp, elegant handwriting:

Wear this if you want to see her.

Xalvador scoffed, a dark, dangerous sound vibrating in his chest. He tossed the note aside. "A trap. They think I am foolish enough to put on an unknown magical artifact? Throw it into the lower courtyards."

"Wait, Xalvador," a smooth, calm voice interrupted.

Yves stepped out from the shadows near the pillars, his eyes locked on the glowing bracelet. He didn't approach it carelessly; instead, he hovered his hand over the box, chanting a low counter-spell to test for hidden toxins or curses. The runes glowed faintly, but remained stable. He leaned in closer, his expression shifting as he examined the craftsmanship.

"This handwriting... and these specific runes," Yves murmured, his brow furrowing with deep suspicion. "Xalvador, this came from Shama."

Xalvador froze. Shama. The elusive, old seer he had only ever seen once in his life. Her visions were absolute, but she had vanished into hiding years ago.

"It’s a binding tether," Yves continued, his tone cautious. "I don't trust the timing for a second, and I don't know what game the old woman is playing by sending this now. This is an obvious play by an unseen hand. But mechanically? It is designed to suppress volatile energy. Nothing can pierce your core defenses anyway, Xalvador. Whatever Shama wants, she clearly wants you back by Lyra's side for some reason. If it temporarily stabilizes your aura so you don't harm her, use it to your advantage, but keep your guard up."

Xalvador stared at the metal band, his heart twisting at the thought of Lyra. He missed her presence, but the supernatural curse had made his energy too volatile to get too close.

"Fine," Xalvador growled.

He picked up the heavy bracelet and snapped it around his thick wrist. Instantly, a wave of profound calm washed over him. The violent, burning black lines beneath his skin receded, locking themselves away. For the first time in days, his mind felt completely clear, and his dark aura softened into a quiet simmer.

Xalvador’s eyes widened. "It... it actually worked."

"Then go to her," Yves said, his expression remaining guarded. "But remember, everything comes with a price. Especially when it comes from Shama."

"Cain!" Xalvador commanded, already turning toward the exit. "Find out how this box got to the gates. Scour the perimeter and don't stop until you find a trace of that old woman."

"Right away, Sire," Cain replied.

But Xalvador was already gone. He moved through the winding corridors of the palace, his heart hammering in his chest. The temporary peace given by the bracelet meant only one thing, he could finally see his mate.

He reached the eastern wing, his heavy boots echoing against the marble floor. He didn't knock. He simply pushed open the large, heavy doors to Lyra’s chambers and stepped inside.

Lyra was sitting on the edge of her bed, the soft candlelight bathing her in a warm glow. The moment the door surged open, she stiffened, her sightless eyes turning toward the sound.

When the King walked in, she trembled.

The terrifying words of Lilith, the seer from the dungeon, rushed back into her mind like a flood of ice water. I prophecied that the King will kill his mate. Lyra’s hands gripped the silk sheets tightly, her heart throat-achingly loud against her ribs. Fear wanted her to shrink back, but she forced her shoulders straight, lifting her chin to face the direction of his heavy footsteps. She wouldn't let him see her cower.

Xalvador crossed the room in three long strides, entirely unaware of her internal terror. He sank onto the mattress beside her, his large, calloused hand reaching out to cup the back of her head.

"Lyra," he murmured, his voice softer than it had been in days.

He leaned in, his long fingers sliding through the silky strands of her hair. Lyra went rigid under his palm. She didn't lean into him this time. Instead, her breath hitched, a sudden, heavy wave of exhaustion washing over her mind.

As his hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against his powerful, warm chest, she felt entirely consumed by his overwhelming strength. He held her with a fierce, desperate possessiveness that made her feel incredibly small.

Lyra closed her eyes, her mind spiraling back through all the times he had held her like this. Every single time, his touch had made her feel weak, helpless, and completely stripped of her own power. She was a captive in his world, blind and vulnerable, and now a terrible prophecy hung over her head. A dark, weary thought crept into her mind: Why fight it?

If he was fated to kill her, what was the point of resisting? She felt so incredibly weak against his monstrous power. Maybe it was easier to just surrender herself to the dark. Maybe dying would finally bring her peace, ending the constant terror of this court.

"You're quiet tonight," Xalvador whispered against her forehead, his breath warm but suffocating. "Did the guards frighten you with their presence outside?"

Lyra swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn't wrap her arms around him. Her hands remained flat against her own lap, creating a physical barrier between them. She lifted her face toward his, her voice tight and distant.

"No," Lyra said, her sightless eyes cold as she stared in his direction. "The guards don't frighten me, Your Majesty. I am just tired."

Xalvador frowned slightly, sensing the sharp distance in her tone and the formal title dripping from her lips. His grip tightened around her waist to pull her closer. "You look pale. Has something happened?"

"Nothing has happened," she lied softly, her voice flat.

But deep within her chest, beneath the heavy layers of fear and the urge to just give up, a tiny, buried ember of resentment suddenly sparked. A small part of her mind revolted against the unfairness of it all. Why should I die for absolutely no reason?

She hadn't asked for any of this. She didn't ask to be dragged to the Court of Shadows. She certainly didn't ask to be his mate. It wasn't her choice, so why should her life be forfeit just to fulfill some monstrous destiny of his? Why did he get to decide when her breath stopped?

That tiny, bitter thought anchored itself deep in her mind, a quiet rebellion against the man holding her. It was a lingering seed of doubt, waiting for the right moment to grow.

Xalvador studied her closed-off expression, his brow furrowing. He could feel the tension radiating from her body, a cold wall that hadn't been there before, but he assumed it was merely the psychological toll of her isolation.

"You think too much, little bird," he murmured, his voice dropping as he tried to soothe her. "Let me carry the weight tonight."

With agonizing gentleness, Xalvador shifted his weight, slowly laying her down onto the plush pillows. Lyra didn't protest, but she remained completely stiff as she hit the mattress, her eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. Xalvador slid his large frame onto the bed right beside her.

He pulled the heavy silk blankets over both of them, tucking her against his side, his arm heavy across her waist.

"Close your eyes, Lyra," Xalvador whispered, his deep voice wrapping around her in the dark. "I'm sleeping in your room tonight."

"Goodnight, Your Majesty," she whispered back into the darkness, her voice completely devoid of warmth.

Lyra lay perfectly still against his chest, listening to the steady, powerful beat of his heart. She was trapped in his arms, the terrifying weight of the prophecy suffocating her, while that tiny, silent piece of anger continued to burn fiercely in the dark.