The Dragon King's Blind Mate

Something Is Terribly Wrong (1)

The heavy oak doors of the western wing did not rattle when Xalvador approached. He moved like the shadows he commanded, his large frame tense, the ancient bracelet on his wrist humming a quiet, steady rhythm against his pulse. He had heard the frantic whispers of the servants. He had heard that she was screaming in agony, her hands clawing at her head, begging for relief.

As he reached the threshold of her chambers, the two guards outside instantly went to drop to their knees.

Xalvador raised a sharp, commanding hand, cutting them off before they could make a sound. "Do not announce my presence," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.

He didn't go through the door. He simply stood outside in the cold corridor, leaning his shoulder against the stone wall, his dark eyes fixed on the grain of the wood. Inside, he could hear the muffled, frantic sounds of Mina rushing around, the clinking of glass vials, and Lyra’s low, exhausted whimpers as the pain relievers finally began to take effect. He stayed there for hours, an absolute monarch reduced to a silent sentinel, paralyzed by a mixture of stubborn pride and a suffocating sense of guilt he still didn't know how to carry.

Only when the quietness inside deepened into the heavy, slow rhythm of sleep did Xalvador finally turn the handle.

He stepped into the candlelit room smoothly, his boots making no sound against the thick rug. Lyra lay beneath the silk blankets, her pale face glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, her breathing shallow. Xalvador walked over to the edge of the mattress and sat down heavily. For a long moment, he just looked at her.

Slowly, he reached out and took her small, fragile hand into his massive palm. Her skin felt scorching hot, but the dark black patches on her inner forearm were covered by her long sleeves.

Xalvador stared at their joined hands, his jaw working. His throat felt dry, choked by an unfamiliar, suffocating weight. He opened his mouth, his chest heaving as he tried to force out a word his tongue had never shaped in all his centuries of existence.

"I'm... s-sor..." he muttered, the syllables cracking awkwardly in his throat. He couldn't say it. He had never apologized to anyone, let alone a mortal captive. The word felt like jagged glass against his pride.

He closed his eyes, his grip tightening just a fraction around her fingers. In the end, he only let out a heavy, defeated sigh. He released her hand, stood up, and quietly exited the room.

The moment the doors clicked shut behind him, a familiar voice echoed in his mind. "You truly are a coward, Xalvador," Yves said softly, his voice dripping with utter disappointment.

Xalvador didn't answer. He didn't even look back as he strode past, his dark cloak billowing behind him in the dark.

---

Inside the room, the moment the heavy footsteps faded completely from the hallway, Lyra’s eyes snapped open.

She lay perfectly still, staring blankly up at the dark canopy of her bed. Slowly, she lifted a trembling hand to her forehead, squeezing her temples. The agonizing pressure from the iron pin had dulled into a strange, numbing throb, but something else was wrong. Her brain felt weirdly blank in some parts. It was as if entire sections of her thoughts, her recent anger, and her memories of the past few days had been scrubbed away, leaving behind a foggy, empty void.

The door opened with a soft creak, and Mina walked in, carefully balancing a silver tray with a steaming bowl of dark medication.

Seeing Lyra awake, Mina gasped softly, instantly adopting a cautious, defensive posture. She moved slowly, as if expecting Lyra to snap or throw something at her again. "My lady... you're awake. I brought the herbal brew for the headache."

Mina sat on the edge of the bed, blowing gently on the liquid. "It was... it was the King who ordered this specific blend for you from the royal apothecary," Mina added hurriedly, her voice tight with anxiety. "Please, my lady, don't be upset. He only wanted to ensure your pain was gone."

Lyra frowned, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. She tilted her head toward the maid. "Upset? Why would I be upset over that, Mina?"

Mina froze, her hands trembling around the bowl. She stared at Lyra like she was looking at a ghost. There was no venom in Lyra's voice. No biting sarcasm. No freezing whispers. It was the first time in days that Lyra had spoken with her usual, gentle calmness.

"You... you aren't angry with His Majesty?" Mina whispered, completely bewildered.

"Why should I be angry? He sent medicine to help me," Lyra said softly, reaching out to take the bowl. Her fingers brushed against Mina's, completely relaxed. "Where is the King now? Is he still in the western wing?"

Mina's jaw dropped slightly, the whiplash of Lyra's sudden personality shift leaving her entirely speechless. The fierce rebellion from hours ago had completely vanished from the girl's mind, erased by the dark magic of the doll. "He... he returned to his chambers, my lady."

"Oh. I see," Lyra murmured. She lifted the bowl to her lips, calmly drinking down the bitter medication without a single complaint. Once she was done, she handed the empty vessel back to the stunned maid. "Thank you, Mina. I think I will go back to sleep now."

"Yes, my lady," Mina whispered, still staring at her in sheer disbelief. She quickly gathered the tray and left the room, her head spinning.

---

The midnight hour arrived, and the entire palace sank into a deep, absolute stillness. Everyone went back to bed, the guards outside the eastern wing growing heavy-eyed in the quiet dark.

Suddenly, Lyra opened her eyes again.

The glazed, blank look had returned to her pupils, reflecting nothing but the dim moonlight. She slid the heavy silk sheets off her body and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her movements were fluid, mechanical, and entirely devoid of hesitation.

She stood up. She didn't reach for her walking stick. She didn't extend her hands to feel her way through the furniture.

Moving with an eerie, perfect accuracy, Lyra walked straight across the room. She turned the brass knob of the balcony doors, stepping out into the chilly night air, and descended the stone steps leading directly into the courtyard.

The dark black patches on her arms pulsed beneath her sleeves as she walked. She moved past the rose bushes, her bare feet pressing into the cold dew of the grass, heading directly toward the grand, ornamental pond in the center of the garden. The water was deep, black, and perfectly still beneath the moonlight.

Lyra stopped right at the stone edge. She stood there for two silent seconds, staring blindly into the abyss of the water.

Then, without a single shred of fear or reluctance, she lifted her left leg and stepped right into the empty air above the deep pond.

"Lady Lyra! No!"

Mina’s terrified scream ripped through the silent courtyard from the balcony above. But it was too late. Lyra’s body tipped forward, losing her balance completely, and fell heavily into the dark, freezing depths of the water with a loud, echoing splash.