Chapter 35: The Wolf and the Dragon

As I walked through the throne room’s towering doors, the vast chamber swallowed me in silence.

And there she was.

Nytheris Veythar. Princess of the Dragon Kin.

I had seen her before, if only for a moment, standing at the head of a column of carriages, her dragon’s shadow blotting out the sun. But up close, she was something else entirely. Beautiful, yes—but it was a sorrowful beauty, the kind that reminded me of spring rain. Clouds heavy with grief, yet somehow the flowers still bloomed beneath.

The sadness clung to her like a shroud, dulled but unbroken, as if she had already surrendered to some fate I couldn’t name.

And then there were the horns.

Black, polished, curving elegantly back along her head. They framed her hair like a crown forged from obsidian, a mark that she was not just a woman but something more. Something both regal and dangerous.

Her gaze flicked toward me for only a heartbeat. Cold. Detached. Then it shifted back to the floor, as if even meeting my eyes was more effort than she wished to give.

The King’s voice cut through the silence, hoarse yet strong.

“Now that you are here, Arthur,” King Oscar said from his throne, a faint echo beneath his words, “we can get down to business.”

His crown gleamed in the torchlight, his complexion once again vibrant and youthful—yet I couldn’t shake the memory of what I had seen beneath the illusion. The frail man who had nearly collapsed in this very room.

The King gestured toward Nytheris, his hand unsteady but deliberate.

“As you both may have heard,” he continued, “our two kingdoms have agreed to a ceasefire.” His eyes lingered on me, weighing me, as if trying to see past my silence. “Your mother has sent you here, Nytheris, in hopes of helping our nations coexist… to find common ground after centuries of blood.”

The King leaned forward, his gaze sharp despite the weakness in his frame.

“My wish,” he said, “is that the two of you can become close—as a way of showing our kingdoms that coexistence is possible. That wolves and dragons can stand side by side.”

The words rang heavy in the chamber.

I looked again at Nytheris. At her downcast eyes. At the weight she carried in her posture. She didn’t look like someone eager to stand beside anyone. She looked like someone enduring a sentence.

And for the first time, I realized that whatever future this room was about to shape, it was not just mine being decided. It was hers too.

The King’s voice carried through the throne room, soft but deliberate, like each word was chosen with care.

“You will both be attending Dival’s Magic Academy,” he said, his gaze shifting between Nytheris and me. “It will give you time to learn from each other. To understand each other not as prince and princess, not as wolf and dragon, but simply as students.”

Nytheris’s expression didn’t change. If she felt anything at all, she kept it locked behind those somber eyes.

The King’s hand curled weakly around the arm of his throne. “And perhaps,” he added, “in that time you may grow closer than just allies. Closer than just friends. It is not a command. I will not force bonds where there is no willingness. Arthur”—his sharp eyes pinned me—“all I ask is that you give your best effort.”

Then he turned to her.

“And you, Nytheris… go into this with an open mind. And an open heart.”

Silence stretched between us.

Her gaze finally lifted from the floor, settling on me. There was no warmth there, no spark of defiance either—only a weariness, as though she had already lived this conversation a hundred times before, and each time it had ended the same.

My chest tightened.

I thought of Elaris, pale and motionless in some distant bed, her father’s words echoing in my mind: Should I fail… please move on, and live on her behalf.

How could I move on when I didn’t even know if she still breathed?

And yet, here I stood, being asked to extend my hand to someone else. Someone who looked as broken as I felt.

I forced myself to bow my head slightly. “I’ll do my best, Your Majesty.”

It was all I could offer.

Nytheris’s lips pressed into the faintest line. She gave a shallow nod—barely more than a dip of her head. No words, just acknowledgment.

The King’s frail smile returned, though the effort left his breathing uneven. “Good. That is all I could hope for.”

The King leaned back against his throne, his crown tilting slightly as if even its weight was too much to bear. His frail hand lifted in dismissal.

“You are both dismissed. Rest, recover, and prepare for what lies ahead. The festival has passed, but the real work begins now.”

I bowed once more, though my mind was a storm of thoughts, and turned toward the heavy doors. The guards pulled them open, their armor clinking softly as I stepped out into the corridor. The sound echoed behind me until the doors shut, cutting off the throne room and the presence of both King and princess.

Only then did I let out the breath I had been holding.

Nytheris Veythar. Cold, quiet, unreadable. A woman who looked like she had already given up on something vital, though I didn’t know what. Her sad beauty lingered in my mind like rain in spring—soft, steady, but impossible to ignore.

And the King’s words still rang in my ears. Grow closer than friends. Open heart.

I clenched my fists at my sides. Elaris’s face flashed in my mind, pale and still in her endless sleep. Count Leto’s words echoed: If she does not wake… please move on and live on her behalf.

But how could I? How could I even consider moving on when her fate was still unknown?

I thought of Grandfather too, of the way he had smiled at me during the festival, his words teasing yet heavy with intent: Who knows—maybe you’ll have two wives in the end of all this.

I had laughed it off then, but now… now it didn’t feel so much like a joke.

Hati and Sköll, waiting in the stables, were easier to think about than this. Wolves didn’t care for politics, or marriage, or kingdoms at war. They cared about loyalty. About standing beside you no matter how dark the night grew.

I envied that simplicity.

As I walked down the long, torchlit corridor, I pressed a hand to my chest. “Elaris,” I whispered under my breath, words meant for no ears but my own. “I don’t know how long I can keep waiting. But I won’t give up on you. Not yet.”

Still, the shadow of Nytheris Veythar followed me down the hall.

By the time I reached the stables, the smell of hay and horseflesh was sharp in the air. The faint glow of lanterns lit the long rows of stalls, but the sound that met me was not the peaceful snorts of horses.

It was growling.

Deep, thunderous, chest-shaking growling.

I quickened my pace, heart thumping as I rounded the corner into the wolf stable.

There they were—Sköll and Hati—both towering now, their shoulders brushing the beams of the stable roof, teeth bared as they squared off. Sparks practically leapt from their eyes as they circled, fur bristling, tails rigid.

Between them, poor Stella was standing with her arms spread wide, her braid swinging as she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Stop it! Both of you! You’re going to bring the whole stable down if you keep this up!”

Neither wolf listened. Sköll snarled, his breath curling frost into the air, and Hati snapped his jaws in answer, the sound like two boulders colliding.

And off to the side, sitting on a bale of hay like she had front-row seats to a play, was Rias. Laughing.

“Glad you find this funny,” I muttered, stepping in.

Rias tilted her head toward me, her sightless eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, it is. You should have heard Stella five minutes ago. She threatened to tan their hides like they were disobedient colts.”

“I meant it!” Stella snapped, still trying to push Hati back by the chest. It was like shoving against a mountain. “If they don’t stop, I’ll—”

“Alright, alright,” I cut in, raising my voice.

The wolves froze. Both heads swiveled toward me, icy blue eyes boring into mine. For a moment I thought they’d go right back to tearing each other apart, but instead they snorted and looked away, as if sulking.

“Good,” I said firmly, stepping closer. “You two can fight all you want out in the field, but not here. Not in front of the horses, and definitely not in front of Stella.”

Sköll’s ears flicked back, and Hati gave a low grumble, but neither made a move. They understood.

Rias chuckled from her hay seat. “Looks like they finally found someone scarier than each other.”

Stella wiped sweat from her brow, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Do you have any idea what it’s like trying to wrangle Dire Wolves who think they’re kings of the stable?”

“Yes,” I said with a faint grin. “Trust me—I’ve lived with one.”

Sköll snorted at that, his pride clearly wounded, and Geri—who had been happily munching the last of the mana crystals at the far end of the stable—lifted her head as if to laugh at him.

The tension bled out of the air at last. The wolves relaxed, though their eyes still flicked toward each other with promises of a rematch later.

I shook my head and glanced at Stella. “Sorry about that. Guess they needed to test who’s taller now.”

She huffed, planting her hands on her hips. “Taller? Ha. They’re monsters, all of them. Beautiful monsters, but monsters all the same.”

Rias chuckled again. “And yet you’re still here, keeper of the monsters.”

Stella shot her a glare, but then she laughed too, the sound bright and unguarded. “Don’t remind me.”

I stepped forward, resting my hand on Hati’s flank. His massive body vibrated with restrained energy, but he leaned into the touch, his pride soothed for now. Sköll padded over too, nudging against my other side like a jealous child demanding equal attention.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, scratching behind both their ears. “You’re both terrifying. Happy now?”

Their tails thumped the stable floor in unison.

Rias laughed harder, covering her mouth with her hand. Stella just shook her head.

For the first time that day, I smiled without forcing it.

Later that day, I found myself roped into being the judge for Sköll and Hati’s inevitable sparring match.

It wasn’t a matter of if they would fight—it was only a matter of when.

The clash had been as brutal as it was inevitable: fur bristling, fangs flashing, thunderous snarls echoing off the courtyard walls. Rias and Stella had even pulled up seats on a hay bale like it was some kind of show, laughing as if the ground-shaking snarls weren’t rattling my ribs.

In the end, Sköll came out on top.

Of course he did.

Hati was strong, relentless, and bigger by a hair—but Sköll had always been different. Whether it was the sleek black fur that seemed to drink in light, or simply his nature, he fought with a cunning edge the others lacked. Every feint, every angle, every snap of his jaws carried calculation. He didn’t just win—he dominated.

As Hati finally relented with a frustrated snort, Sköll prowled in a circle before lifting his head high, a low growl rumbling in triumph. Top wolf, at least for now.

Watching them tower over me, both larger than they’d ever been before, a strange thought struck me. They weren’t the companions I had raised. They weren’t even beasts that fit neatly at my side. They had outgrown me—outgrown my bed, my strength, maybe even the shadow of my command.

I sighed, rubbing the ache in my temples as I left them to cool down under Rias’s amused supervision.

My steps carried me into the inner gardens.

The place had always been one of my favorites: an open courtyard where the roof gave way to sky, fragrant with flowers that climbed trellises and spilled over carved stone planters. A marble gazebo sat at its heart, its pale columns etched with vines, shading a small set of polished chairs and a table.

And there, seated as if she belonged more to the marble than to the garden, was Nytheris Veythar.

The dragon princess.

She was sipping from a delicate cup, a maid standing stiffly behind her like a shadow waiting for orders. The pale light of dusk illuminated her horns, casting a shadow on her expression. The sadness in her eyes was as evident as the silver in her eyes.

I hesitated, then stepped forward and slid into one of the empty chairs.

“Mind if I—”

Before I could finish, she set her cup down with soft precision, rose to her feet, and walked away.

Not a word. Not even a glance.

Her maid followed swiftly after, leaving the faint steam of untouched tea curling into the air.

I sat there alone, staring at the empty seat across from me, the ghost of her presence still lingering like spring rain. Cold, fleeting, and distant—beautiful, but untouchable.