A dragons rejection

Two months had passed since the cafeteria incident, and the hierarchy of the Imperial Tower had shifted permanently. Amelie had leaned fully into her "victim" persona, limping through the halls and wearing silk scarves to hide bruises that had long since healed. She whispered to anyone who would listen about the "savage rogue," but her audience was shrinking.

The other Alphas weren't stupid. They saw me in the training pits with Linus every night. They saw the way I handled the most complex economic simulations in the Sovereign Track. They didn't see a rogue; they saw a threat they couldn't calculate.

Maxwell, however, was crumbling. His grades in Tactical Leadership were plummeting, and his performance in the arena was erratic. He spent his nights at the campus bars, loudly blaming his failures on "Dragon interference." He couldn't accept the simplest truth: he was a big fish from a small pond, and he was finally out of water.

The midnight sessions with Linus had become the highlight of my day, despite the exhaustion. Tonight, Linus had called it early, leaving Sol and me alone on the observation deck overlooking the moonlit valley.

I was leaning against the stone railing, my high collar still buttoned tight. Sol was beside me, unusually quiet. The arrogant smirk he usually wore had been replaced by a look of distant, somber reflection.

"You're quiet today, Dragon," I murmured.

"I was just thinking," Sol said softly, his golden eyes reflecting the silver light. "Most people think I’ve spent my life being the 'Golden Prince.' They think I was born for this throne. But I was never supposed to be the King."

I looked up, caught by the raw honesty in his voice. "Your older brother?"

"Prince Kael," Sol said, his jaw tightening. "He was the sun. But he was reckless. He thought his blood made him invincible. Two years ago, he led a charge into a dead zone without scouting. He died for a glory that didn't exist. The throne fell to me by default, not by choice."

He let out a hollow, dry laugh. "I was training to be a Warrior—a nameless soldier. That’s when I met my fated mate. She was a high-ranking Draconis noble. She wanted a King, a crown, and a life of luxury. When she saw me—the second son, the 'grunt'—she told me I was 'beneath her ambition.' She rejected me before I could even say my name."

He turned to me, a flicker of pain crossing his face. "A month later, Kael was dead. She tried to come back, of course. She claimed she 'didn't realize my potential.' I told her that if she couldn't love the Warrior, she didn't deserve the King."

I watched him, seeing the weight of the crown he never asked for. "Is that why you do it, Sol? The charm? The constant flirting? Do you find it that easy to use as an escape, or is it just to hide the pain?"

Sol stilled. He looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time, the "Prince" mask was nowhere to be found.

"Usually," he admitted, his voice dropping to a gravelly low, "that’s exactly what it is. It’s a shield. If people are looking at the flirt, they aren't looking at the scars. But with you..."

He stepped a fraction closer, the heat radiating off his skin. "With you, it feels natural. I don't feel like I have to perform. I think it's because I know you wouldn't judge me for the past—even if most shifters would see a rejected prince as 'damaged goods.'"

"I'm the last person who would judge you for being thrown away, Sol, you are not damaged goods, she simply did not deserve you" I said, my voice barely a whisper.

For the first time, I didn't pull away when his hand moved toward the railing near mine. I saw the warrior in him—the man who had been built by grit, not just gold.

"We're a fine pair," I added with a wry smile. "A Queen with no throne and a King who never wanted one."

"Maybe," Sol murmured, his eyes dropping to my high collar before returning to mine. "But at least we’re in good company."