Chapter Seven: The Crown Beneath Her Skin

She woke tangled in furs, the heat of the bath still clinging to her skin.

Only—it hadn’t faded.

It had deepened.

Her limbs felt heavy, her breath too warm. A soft ache lingered beneath her ribs, deep and rhythmic. She blinked into the dim morning light and brought her hand to her chest.

The sigil was glowing.

Not just with heat, but with intent.

Its edges shimmered beneath her skin like gold dust in water, pulsing softly with each beat of her heart. She could feel it working through her, humming just beneath her breastbone, coiling low in her belly like fire waiting for breath.

She sat up too fast. The room spun. Her blood felt… thick. Magic-laced.

She dragged the robe around her shoulders, fingers trembling as they tied the knot. The fabric was soft but clung too close, too warm—like a second skin she couldn’t shed.

When she stood, the sigil flared again. Not painfully. But insistently.

It wasn’t just marking her.

It was syncing her.

To him.

She stumbled to the basin near the bed, splashing water on her face with shaking hands. It did nothing to cool her. The heat was inside her now, deep in her muscles, her breath, her blood.

Her fingers gripped the stone edge of the basin as the pulsing beneath her ribs intensified again—brighter, warmer, rhythmic. It wasn’t pain. Not exactly. But it made her knees weaken, her vision narrow.

She bit down on a cry, breathing hard through her nose.

Control. Breathe. You are still yourself.

The door opened behind her with a whisper of sound.

She straightened instantly, posture snapping into something regal—trained. Composed. Or at least pretending to be.

A different dragonkin stood in the doorway this time. Male, tall and quiet, with scaled temples and dark eyes that didn’t quite meet hers.

He carried a tray of food—warm bread, steaming meat, honeyed tea. But he paused in the doorway.

His nostrils flared, and his head tilted slightly.

It was subtle. But she noticed.

He smelled something.

Not her scent—but his.

She stepped back instinctively, and the movement made her skin tingle as the brand surged with heat.

The dragonkin didn’t speak. He simply set the tray down on the nearby table, lowered his gaze, and bowed—not deeply, but reverently.

Then he left, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Sera stood frozen, breath caught in her throat.

He knew.

Or if he didn’t know exactly what was happening, he knew something. Something was changing. In her. Around her. And whatever The Warlord had done—whatever the sigil was doing—it was no longer just between them.

It was becoming visible.

Palpable.

Undeniable.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, reaching for the tea with hands that still trembled. She drank slowly, forcing each swallow past the heat rising in her throat. Her stomach knotted with hunger, but she didn’t know if it was hers or something else bleeding into her through the brand.

She tore a piece of bread, chewing without tasting it. The warmth of the food did nothing to soothe the restlessness crawling just beneath her skin. She shifted on the furs, trying to find a position that didn’t make her thighs tighten or her chest burn.

This isn’t real.

But the brand pulsed again. It was real. And it was getting stronger.

She set the cup down with a soft clink, pushed the tray away, and stood.

She needed answers.

Not from a servant. Not from the sigil. From him.

She stormed out of her chamber, pulse racing as the lair guided her—steps she hadn’t taken before now feeling strangely familiar. Like the mountain wanted her to find him.

She didn’t knock.

The great doors to his sanctum opened with a breath of heat, revealing the Warlord within.

He was bare to the waist, broad chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths. He turned at the sound of her entrance—and froze.

His nostrils flared, then his gaze dropped to the center of her chest.

Her breath hitched.

The brand had begun to glow again.

His jaw tightened. “You feel it now,” he said, voice low.

She swallowed, lips parting to deny it—but the heat between her legs betrayed her.

“What have you done to me?” she whispered.

“I marked you,” he said. “And now the bond answers me.”

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, like approaching something wild.

“But it answers through you.”

She couldn’t move. Her heart thundered.

He stopped just shy of touching distance, eyes burning gold.

“You’re syncing to my rut,” he said. “And it’s only just begun.”

The words settled into her like embers beneath her skin.

She could smell him now—smoke, spice, the faint burn of ash on a windless breeze. Her thighs clenched without command, and she hated the way her body reacted.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered.

“No,” he said. “But neither did I.”

He lifted a hand—but didn’t touch her. His palm hovered just inches from her cheek, and she felt the heat radiating off his skin like a second sun.

“It is not about asking,” he continued. “The bond does not ask. It simply becomes.”

She staggered back a step, but he didn’t follow.

“You’ll fight it,” he said. “That’s expected.”

Her pride surged. “Then you’ll lose.”

A slow smile touched his mouth—not cruel, not mocking. Knowing.

“I’ve already won,” he murmured. “You’re here.”

She hated that he was right. She was here. Not dragged, not forced. She had marched through the winding halls of her own accord, demanding answers, demanding him. And now, standing in the heat of his presence, she couldn’t remember if it was her body or her will that had brought her.

“You think that makes you clever?” she snapped, though her voice cracked with heat more than anger.

“I think it makes you honest,” he said.

She clenched her fists. “This bond—this rut—it’s changing me.”

“It’s revealing you.”

Her breath caught. “I don’t want to be revealed.”

“You do,” he said softly. “You just don’t want to be undone.”

She took another step back, but the heat followed. The air thickened. She felt her skin bloom with warmth as the sigil surged beneath her robe.

“How long do I have?” she asked. Her voice was quieter now. A threadbare edge of fear.

His jaw flexed. “A day. Maybe less.”

She exhaled shakily, the breath catching on something she refused to name. “And then?”

He didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch until her heart thudded in her ears.

“Then I stop resisting too.”

He didn’t move toward her, but something in him shifted. The stillness he held like a weapon cracked—just slightly. A tremor beneath the surface. His nostrils flared again, and this time it was unmistakable: hunger.

His gaze swept over her like a storm breaking across the horizon. Not just at her body, but at the brand glowing beneath the thin fabric of her robe. She saw it in his eyes—the moment instinct overtook thought.

“You smell like me,” he said, voice low and frayed. “Already.”

The words curled in the air like smoke.

She felt them as much as heard them. Her skin broke into gooseflesh, heat and chill surging in the same breath.

His hand clenched at his side, the veins in his forearm visible beneath skin that shimmered with restrained power.

“I didn’t touch you,” he growled. “But the bond did.” He stepped forward once more—not to grab her, not to dominate—but because he couldn’t help it.

“You don’t understand what that means to a dragon in rut,” he said. “To scent your own need reflected back. To feel your heat waking through my body.”

She stood frozen, trembling.

“Even now,” he murmured, “you’re preparing. Your scent’s shifting. The magic is syncing us heartbeat by heartbeat.”

He stopped, so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her brow.

“And I can smell everything.”

Her lips parted, a protest half-formed.

He didn’t touch her. But he looked like he might break trying not to.

And still, she didn’t move away.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She almost reached for him—just to push him, to test him, to prove she still had control—but her hand stilled. She couldn’t trust herself to touch him and not want more.

He seemed to feel the shift in her too. His breath hitched, nostrils flaring one last time. For the first time since she entered the chamber, she saw something flicker in his eyes—pain. Not from her rejection, but from restraint. The kind that scraped bone.

The sigil flared between them, glowing brighter beneath her robe. Not just hot—commanding. Her knees weakened.

His eyes darkened as the air seemed to compress between them. “You’re changing,” he said, voice rougher now. “Faster than I expected.”

“Then slow it,” she hissed.

“I would if I could,” he said. “But you came too close. And now the bond is awake.”

The silence stretched once more.

She didn’t reach for him.

But she wanted to.

And the worst part was… the sigil knew it.