The morning sun crept through the silk curtains of Elira's chamber, bathing the room in soft golden light. She stirred, her body aching in unfamiliar ways as memories of the previous night flashed through her mind. Turning her head, she saw Zareth lying beside her, his features calm and unguarded in sleep.
Her heart raced. She hadn't expected to wake up next to him. Carefully, she began to move, trying not to wake him, but her subtle movements caused him to stir. His amber eyes fluttered open, locking onto hers with an intensity that froze her in place.
Zareth smirked faintly and, in one swift motion, pulled her closer. "No need to be scared, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice deep and velvety, still heavy with sleep. Closing his eyes again, he whispered, almost as if to himself, "I would never harm the queen of my kingdom."
Elira's breath hitched. His words caught her off guard. Queen of his kingdom? She thought, her mind reeling. Before she could respond, Zareth loosened his grip, seemingly unaware of the weight of what he had just said.
As she sat on the edge of the bed, attempting to collect herself, Elira winced slightly, her body still sore. Her discomfort didn't go unnoticed by Zareth, who had fully woken up by now.
"You're hurt," he observed, his brows furrowing. Before she could downplay it, he called for one of the older maids. "Tend to her," he ordered, his tone commanding but laced with concern.
The elderly maid, warm and humorous in her demeanor, entered with a basket of ointments and salves. "Oh, my dear," she chuckled as she saw Elira's embarrassed expression. "First nights with a dragon king are never easy, eh?"
Elira flushed crimson. "That's not—"
The maid waved her hand dismissively. "No need to explain, dear. I've served in this palace long enough to know."
As the maid applied a soothing balm, she muttered to herself, "Kings and their fiery passions. They forget that us mortals aren't made of stone."
Elira couldn't help but laugh, her tension easing for the first time that morning. The maid's chatter, full of witty remarks and exaggerated stories about the Dragon King's younger days, brought a lightness to the room that Elira hadn't expected.
The days passed, and Elira began to see more of Zareth's life as the Dragon King. Despite her initial doubts, she noticed the stark duality of his personality: the merciless ruler who commanded respect and fear in equal measure, and the man who, behind closed doors, showed her an unexpected gentleness.
One afternoon, Zareth presided over a royal assembly in the grand throne room. Elira watched from a hidden corner, unsure whether she was allowed to be there but too curious to leave. The hall was filled with nobles and advisors, their chatter silenced by Zareth's commanding presence.
A merchant had been accused of cheating the royal treasury, and Zareth's sharp amber eyes bore into the man like daggers. "Do you deny the charges?" he demanded, his voice cold and unyielding.
The merchant stammered, pleading for mercy, but Zareth showed none. "You've betrayed the trust of this kingdom. I'll see to it that your punishment is exemplary." He gestured to his guards, who immediately dragged the trembling man away.
Elira shivered. This was the Zareth she had first imagined—a ruler who didn't flinch at wielding his power.
Then, unexpectedly, his gaze softened. He looked toward her, eyes locking onto her figure in the corner. The moment their gazes met, a shift seemed to take place in the air. His face lost its hardness, and without a word, Zareth stood up from his throne.
Elira's heart skipped a beat as she saw him walk toward her, his long strides unwavering. The entire assembly seemed to hold its breath, the nobles and advisors all watching in stunned silence as Zareth reached her.
Without a second thought, Zareth lifted her effortlessly and seated her on his lap, his arms encircling her with a possessiveness that startled her. The room fell deathly silent. Even the whispers that had filled the air earlier were replaced by complete stillness.
Elira froze for a moment, unsure how to react. She could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on them, but Zareth seemed completely unfazed. His presence was a force that commanded authority, and yet, in this moment, it was a quiet strength, almost tender.
"Zareth, what are you—?" Elira began, her voice barely above a whisper.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke, his tone gentle yet firm. "You're with me now, Elira. Don't worry about them."
His calm demeanor In the face of the assembly's shock only made the situation more surreal. His hand rested possessively on her waist, his touch warm against her skin. Despite the tension in the room, there was an undeniable sense of comfort that enveloped them both.
Turning his attention back to the assembly, Zareth's eyes hardened once again, his voice commanding. "The assembly is dismissed," he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. The nobles and advisors quickly filed out, casting curious glances at the scene as they left, their murmurs only adding to the weight of the moment.
Elira, still on Zareth's lap, felt a strange mix of emotions—confusion, awe, and something deeper she couldn't quite place. As the last of the court exited, Zareth's grip on her tightened ever so slightly, a silent reassurance that, despite everything, she was safe with him.
Later that evening, Zareth found her in the palace gardens. She was sitting on a stone bench, her face illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, a distant look in her eyes as though her mind was far away.
"You're thinking too much," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet night, drawing her gaze to him.
Elira looked up, startled by his presence. "You were… different today. Harsh, with that merchant."
Zareth's gaze softened, but there was a trace of weariness in his eyes as he sat beside her. "I have to be," he said, his voice steady but filled with an underlying tension. "A king who is seen as weak will have his kingdom torn apart."
"But with me…" she trailed off, unsure how to express the conflicted feelings swirling within her. She had seen a side of him today that had been ruthless, a ruler without mercy, but there was something else—something deeper—that she didn't fully understand yet.
He turned toward her, his expression serious. "With you, I don't have to wear that mask," he said quietly. "You see me as I am, Elira. And that terrifies me."
Her breath hitched at his confession. She hadn't expected such raw vulnerability from someone so powerful, someone who was feared by many. "Why does it scare you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Because you could leave. People like me… we don't get to have something real, something honest," Zareth murmured, his hand brushing against hers in a rare, tender gesture.
Elira swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in her chest. She took a deep breath, and then, something within her seemed to shift. There was an undeniable connection between them, one that went beyond the walls of power and politics.
"Zareth… can I ask you something?" she said softly, her voice hesitant.
He nodded, his expression calm but attentive. "Ask me anything."
She hesitated, biting her lip before speaking. "How did you become the Dragon King? I mean… I know you're powerful, but you don't seem like someone who just… rules. There's more to you than just being king, isn't there?"
Zareth's eyes darkened, a shadow passing over his face as he leaned back slightly. "The throne wasn't given to me freely. It was a struggle… A war for power, for survival. I had to fight for it. My father was ruthless. And I had no choice but to become the same."
Elira's heart ached at the underlying pain in his voice. She could sense the burden of his past weighing heavily on him. "And your family? How do they feel about the king you've become?"
Zareth's lips tightened. "They never understood me. To them, I was always just a tool—a way to continue their legacy. But when I began to think for myself, when I started to shape my own destiny… they didn't know how to handle it."
His gaze softened as he turned to her. "But what about you, Elira? What's your story? How did you end up in the Wolf Kingdom?"
Elira's breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening. She hesitated, unsure whether to share the pain that still felt so raw. But as she looked into Zareth's eyes, something told her she could trust him.
"My past… it's not a story I like to tell," she began, her voice trembling. "But I will. I was born in a family, but I could never see my parents. They were dead when I was small. I was taken care of by my uncle, auntie, and my cousin brother. I was never treated as a daughter enough. I was always a slave for them, more than a family member. I did all the jobs. I did all the odd jobs too. And I was there fighting, I would get punishments for things I have done a bit wrong. And one afternoon, everything changed when I broke a vase, which was my auntie's favorite vase. And for that, I was put on the couch. Later that night, my cousin brother had come. By telling this, I want her to go into deep emotions, her tears coming out of her eyes and all. He came, he saw me that I was alive, he wanted to take advantage of me. He came on me, I somehow ran out of the shed, and I somehow went in the forest, and I was unconscious. That's how I met the Fox Kingdom."
Zareth's face twisted in anger, his jaw clenched tight as he listened. His hands balled into fists at his sides. "How could they do that to you?" he growled, his voice thick with rage.
Elira shook her head, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. "It wasn't just my brother. It was my entire family. They only cared about what I could do for them, never about who I was. I was nothing but a tool for their ambitions."
Zareth's eyes were ablaze with fury. His anger was not just for Elira's pain, but for the cruelty she had endured. "You've been through so much," he said, his voice low and harsh. "I will make sure they never hurt you again."
Elira reached out, her hand trembling as she touched his shoulder. She could feel the heat of his anger, but it gave her a strange sense of comfort. "It's in the past now. I don't want to go back to them," she whispered. "I just want to be free."
Zareth's expression softened, his fury turning to determination. "Then it's their turn," he said quietly. "I won't let them get away with this. I promise you, Elira, they will pay for what they did."
Elira looked up at him, her heart racing. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Zareth stood, his presence powerful yet gentle in this moment. "Come," he said, offering his hand. "Let's go inside. You need rest."
They walked together, the moonlight casting a soft glow around them as they approached her cabin. When they reached the door, she paused and turned to face him.
"Good night," she said softly, her voice barely audible, her heart still racing from their conversation.
Zareth's eyes softened, and in one smooth motion, he gently pulled her toward him. He kissed her forehead, his lips warm against her skin. Then, without breaking the contact, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was tender and lingering.
When he pulled back, his gaze was filled with something deep, something that made her heart flutter. "I love this type of good night," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "But next time, I'd prefer a kiss that lasts longer."
Elira stood frozen for a moment, her cheeks flushed, before she slowly stepped inside her cabin, her mind racing. She heard him turn and walk away, but his words lingered in the air like a promise.
Later that night, as Zareth sat in his chambers, Elira's words echoed in his mind. The stories of her pain, the harshness of her past—it consumed him. He couldn't let it go. The people who had wronged her would feel his wrath.
He called for one of his trusted men. "Find her family," he ordered, his voice cold and commanding. "Bring them here. It's time for them to answer for what they did to her."