Chapter 8
“Your Majesty… are you truly all right?”
On Henriette’s white neck, the deep imprint of teeth stood out starkly.
Bertrand could not tear his gaze from the bright red wound. His own skin was torn and bloodied from holding back the frenzied Zakhar, yet he seemed to think nothing of his injuries, busy worrying only for the Empress.
“This is nothing. Should you not be treated first?”
“A bandage will heal it soon enough. Pay it no mind. Only…”
He faltered, unable to finish.
“Speak, Bertrand.”
“Your wound seems too deep.”
She understood immediately what troubled him. Unless she wore a dress high to the throat, the vivid bite mark would be plain to see.
Those who delighted in gossip would let their imaginations run wild and spread the most absurd rumours.
But she had no leisure to concern herself with such trifles now.
Henriette looked down at Zakhar, finally subdued by exhaustion.
His black hair, flowing like a dark stream, lay in disarray as his head rested on her lap.
The black scales, which had been a sign of his losing control, were no longer visible.
Henriette carefully brushed his hair. He made no reaction, as though sunk in a deep sleep.
Though she could now breathe more easily, she could not bring herself to rise with him lying there.
Just then, the storeroom door opened quietly.
It seemed Charlotte had returned after silencing the maids as instructed.
Entering with a face full of worry, Charlotte caught sight of the bite mark on the Empress’s neck and the Duke covered in blood, and started in shock.
As Charlotte involuntarily let out a cry of alarm, Henriette raised a finger to her lips. Charlotte’s eyes widened and she clapped her own hands over her mouth, barely stifling the sound.
“Wh-what on earth happened?”
“Charlotte, take Bertrand to the physician. His injuries are not slight.”
“I am fine, Your Majesty. My duty is to guard you to the end.”
“You have fulfilled that duty admirably. Now go and have your wounds tended.”
Bertrand insisted on staying at the Empress’s side to guard her.
But Henriette could not leave the bloodied Duke in the cold storeroom under the pretext of protecting her. She firmly refused, even in the face of his earnest protest.
“I am quite safe here alone. Go before others see you.”
“You forever make me anxious.”
Bertrand said, frowning in uncharacteristic reproach. He unbuckled his sword and placed it in Henriette’s hand.
“If you have need, do not hesitate to draw it.”
With blood suddenly welling from a gaping wound, Bertrand was forced to leave despite his reluctance.
Charlotte, flustered, wiped the Duke’s blood and dirt away with a small handkerchief before following him out, quietly closing the storeroom door.
‘Phew…’
Henriette stood in silence, the cold weight of the sword in her hand, and looked down at Zakhar.
What dreams could he be dreaming now?
Contrary to her worries, the young man in the form of a beautiful human slept peacefully, eyes closed, his breaths soft and steady.
✮⋆˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
From the moment the seed of life first sprouted in Liberne, dragons had dwelt upon Mount Horeb.
Countless dragons made their nests, gathered in flocks, and thrived, flying freely through the endless expanse of sky.
There was no corner of the mountain their wings and claws had not touched.
All beasts bowed to the dragons’ strength and wisdom, lowering their heads and calling the mightiest among them their Lord.
One day, into that world came a pitifully weak dragon.
That was me, Zakhar.
He could not die so soon after hatching, so he began to struggle to survive.
At first, he was trampled mercilessly by stronger dragons, unable to even rise. Yet the more they crushed him, the more a blaze of defiance burned within his chest.
If he could not defeat these brutes, he could neither avenge myself nor survive.
From the very bottom, he began toppling those within my reach. By the time he was done, there was no pitiful hatchling in his place, but a fierce black dragon ruling the slopes of Horeb.
Even after defeating those who had scorned me and claiming my territory, he had no time to rest. Several times a day, hot-blooded young dragons challenged him, eager to take his place.
Each time, he left those naive creatures marked by his claws.
Many marvelled that the black tyrant’s rampage seemed endless. Some feared he might soon be Lord of all dragons, while others worried that a savage dragon without wisdom could not bear the crown.
Then one day, a dragon with golden eyes came to him. Unlike those who had challenged him before, she spoke in a calm voice.
“Are you the black tyrant who has claimed this land? My name is Lanya. I have come to end your reign and temper your savagery.”
“Ha! To temper me? None who have spoken thus have failed to kneel beneath my claws. Very well, I will close that arrogant mouth of yours.”
But contrary to my expectations, the battle with Lanya did not end even after the sun had set.
She did not simply hurl herself forward with sharp claws, her movements were as graceful as they were unhesitating, as if prepared for every strike.
The longer we fought, the clearer it became that I was the one at a disadvantage.
At last, he had no choice but to admit defeat.
Yet his heart felt curiously light and exhilarated. Through our battle, he had discovered there was a height he had not yet reached.
Lanya sought not to take his place, but to become his friend.
In our shared pursuit of strength, we were a perfect match.
It was not long before our strange friendship became love.
He, who had known only fighting and the pursuit of power, was clumsy before this feeling.
Looking back, his proposal was absurd, the sort no other dragon would even glance at.
Soon, news spread across the mountain of the betrothal of two dragons powerful enough to rule Horeb.
Many feared we would subjugate the mountain by force.
Instead, we made a warm nest and spent our days looking only at each other.
The scent of blood that had long lingered over Horeb began to fade.
Ironically, the throne of the Dragon Lord he had once craved came to him by the most peaceful path. The reigning Lord was too old to fight and could no longer pass the title by fair combat.
Those who followed him sought a worthy successor and soon agreed that none could rival me.
Even at the peak, him peaceful days with Lanya changed little. Most dragons were content with the new tranquillity of Horeb and praised the sunlit world they soared above.
Then, news spread that the Dragon Lord would lay a new egg. The mountain rang with celebration.
Dragons came to our nest, bringing blessings, flowers, and jewels.
Only then did he understand the meaning of unchanging love.
‘Is this the heart of a parent for their child?’
He forgot to eat or sleep, gazing at the beautiful egg. It was as precious as Lanya herself, perhaps more so.
For his only, precious child, he shut himself in the cave for days, pondering a name that would be easy to call and long remembered.
Assad, child of the black dragon.
For his little Assad, he would do anything. He realised that every battle he had fought, every step that had made him Lord, had been for this moment.
It would take time for the hatchling to emerge, but even the waiting was sweet. He was so full of joy and happiness that others wondered if he was truly the same black tyrant.
“My mate, I will devote my life to protecting our child. Even if the sky falls, the earth splits, and I bleed, I will survive to guard you and Assad.”
[ “Then, my beloved, let us seal this vow with the breath of our promise. Even if the unstoppable call of fate scatters our first pledge, may nothing lay claw to the love we bear Assad.” ]
If only he had understood her words a little sooner… perhaps we could have lived happily in our nest for all our days.
It was our final bulwark against the cold future no one could escape.
The image of Lanya that day has long been weathered away by the years, but he still remember the emotion in her golden eyes, a fragile hope that, even if she were to lose her life, he, as Dragon Lord and father, would protect Assad.
The hope that no matter what, a parent would protect their child.
