As an early riser, Virion’s ears were attuned to waking to a unique arrangement of sounds. There was the insistent squeaking of a wrasse, the scampering steps of attendants as they roused the castle, and, of course, the soothing lull of the river cascading from the mountaintops.

When Virion heard sounds of this nature, he woke, and while the skittish chirp of a passing pilot was not a waking tune he was used to, after enduring nothing but the storm’s rage, it was close enough.

He startled awake, eyes popping open, senses honing in, and noted a number of things in a rather abrupt sequence.

Firstly, there was the blinding sunlight that turned the otherwise mundane mud-tinted walls into an alluring copper. Then… well, whatever there was after that ceased to exist to the prince because there was sunlight.

Virion was up and out of the cot in a heartbeat, never mind the fact that his cots had never groaned when he’d left them before. There were more important matters to investigate.

It took only a handful of steps before he was out of the meagre chambers and across the hut, then, opening the door and—

Virion screamed. Breathed— barely— and then screamed again.

“BLESSINGS BE ONTO YTHENE!”

The storm was gone.

Vanquished. Slain. Defeated. The name for its culling did not matter, because it was gone!

Where they’d only been irate, greyed skies and mercurial strikes of lightning dancing amidst thunder, there were now cloudless, cyan skies, and a stillness to the air that always followed the worst of Colony’s tantrums. The only evidence of the storm’s horrors lingered in the shredded trees surrounded by scattered debris and melting snow, but that was all.

The storm had truly passed.

Virion screamed again.

“You are screaming,” a heavy voice announced as its owner slowly strode towards him. “Why, in Ythene’s name, are you screaming?”

“The storm, Zirkhlon!” Virion answered gleefully as he pivoted with a smile so wide, it tore at his lips. “It… is… gone.”

It was almost unfair, rather cruel actually, how quickly Virion’s excitement sputtered out of him. It was not anything Zirkhlon did to smother it— he simply stood there, tired and confused— but he was also naked, and that was a stark enough reminder of the forenight’s proceedings to cull his joy.

He had lain with Zirkhlon. No. He’d been bedded by him… several times… and had not stopped. He hadn’t been able to.

“Truly?” Zirkhlon questioned as he closed the space between them. Either blindly unaware of Virion’s sudden muteness or decidedly unconcerned by it, Zirkhlon stopped beside him, canting his large frame out the open doorway just enough to peer outside. Virion was close enough to witness the dragon’s lips part with honest surprise before his eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. “Blessings to Ythene.”

Zirkhlon’s relief reminded Virion of his own as he forced his gaze away from the dragon beside him, and back on the freedom illustrated before him. He was never meant to end up here. It had been a result of the most unfortunate turn of events, but now, he could leave and return to his life. Only…

His gaze shifted without permission, not to seek his path away, but in search of black eyes rimmed with a fire’s brightest red. They were already waiting for him. He sucked in a breath.

Zirkhlon no longer appeared tired or confused, or even relieved, for that matter. Whatever joy he’d mustered in that moment seemed to have slipped away, and instead, a mirrored understanding rested within his gaze. It made him appear as mournful as Virion suddenly realised he felt.

Virion fisted his hands to smother the curse on his tongue.

It didn’t make any sense! They loathed one another, and even more, each other’s company, and that had not changed simply because of the time they’d shared pleasuring each other, but… by the blessed light…

Virion had never been so intimate with another— he’d never allowed himself to— and so, he’d never had to feel this. This… rawness of his own flesh, this heat that still flickered beneath his skin, this yearning for more, even though there was no room for it.

And was that not just the most frightening part of it all? That he still wanted more, even after their many bouts.

In the wake of what had kindled in the centre of the hut, Zirkhlon had taken him to his chambers, and while the storm ran its course for the dragon’s predicted three feens, they’d stayed intertwined. Each time they found release, they had both made proclamations that they should stop, and each time, they played the fool as they fell into one another’s bodies again, and again… and again.

Virion could hardly believe it— could scarcely believe his own lack of control. Only, his hips still ached where Zirkhlon grabbed him when he wanted him to take his cock, and without the distraction of a possible escape, he could feel the evidence of their coupling trickling out of him.

“The storm is gone,” he reprised without even a sliver of his former glee.

“Yes, it is,” Zirkhlon confirmed, and this time, the resolution in his voice seemed to be weighed down by something else as he stared at Virion.

Virion’s heart pinched itself, making him feel horribly cold as he stared at the dragon before him. The infuriating, too-smart, roguish dragon that had brought him such intense pleasure, repeatedly. The one who’d also spoken the sweetest words to him without jest and made him laugh more than he had in many moons.

“I must leave,” he whispered the words as if that might make them feel less foul to be spoken. It did not.

The scar stretching across Zirkhlon’s face twitched where it started above his brow, but that was the only reaction he allowed as he straightened himself and nodded.

“I must,” Virion repeated, sounding awfully desperate to his own ears, but he did not want Zirkhlon to think he was running from him and what they’d done together now that the sun was aloft. “I have been here too long already, and now that the storm has passed, I have to go.”

“You had plans— an event,” Zirkhlon recounted with another stilted nod. “You said it was important.”

“It is.”

The Great Assembly had undoubtedly concluded by now, but he could and would deliver his apology in person to those he slighted. Then, he would return home so that his Queen Mother could crucify him. The sooner he left, the better. He didn’t have time to squander with Zirkhlon.

In fact, he should have already left.

“I must go,” he reiterated resolutely.

Virion almost thought he spotted disappointment behind the red-rimmed gaze, but Zirkhlon blinked and faced him with a firm expression that washed away any disillusions of such a thing.

“I will take you to your carrier. You can wash first, if you wish.”

Virion ignored the sudden heaviness that settled over his heart and nodded, “Thank you.”

Things moved too quickly after that.

Virion washed as fast and as thoroughly as he could, dressed himself in the folded clothes he found waiting for him once more, and met Zirkhlon where he waited outside the door. He had dressed himself and stood with unfamiliar rigidity while he stared at the sky with a certain harshness. When Virion joined him, he waited only until Virion pulled his boots on before he was off, leading the way without a word.

Virion hastily followed after him with a frown, his lips parting to complain, only what was there to complain about? Zirkhlon walking too fast? Zirkhlon not giving him a moment to collect his thoughts or say his goodbyes? Goodbyes to what?

To the hut, he realised as he glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of it. The small thing looked different in the sunlight— not so unimpressive, but rather charming, each log set purposefully in place to forge its sturdy foundations. The small porch was lovely in the light as well, quaint and tidy, and the lone chair perched outside looked inviting.

Virion wasn’t in his right mind. He could not be. These thoughts were disturbed.

He had so desperately wanted to leave from the moment he’d first spotted Zirkhlon’s home, but now… now he was leaving, and it was no longer a cruel prison, but a warm nest that had never once wavered in the midst of the deadly storm.

Virion pulled his gaze away and continued onwards with an empty pit in his stomach.

Zirkhlon did not speak as he marched on, and neither did Virion.

He wanted to. He wanted to say something— anything— but his words failed him every time he tried to string them together. He did not know what to say to Zirkhlon, not when everything felt so illogically melancholy, as if they were walking to their doom when Virion was only leaving.

Confusion made his mind a whirlwind of thoughts he tried to align, but all too soon, he found himself standing at the entrance of an open cave with his carrier waiting just ahead.

Virion had never felt so elated and yet heartbroken in one moment.

“It is as you left it, I give you my word,” Zirkhlon stated as he angled his large frame to face him for the first time since they’d departed his nest. “You will have a safe journey.”

A safe journey away, because Virion was leaving.

Their eyes met and held, and Virion could not quite breathe as the tightness around his heart ensnared his lungs. He could not leave like this, not after what they’d done. He knew it was simply a coupling, but it had not felt simple.

Nothing about their time together had been simple.

“Zirkhlon,” he whispered with a stilted step forward.

“Yes,” the dragon replied instantly, as if he were waiting for it.

Virion knew him well enough to recognise that the inflamed look in his eyes meant that his attention was fixed entirely on Virion, every inch of him. It was a heady feeling. As Zirkhlon waited for him, Virion’s breaths quickened, and without his glamour to shield him, his nervousness was painfully apparent to the eye. At some point, Zirkhlon had made it ineffective in his presence, and Virion hadn’t figured out how to fix that yet.

“I…” He searched the now-familiar gaze in front of him, and every inch of the dragon’s face. It no longer appeared unkempt to him. “…I…” It was, but at some point, Virion had cultivated an appreciation for the fullness of his beard, the firmness of his defined features, and how captivating his eyes were.

He could envision quite easily that with only a shave and a little trim, Zirkhlon would likely be a very handsome dragon, even with the scar.

What a shame it was Virion hadn’t glimpsed it sooner. “I thank you. For your hospitality.”

Zirkhlon blinked at him, twice, and then he nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Virion never hated his title more, but hearing it cemented his resolve.

Virion could not speak aloud any of the wild thoughts cresting within his mind. For one, they were hardly discernible, and two, he did not have the space for it, nor the time or the life. He was a prince. He could not… could not think to actually do anything about this, whatever this was.

Zirkhlon lived in a hut and Virion in a castle. That part did not actually matter in Ythene’s realm, but it delineated their own differences well enough. Nothing could ever become of them. Besides, it had only been a tryst. A coupling. They’d entered it without promises or expectations, and Virion intended to leave it as such.

“I will return your clothing,” he continued, harnessing his training to get the words out without pause. “And I will send a gift of my gratitude, something nice.”

“There’s no need,” Zirkhlon dismissed with his usual countenance.

“There is, and you should know by now that my stubbornness exceeds yours.”

Zirkhlon’s lips twitched, his features relaxing for the first time in too long. Something swarmed in Virion’s stomach to see the lightness upon his face again, and he could not help but cling to it as he stared at the dragon.

“I am glad to be free of you,” Zirkhlon declared with a teasing glimmer in his eye that forced Virion’s lips to spread wider.

“As am I,” he retorted quickly. “It was…”

“Hellish?”

“Heinous, I would call it.”

Zirkhlon barked a laugh, and Ythene… Virion needed to leave.

Sobering, Virion kept his gaze fixed on the companion the storm had hoisted upon him as his smile began to wither. “Thank you, Zirkhlon,” he repeated quietly. “For everything.”

Zirkhlon’s smile slipped, the humour in his countenance disappearing before Virion’s very eyes. Watching it was too painful, too much, when it should’ve been nothing at all.

“Perhaps…” he started, speaking if only to stop the ache, “perhaps I might have the displeasure of seeing you again.”

Zirkhlon nodded again, this time slower as his smile grew mournful and his eyes tracked /unhurriedly over Virion’s face, as if he was trying to retain him too. “Perhaps, Virion.”

Sadness pierced Virion’s heart as he fisted his hands at his sides to stop himself from reaching for the man before him. They would not see each other again, and they both knew it.

Stepping around Zirkhlon’s familiar frame, Virion forced himself towards his carrier and did not let himself look back. The carrier’s door opened when he was near, and he stepped inside, forcing himself through the motions of preparing for flight, never once letting his gaze stray too high.

When Virion was seated, and his carrier was ready for flight, he finally let himself look back at his dragon, only when he did, Zirkhlon was already gone.

——————————————

Straightening the ribbon in his hair, Virion surveyed his reflection from every available angle his carrier offered. His long tresses were oiled and curled in their usual standing order, and though his confinements were small, he’d managed to bring the rest of his appearance to its usual standing.

During the flight, he’d readorned the ensemble he’d originally intended to wear when he landed within the Darkest Isle for the Great Assembly, and had slipped all of his jewels back into place, including his favourite ring. As Zirkhlon had promised, everything was as he’d left it, as if he’d never left himself… as if he’d never met him at all.

Virion held his own gaze in his reflection for a moment, just barely spotting the discomfort within it, before he reaffirmed his glamour.

“We are landing, Your Grace,” his carrier announced as it shut down his mirrors to reveal the minute island before him.

It was a gorgeous thing, perched high enough that the waters crashing at its banks made for a beautiful frame of whites and blues that never spilt over. Where the islands within the Crescent Ridge were made of snow and ice, the Darkest Isle comprised of lush, tropical lands and long-dormant volcanoes.

This island, in particular, the one reserved solely for the dragons of Colony to convene, held only one large structure— a hall. It was a beauty, but of course it was, as its construction was funded by dragons, the very richest of Ythene’s creatures. Ancient columns hoisted their walls high, each outlined with intricate engravings of dragon-folk. Its structure seemed as gentle as porcelain, but glimmered as if coated in gold.

Virion could not stop himself from gaping at the structure as his carrier descended, but his admirations were forced to a stop when he noticed another carrier landing before him.

Had another been absent and come to convey their regrets? He hoped so. At least then he would not be the only one. But as he drew closer to the ground and was able to distinguish the figures below, Virion noted that they weren’t only attendants ensuring the approaching landed safely, but elves of all kinds heading into the Hall.

Virion straightened, a momentary hope igniting in his chest as he spotted a dragon landing behind the hall… Could it be?

His carrier barely settled itself on firm land before he was hauling himself out of it and marching towards the attendant already rushing in his direction with a relieved smile.

“Prince Virion, what a relief it is to see you,” they greeted before hastily lowering themselves in a deep bow. “The dragons of Colony are most honoured to have you.”

“As I am honoured to be here,” Virion quickly mumbled, barely managing the pleasantry before he rendered his following words into a quiet hiss. “What is going on? Why are so many here?”

Clutching her reading tablet, the attendant answered him quickly with the same quiet carefulness, “The storm was far greater than any anticipated— the worst we’ve seen according to records. Some made it, but many more did not. We decided to wait until it cleared to commence the proceedings.”

Virion’s legs almost gave beneath him.

“I did not miss the Assembly,” he breathed, heart hammering in his chest.

“No,” the attendant dismissed hastily. “We, in fact, apologise for our heedlessness. None should have travelled within such conditions. All who did were at least accounted for, except for you. We were very worried.”

The numerous messages waiting for him in his carrier suddenly found themselves at the forefront of his mind. Despite his AI’s insistent reminders, Virion had not dared to open them, assuming they were vows of his pending doom from his mother. More likely now, it seemed like distressed attempts to reach him.

Straightening, Virion wiped the relief, shock and joy from his face as he gave the attendant a diligent nod. “If I am right to assume everyone is now convening inside, I shall do the same.”

Virion left the attendant as she bowed again, and focused on dialling into his wristband’s console as he strutted inside the Hall. He wanted to call his wona, but a Great Assembly was no place for a prince to console their likely-worried mother, so he sent a message instead.

I have just arrived at the Great Assembly. I am well. I survived the storm. I will call once I am alone.

The reply was instantaneous.

You will call right now! Find a place to do so! NOW!

Grimacing, Virion ignored the path ahead that led into a grand room filled with convening attendees, and cloaked himself with his magic to call his wona.

“Virion!” His wona shrieked in his ear. “Oh, Virion! We feared you were lost to us! Speak to me, Virion! Virion! Speak!”

He could not help his laughter, “I am alive.” His wona wailed, and Virion’s heart filled with joy. There was truly no other who loved him the way his wona did.

“Virion?” His queen-mother called, and Virion paused, shocked by the slight quiver in her usually-stringent voice. “Virion, are you alright?”

“I am well,” he promised gently. “The storm caught me. I could not make it, and was forced to land on a lone island.” His wona’s distressed wailing grew louder. “I was fine. I was sheltered by the khan of the island, to whom we must give our thanks.”

“Yes, yes,” his mother replied quickly, “but Virion,” she paused, “are you truly alright?”

“Yes, mother,” he crooned, almost uncomfortable in the wake of her distress. His queen-mother loved him dearly, as she did the rest of his brood, but she had always found it challenging to show. “I am a trained warrior, if you recall.”

“You are still our son,” she whispered with barely-shuttered emotion that once again shocked him. “We worried, greatly. We notified all regions, we searched where we could, but the storm hindered much… we thank Ythene that you are safe, Virion.”

For the first time since he’d left home, Virion considered what he’d been through.

It was nothing tragic by any means. There were worse tragedies across the realms, but he’d been stranded, and while he was safe and well-fed, none who cared for him had known that.

“You should come home,” his wona declared suddenly. “Forget the Assembly, come home right now.”

“Well, that I cannot do,” he replied, scoffing as he glanced back at the large doors. “I am already here, and after all it took to get here, I refuse to leave now.”

“You can,” his mother insisted. “If you wish, you can come home right now. I know… I know I was rather harsh when I sent you, but I much prefer you safe, Virion.”

Virion stood still, staring blankly at the wall opposite him while his heart teetered inside.

His mother had been unkind when she’d sent him off, and while he’d complained about the ordeal, he’d not let himself be truly upset about how she’d sent him off. Virion had learnt long ago that pondering useless emotions changed very little. But now, she’d brought them back to the surface and….. She’d called him everything but lazy, and ignored all he’d done for Aiasthlyn, and then, he’d found himself in the midst of a storm. He held no resentment for her, but this turnaround made him feel awfully disarrayed.

“I am fine,” he forced himself to say. “I will be home once it is concluded.”

Before they could say anything else, Virion ended the call and pulled himself from his cloaking. He did not allow himself a moment to process the emotions rattling through him. He simply carried on and delved into the task awaiting him. After all, it was what he’d done his entire life, and it was yet to fail him.

It was a gallery of sorts that everyone converged in, one large enough to house the very tallest elves comfortably and provide enough breathing room that the dragons did not feel contested by the unfamiliar representatives in the territories.

Virion took a glass of the offered wine and found himself a space to nestle into as the others conversed quietly but kept their eyes alert for any possible change. He remembered his mother stating that the chieftain had called the Assembly to discuss matters of expansion, but one could never be too careful.

He looked amongst the dragons, noting the stature of each in an attempt to decipher which was the chieftain, but none seemed to exude the strength a dragon of that calibre surely did. He’d also counted thirteen in attendance, which meant two more were missing. The attendant who’d greeted him had said everyone else was accounted for outside of him, but perhaps they had not arrived yet.

Virion’s seeking eyes landed upon the elf nearest him, who was a lovely sand wraith draped in a long cerulean shawl that just almost kissed the floor. He appraised the item with quiet admiration for a moment before he remembered himself and approached.

“What are we waiting for?” Virion asked gently as he stopped a fair distance beside them.

The elf looked him up and down before canting her head. “The question is who, and the answer is, more dragons,” she drawled with a laugh. “We made it, and yet they struggle within their own territory.” Virion knew better than to allow himself to laugh where ears could hear, but his small smile behind his glass said enough. “Syloce.”

“Virion,” he introduced with a slight inclination.

“They should not be long,” she continued, “I was told it would only be a matter of time, and—” Syloce’s words faded as she straightened from her lazy stance. “Here they come.”

Turning in the direction of Syloce’s gaze, Virion looked upon the final attendees as the doors carefully closed behind them, and found his world slamming to a halt.

The glass slipped from his fingers, but he hardly noticed when it crashed upon the floor, causing Syloce to jump away with a curse and drawing the attention of all the attendants onto him, including that of the newest pair. Including Zirkhlon’s.

The dragon stared back at him, his red-rimmed eyes almost doubling in size as his lips parted slightly. What a strange thing it was that he could see the lips he’d kissed clearly now that his formerly grubby beard was shaved away, revealing a heavy-set jaw of the most handsome man. And Zirkhlon was handsome, with his hair trimmed and neatly combed back from his face in an almost identical manifestation of how Virion had pictured it just this morning.

“Apologies,” he breathed as he cleaned the mess with his magic, functioning only through practice while he continued to stare at Zirkhlon. Zirkhlon, who was here… at the Great Assembly. “It slipped.”

“Not an issue,” the dragon beside Zirkhlon replied, drawing the attention of everyone in the room back onto him, everyone but Zirkhlon, who continued to stare wide-eyed at Virion. “We apologise to all for the delay, but we could not begin without the chieftain.”

Virion’s heart pounded in his chest, his glamour wavered, but he held onto it with an iron fist. That, he could not lose, not here, not again, but how the world seemed to twist around him as he stared at the dragon on the other side of the room.

The dragon who’d bedded him, the one he’d left only a hirt ago. The one who stood before him now as—

“Zirkhlon, the fierce,” the man announced, forcing Virion’s attention to slam back into focus.

Zirkhlon, the fierce? Virion’s gaze darted between the dragon who now bowed for Zirkhlon and the dragon himself, the one who was… the chieftain of all the dragons on Colony.

Virion felt his skin pale.

That could not be true, or right, because that would mean… that made him… that made Zirkhlon the most esteemed dragon not only on Colony, but in all of Ythene’s realm… and Virion had spent the last three feens in bed with him.

He was going to be sick.

————————-

ZIRKHLON THE MOTHERFUCKING FIERCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Thoughts???????

Thoughts on the surprise reveal??? Did anyone see it coming?!?!?

On Patreon when this was being written, some did and some didn’t so I’m interested to hear which way it goes for people reading it weekly rather than like every few months lol

If you enjoyed, please leave your thoughts and comment! I love reading them and seeing how yall are enjoying the book!

Next update will be here same time next week – Wednesday evening!

Until next time,
Byeeeeeee Humanssssss