a/n – This is one of my favourite chapters, I can’t wait for yall to read! Well, this one and the next so don’t be shy with the comments! I want to hear any and all thoughts!

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“Five jols before descent, your grace.”

Virion forced his caged breath from his lips before promptly taking another. He found that he needed it. Desperately so.

His eyes stuck to the lone isle, his carrier was fast-approaching and struggled to part from its ocean-crested edges.

Only a fin had passed since Virion had learned of Zirkhlon’s summons, and now he was five jols from his descent—four when he checked his timer once more.

“Ythene’s light,” he cursed before hastily waving a hand upwards. His screen acquiesced to his request and replaced the view of the island with his reflection.

Virion looked absolutely breathtaking. Truly. It was perhaps the best he had looked for the entire luhe— a commendation he did not give thoughtlessly. But he did look it. The sight of him took his own breath away.

As always, it was not without effort. Each day since the summons for another Assembly, Virion had been plucked, smoothed, soaked and glamoured in every conceivable way.

It was not for the dragon. Curses to anyone who thought so. It was for Virion and Virion alone.

To face Zirkhlon, he needed to feel his best, and to do so, Virion needed to look his best, and he did.

Golden silk wrapped itself around the prince in a faithful caress. It draped over his shoulder, tightened around his waist and ruffled at his wrists. The fold of the fabrics made his chest appear broad and his hips narrow.

He paired the silks with the most decadent emerald green sash that plunged into the open space at his chest. Jewels dripped from the rest of his body, like water from a tearful icicle. His earrings were a golden, crested green, his crown’s colouring the same. As was the dusting that shone from his neck, making his purple eyes glitter within certain light.

Yes, Virion looked divine indeed. His appearance sang loudly of his presence just as he intended.

Cowering was no option, and if the dragon demanded to see him, then he would see him. And he would weep.

This was what Virion told himself as he left home with his entire brood observing his departure with wary expressions. They looked at him as if he were going to battle.

In some ways, Virion felt as if he were. Only battle had never felt this lonesome.

Focusing on himself, not his beauties, Virion peered at his reflection and found the purple jewels that gazed back at him.

They appeared wise, confident, and most importantly, removed. None of the nettlesome emotions that had trampled across his mind since his last voyage showed, which was good.

When Virion saw Zirkhlon again, he would present himself as if he had forgotten all there was to know about him— about them. Virion would appear strong.

“Your Grace,” the carrier’s AI warned, a red light appearing overhead as it signalled its approaching descent.

Holding his own gaze, Virion armed himself with the brilliance and surety that gazed back at him before he nodded and closed the screening.

They lowered just over the isle now, with its familiar marble columns and maintained grandeur of excellence that Virion had once wondered at. He still did, partially. The rest of him was focused on what was to come as the beat of his heart began to skitter.

As before, Virion’s carrier was not the only one making its descent, though he was not sure if he was one of the first or the last. In either case, attendants lingered on the landing strip, bright-eyed and needy, while one lone figure stood at the beginning of the path that led to the Hall.

Virion forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Zirkhlon stood sentry with his hands clasped behind his back and fiery red eyes aimed skyward. His expression was moulded from a harsh set of lines as he watched each descending carrier with what looked to be frustration.

Even from above, Virion saw how each opened door only seemed to worsen his mood as he paid a fleeting glimpse at each disembarking guest, only to dismiss them a moment later and return his gaze to the skies.

Virion stared at Zirkhlon, greedily consuming every inch of him despite his efforts not to.

He was disheartened to see that the dragon had not lost his shine. He was clean-cut again. His beard neatly clipped, his dark hair trimmed and combed back out of his most handsome face. Virion tried to deny that observation, but he had never known how to deny fine things.

The dragon wore a uniform similar to the one before in both fitting and design, though the finer details Virion could not distinguish from so far away. Not as he might the dragon’s stony disposition.

Would he cast such a look upon Virion as he disembarked? The prince’s heart could not decide whether to hope for or against such a thing.

“Why, Ythene? Why?” Virion mumbled to himself as his carrier settled.

The landing was far firmer than the way his heart slammed perilously against his ribcage.

He had not expected Zirkhlon at the door. That was not a chieftain’s duties, and yet, there he stood, looking just as refined and perfect as when he saw him last.

Only that was not quite true. The last time he’d seen Zirkhlon, those refined touches had fallen away as he asked for more.

“Shun!” Virion cursed, and then louder as he watched an attendant approach his carrier promptly.

He yearned for a moment more to prepare himself, but knew already he would not have it.

The time was now. He would face Zirkhlon, and do so without fear.

Virion filled his lungs, sent a prayer to Ythene, and opened his carrier door.

The prince took his time in making his exit, being sure to neither rush nor drag his feet as he stepped out into the sun. Similarly, he was sure not to look at the dragon as his attendant slowed before him with a kind smile and widened eyes that silently complimented Virion’s splendour.

“Prince Virion,” the attendant, a plump, finely mannered elf, greeted with a bow. “The dragons of Colony are most honoured to have you.”

“As I am honoured to be here,” he replied as he was meant to. It was the same words he’d spoken at his first arrival, only he did not rush them this time.

“You are one of the first,” she praised as she turned and gestured forth. “If you will follow me, I will guide you to where the welcome bands are taking place.”

Virion hid his frown beneath his glamour as he nodded and followed behind the attendant.

The last time, he’d entered on his own, but here the attendants sought to each attendee, guiding them into the Hall and towards ‘the welcoming bands’. The prince, however, did not have time to ponder what that might entail because now he was nearing the path where he still stood.

Virion could feel his gaze boring into him, as he had from the moment he stepped from his carrier. It was scorching, making his ears prick and his blood warm, but he had not looked. Not until now.

Virion lifted his gaze and felt his core ignite.

The agitation he had glimpsed on Zirkhlon’s face had fled, replaced instead by relief he let show as he gazed at Virion. His attention was like rough fingers on his skin. His red-rimmed eyes sought to devour him whole as they slid greedily over every inch of him.

Virion knew what lust looked like in a man, and he knew what lust looked like in this man. This was not lust. This was desire.

The prince kept his expression plain and muted the tune of his frantic heart as he gazed back at the dragon. Impassive and without regard. He wore his indifference as a mask and he wore it well.

Other attendees and representatives before him bowed as they tried to pay the chieftain a respectful word, but Zirkhlon ignored them all as he stared openly at the prince. Offended, curious and confused, they were forced to continue on without acknowledgement— something Virion already knew would not be the same for him.

The moment they were in reach, Zirkhlon loosened one of his hands from behind his back and raised it, stopping Virion’s attendant and Virion as well by default.

“Thank you, Aleen,” Zirkhlon spoke, even while his eyes never once parted from Virion’s. “I will attend to Prince Virion myself.”

Virion’s mask slipped and then threatened to shatter as he watched the dragon step forward.

Zirkhlon’s presence centred around him like a faithful songbird and his voice teased his ears like silk. He had never forgotten the heavy baritone that cantered each word, but none of his memories had quite amounted to the true thing.

“Yes, my liege,” Aleen replied before turning, bowing to Virion before leaving to attend to the next guest. Then, it was only Zirkhlon and Virion.

They stared at one another, neither speaking nor even daring to breathe.

They simply peered at one another while a storm of emotions and thoughts raced through Virion’s mind. He relived it all while gazing at the dragon he had first lived with.

He never thought he would see him again, and yet here he stood, the one who roused his mind and body and then disappointed him so wholly.

“Prince Virion,” Zirkhlon eventually breathed, his lips tilting up at one corner before he quickly smoothed it out. “It is a blessing to see you again. The dragons of Colony are honoured to have you.” He paused, gaze softening. “I… am most honoured to have you.”

Zirkhlon bowed but did not simply dip his head. He lowered himself far past the point his stature as chieftain required, far past the measure Aleen had taken, and he did it, for the Anael prince.

Virion gasped, as stunned as all those who bore witness to the Dragon Chieftan’s humbled display before he straightened and once again looked upon Virion as if there was no one else.

“I feared you would not come,” Zirkhlon whispered, his voice lowering into something kinder… something more familiar.

The prince struggled to find the right words, for he had none.

Zirkhlon had just bowed to him, the failed prince, and now, he was uttering the type of proclamations that threatened his core.

Added to that, he had expected the worst in seeing Zirkhlon again. Mockery or tricks, not this tenderness that vowed to batter his heart in entirely new ways.

Finally, Virion remembered himself. He cleared his throat.

“I was not given much of a choice,” he responded tightly— diligently. He raised his chin. “But, here I am.”

Zirkhlon did not bother pretending to be remorseful. He could not when his gaze was flitting between Virion’s and then appreciatively over his adornments.

The dragon’s red eyes glowed as he nodded. “Yes… Here you are.”

Virion suddenly felt very hot and equally as fervid as he stood beneath the dragon’s gaze. He fought within himself not to react, but it was a useless endeavour with how well his body remembered the words the dragon before him had uttered the last time he looked at him so.

“You are exquisite.”

Zirkhlon cleared his throat, breaking them both from the stupor. “If you would follow me,” he said as he stepped aside and stretched out an arm for the prince.

Virion felt tempted to ask what would happen if he did not, but he had already too-easily forgotten his ire with Zirkhlon. He did not want to be swept up in the comforts that came with his company, so he nodded and stepped forward. He pretended the dragon did not quickly follow at his side.

They managed only five steps before Zirkhlon spoke again.

“The journey,” he began with a fleeting glance at the prince, who looked only at their path. “How was it? I trust it was smooth.”

“Quite,” Virion replied, adding nothing more.

“I did not recognise your carrier,” the dragon responded, and once more, Virion felt his warm gaze on his skin. “It seems you replaced it.”

“It would seem,” Virion agreed while he privately counted how many steps were left between them and the Hall’s grand entrance, where he would surely be able to pry himself away.

The carrier was actually the one and the same that had taken him to the dragon’s island, only repaired and rid of its battle scars. Virion had it polished three times over so that no physical memories of that fateful storm and all that followed remained. It was only a shame he could not treat his memories in such a fashion.

“How have you been, Virion?” Zirkhlon asked next, dropping the pleasantries to breach the question. There was a quiver in his voice that Virion would presume to be nervousness in any other.

“Discarding my title already?” Virion queried while he kept his gaze on the path ahead. “I am Prince Virion.”

“Prince Virion,” Zirkhlon corrected with a marked grimace. “How are you?”

“Is the answer relevant to complete the day’s proceedings?” Virion volleyed, ready to retort with the fact that it was then nonsensical to ask upon being told ‘no’, only that was not the response that came.

“Yes.”

Virion almost missed his next step.

He looked upon Zirkhlon as they stepped into the foyer and found that he was already watching him.

His gaze was unwavering, and though the passing sea breeze was briny, Virion only knew the treacherous scent of smoke.

“Is it?”

The question stalled on the prince’s tongue, but he refused to free it. This exchange had gone on long enough.

“I share my gratitude for the escort, but I will continue on my own.” Virion was already bowing as he said the words, but it went unanswered.

“I am following the same path,” Zirkhlon replied. “There is no reason to part.”

“I hardly think that it is necessary,” Virion argued, only just managing to keep his agitation from showcasing itself.

If the dragon sensed it, then he feigned indifference as his shoulders pushed back, furthering his height.

“I find that it is,” he stated with audacious confidence. His red-rimmed eyes scanned every inch of the prince’s face. “I would claim your company until duty requires otherwise, Prince Virion.”

Virion huffed a laugh. It was dry and birthed from shock rather than humour as he stared at the impudent man before him.

How had he forgotten, even for a moment, how infuriating this dragon could be? Furthermore, how did he manage to say his proper name with all the respect he denied the prince upon their first meeting, and still infuriate him so?

His glamour alone hid the fury speedily rising in him once more, along with the fission of excitement he refused to acknowledge, even to himself.

Hurt had been his companion for so long that he did not remember how to contend with the other emotions the dragon stoked in him.

It only worsened his mood.

Fisting the silks at his waist, the prince turned on his heels and trudged onwards without a response. The dragon— the loathsome, infuriating dragon— followed silently at his side.

Virion concealed his fury within himself as he glided into the large gallery that had before acted as their gathering space. It was much the same now, only the few attendees were stationed outside on the open lawn amidst the furthest and now opened towering doors, allowing guests to spill into the striking courtyard.

It was rather beautiful, with the largest columns framing the view of the waters roaring beyond, and then, Virion spotted the aforementioned welcoming bands. A company of elves sat poised, their fingers hovering over the thin strings of their sizable harps, surrounded by lush flowers, like a motioned painting. The music that soared into the air was perfection.

Yes, it was all beautiful, indeed… and far too much.

Now, Virion was not one to ever denounce extravagance, but the landscape before him resembled a Ball rather than a Great Assembly.

“Does something trouble you?” Zirkhlon inquired as Virion crossed the gallery to investigate the matter for himself.

“Not at all,” he replied smoothly as he stepped out onto the courtyard.

Virion surveyed the space, finding it even more luxurious out here. Aleen had not lied when she named him one of the first, because only a handful of elves meandered about. They all seemed as enamoured by the beauty as he was, particularly by the ballooned red flowers that perfumed the air.

Virion cast his gaze back onto the dragon, his jewelled eyes narrowing as he said, “I did not expect such a welcome.”

For as voluble as he’d been thus far, Zirkhlon remained noticeably silent. It forced the prince’s skin to wrinkle as he eyed the dragon’s impassive expression.

Something was amiss. But Virion refused to encourage more conversation, so he kept his lips clamped shut while they slowly trekked the outline of the courtyard.

Watchful eyes drifted onto them almost immediately, and murmurs soon followed. It would not go unnoticed, or unreported, how Zirkhlon clung solely to Prince Virion’s side on this day. Soon, all of Colony would hear of it. Virion only hoped the reports would not see themselves misconstrued by proclaiming him the suckling that overfed on the other’s attentions.

“You are quiet,” Zirkhlon spoke in a hushed whisper that caressed the prince’s ears and forced him to swallow.

“There is nothing to say,” he replied thinly while their mirrored steps took them onto the perfectly manicured grass. “And might I remind you, it is you who chose my company.”

“Any other choice would have made this all pointless.”

Virion’s purpled gaze lifted quickly to the dragon as his steps slowed. He had to look at him— could do nothing but— in order to gauge what that truly meant, because the implication it left in his mind was a far too scandalous thing. But before he could hope to uncover the truth, another dragon stepped into the space beside them.

Virion only just managed to draw his gaze away to the newcomer. His mind recognised him, especially when placed beside Zirkhlon. He was the dragon who entered at the Chieftan’s side at the start of the last damning meeting. Gyulen, his name was.

Gyulen bowed now for the prince, but not too low, for there was a tray in his hands. It carried two servings of wine. Surely, his rank sat too high for him to carry out such a menial task, but as Virion peered at the two gold-crusted glasses and then paid a fleeting glance around, he realised no other had been treated to such finery.

“You have my thanks, Gyulen,” Zirkhlon spoke as he plucked the ornate glasses from the equally decorated tray.

With another bow, Gyulen paid Virion the briefest of glances before he moved on, leaving Virion with the Chieftain and the wine.

Zirkhlon held one of the glasses out. Virion eyed it.

It was not the one he’d sipped on during that lost night, but it was no less special. Its opulence called to him all the same, but he did not want to take it, for this felt like too much.

It was too much.

Virion had not even tasted the wine, and a warmth already pooled within his stomach as memories of a kindled fire and jaded laughter found him once more.

“I can not drink them alone,” Zirkhlon spoke when the moment stretched on a little longer.

They both knew he could, but saying as much would give life to memories he could not face.

Virion took the glass, scented it and felt his shoulders unwind as twinges of berry slid across his senses. The salty air already complemented the selection, and Virion had to bite his tongue not to say as much.

Not many knew how to pair a wine with one’s settings. He loathed that this man did.

Zirkhlon lifted his glass, and Virion forced himself to meet it, should he be named rude. They brought it to their lips, and while dark liquid slid down their throats, their gazes refused to part.

Zirkhlon preyed on him from over the rim, his eyes promising fire, fury and passion, while offering apologies and longing. It was that— the easing expression that spoke of softer things that had the prince shuddering his gaze.

He closed his eyes to savour the wine in peace.

It was aggravatingly exquisite. Aged, decadent, and even better than the one he’d been gifted before.

Virion hated that he could not hide his pleasure, for when he opened his eyes, the dragon’s lips were turned up at its corners, the scar crinkled at his cheek.

“To your liking, then?” He surmised.

“It is adequate,” Virion huffed before carrying on.

There was a soft sound behind him before, once again, the dragon fell into step at his side.

“You still have not answered my question,” Zirkhlon spoke as he mirrored the prince’s steps. When the prince did not reply, he reminded, “I asked how you were, Prince Virion.”

This again?

“Blessed, as one of Ythene’s favourites,” he replied snappily.

It was a truth the prince claimed and sought to rub in the dragon’s annoyingly handsome face. But then Zirkhlon made a small sound that sounded dangerously close to a chuckle, and Virion had to busy himself with another sip of wine.

At any other occurrence, Virion would be flouncing around with his head held high, openly flaunting how he garnered such an esteemed host’s attention. But Virion could not quite enjoy it when this host affected him so.

Already, he was too aware of him again— of his scent and his heat. His power. He loathed the man and yet… his heart pounded furiously to be beside him once more. To talk to him, this rogue of a man who’d seen his most blemished parts and still called him exquisite.

How Virion’s heart and body longed for the dragon’s. To touch, taste and own, but Virion’s body was not his mind, and neither was his heart.

He ignored the feeling. No, he plucked it, root and stem, and buried it deep within.

He hoped duty might whisk Zirkhlon away as more attendants arrived, or another might approach and provide the prince the chance to escape, but duty remained amiss, and all who dared to even take a step in their direction discarded the attempt the second Zirkhlon’s gaze narrowed upon them.

None with sense would miss how thoroughly the dragon claimed Virion’s time. They would only wonder after the reason why.

Off path and at the edges of the courtyard, Virion followed the trail of the blooming flowers with his glass to his lips. It was not often that petalled things entranced him, but the sun’s light reflected on these petals, as it did upon the glimmering waters surrounding the isle. He could feel the silent power gathered within, and as light was the core of his power, they called upon him like nothing else.

“They are called Spring Drops,” the dragon murmured, an ever-present shadow at his side.

“I did not ask,” the prince replied even while he pocketed the name.

“No, I suppose not,” Zirkhlon replied with noted amusement. “Neither did you ask if there were purple ones further along, but I am telling you all the same.”

Virion glared at the dragon while his fingers fisted the stem of his glass, but he could not resist the urge to explore for himself, for purple was his favourite colour.

Walking slowly, Virion continued along the path until music faded and the purpled petals revealed themselves. They were even more beautiful in this hue, and the prince knew they would make for a most stunning crown if woven together. Only such a thing was far too childish, given the present settings.

Left to admire them, he silently gushed over how they bloomed with such light here, where the crashing waves broke against rock below, swallowing all other sounds.

Virion stiffened, but it was already too late.

“When we spoke last, it was after I placed you in a terrible position,” Zirkhlon began as the prince spun to face him. “Your reaction could not be blamed, nor can your still-present ire.” His voice was no longer calm and proper, but rough in a way Virion was far too familiar with. “I deserve every measure of it.”

“Zirkhlon,” Virion hissed under his breath as he darted a careful glimpse at the other guests, but none could hear them. “Do not—”

“I expedited matters to see you,” Zirkhlon confessed, causing Virion’s aching heart to pound like the ocean beside them. “I did all of this, so that I might see you again, Virion. I did it… for you.”

Virion’s lips fell open, but he could make no sound as Zirkhlon’s words glided over his torn places, seeking to heal, to mend and make whole.

“As I said, I know your anger remains and rightfully so, but I aim to soothe it,” the dragon stated, the red in his eyes glowing anew. “As I aim to reclaim your favour.”

Virion’s breaths came too quickly as panic and longing set about him.

He wanted to tell the dragon all manner of things. That he never had his favour, that he would never have it again, but his tongue remained glued to the roof of his mouth while the feelings he’d tried to bury attempted to sprout once more.

“My silence last time was my undoing, so I will not make the same mistake again,” Zirkhlon stated as he stepped forward, bringing them upon the edge of inappropriateness. “The Assembly will not end with this day. Today is only a welcoming act.”

“A welcoming—” Virion breathed. “You can not,” Virion dismissed, finding his words again but barely so. “None will accept it.”

“They all know about the first night,” Zirkhlon replied, stoking fresh surprise in the prince. “What they do not know is that I intend to have this meeting span over several feens.”

“Several feens?” Virion repeated, aghast.

“As many as are needed to keep you close as I earn your forgiveness.”

Virion shook his head as his glamour wavered. It was too much, as was the manner in which his soul glowed as Zirkhlon’s proclamation unveiled more than desire.

“You will embarrass yourself,” he hissed the warning. “You will tarnish your reputation and name.”

“I will,” he whispered while his fiery eyes searched the prince’s with such desperation. “It would hardly be penance for the pain I caused you.”

“Stop,” Virion pleaded as he took a step back. His legs threatened to give beneath him. “Stop, Zirkhlon.”

The dragon peered at Virion while the rest of him stiffened.

He hid nothing now, in that gaze or within himself, and never once had Virion witnessed such longing in another, such devotion and determination… and it was all for him.

It terrified him, nearly as much as it renewed him.

“I have spent the last nerha thinking only of you, Virion,” Zirkhlon whispered before he straightened himself and smoothed his features, pocketing the longing Virion now knew waited for him. “Only of you.”

“Zirkhlon,” Virion warned once more, but the dragon was already taking a step back.

“I will win your favour again, Virion,” he stated as if it were a fact. “I will not stop until I have it, so let them watch, and let them talk.”

He folded his arms behind his back while his gaze slid over Virion’s body. “Let them see how much I want you…” He rasped, and Virion could hardly stop the way his cheeks flushed beneath his trembling glamour.

Zirkhlon’s eyes were scorching by the time they lifted again to meet his.

“I have warned you then. I will not stop until all is right between us, Virion. That I promise.”

———————–

ZIRKHLON, THE MAN THAT YOU AREEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE KIDS MISS YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! COME HOMEEEEEEEE

THOUGHTS??????????

How do we feel about Zirkhlon putting it all out there and being like I want you and I’ma have you like ughhhhhhhhh give him to meeeeeeeeeeee

please please pleaseeeeee let me know all your thoughts cause I wanna hear them!

The next chapters finna have y’all in stitchesss ughhhhhhhh but that’s it for now!

Until next time,
Byeeeeeeeeeeeeee Humanssssssssssss