They were nearing a fin and still, not a single elf had left the isle.

The Assembly refused to conclude, and it was not for a lack of trying or any valiant and increasingly futile attempts to make concessions, for those were plentiful.

It was only that the chieftain would not entertain a single one.

The isles were too small and then too large. They were at risk of rising seas, even when the sea nymphs promised to protect against such calamities. And then, there was the matter of a possible volcanic eruption that had not been a danger to any elf for generations, but suddenly, they were.

Zirkhlon found problems where there were none and then crafted some anew from each proposed solution, and he did so quickly and efficiently, driving every attendee mad with annoyance, but their grievances were none of his concern.

His concern lay only with the prince who had scarcely met his eye since the night he allowed the dragon to witness his tears.

Virion had never been the cowardly type, but his fragility made him so, and he found facing Zirkhlon to be its own type of terror. It was the type that kept childings sleepless when they imagined a shadow in the dark— possible to overcome should they muster a bout of bravery.

Virion was yet to manifest such bravery, and as such, the prince who had always loved himself above all now loathed his entire being.

“Name your terms, then,” a writhe remarked sharply, their sanded fingers twitching openly with agitation. “What would you need to be satisfied? Say it now and say it plain.”

The room fell silent as all eyes descended upon the dragon seated at the head of the table.

It was rather rude to speak to a host in such a manner, especially at meetings such as these, but it was far more impolite to hold your guests hostage for personal fancy, and that was precisely what Zirkhlon was doing.

“It would be irresponsible for me to answer that without revisiting our latest concessions,” the chieftain replied, his tone as amiable as it had been throughout this madness. “I would need the afternoon, at least.”

There were groans, openly cast ones, and Virion winced at witnessing it.

Frustration had made many shed their decorum, and he could not blame them. If he were in their position, he would not even have the courtesy to stay. But Virion was not in their position.

Virion was the reason for their imprisonment, and many knew it.

By now, all had noticed how the prince’s light had dimmed, try as he did to maintain it, though he could admit to himself that his attempts had not been nearly as boisterous.

Like when he had returned home, Virion felt as though a part of him had been stolen, only this time, he could not pretend to be as he always was.

There was much Virion could do, but when the man who had claimed his heart without notice made proclamations that shattered him, the prince was made powerless.

The negotiations continued, if one dared to even anoint it such. There were more audacious concessions turned pleas made to the immovable chieftain.

They all knew they would fail, and yet they tried in vain until they tired themselves and had no choice but to accept the latest standstill until the afternoon came, and they could try again.

With strewn expressions and contentious spirits, they gathered their tablets and exited the meeting chambers, one at a time.

Zirkhlon stood where he always did— at the door to bid them farewell and impart the same shameless apologies. He repeated them with each moonrise, and with each setting sun, he made a new enemy on Colony.

Virion stood, readying himself for his turn.

This was always the hardest part— worse than when the knocks came at night, and he forced himself to ignore them. Worse than each time he received a fresh mound of gifts that relinquished a new part of his heart to the dragon— because each time they came face to face after another meeting in which Zirkhlon castrated himself for more time with the prince, the deeper his loathing towards himself became.

“I have become terribly fond of you, truly,” a familiar voice whispered at his side as they gathered their materials. “But I warn you, I can only endure another three feens of this before I, too, lose patience.”

Syloce’s gaze was piercing, though not hateful or angered, which was a small blessing. Virion did not want to anger her, for she was the only friend he had during all of this, but he understood. He nodded mutely.

It was only when her brown eyes softened and her stern shoulders drooped that he realised she was only making a jest.

“There are worse things than an extended vacation on a dragon’s isle,” she mumbled, donning a small smile kinder than the ones she’d shared with the other attendees. “Take all the time you need.”

Again, Virion nodded, but he could not bring himself to speak as they approached the door and the dragon awaiting there.

Zirkhlon’s eyes were already on him, as they seemed always to be now, and Virion had to arm himself with a great, steady breath before he could meet the stare.

It was as fierce as ever, burning with want, desire, and affections Virion had only witnessed between a few elven pairs. His heart swelled impossibly, aching where its confines caged his own longing.

The way he wanted the dragon had not diminished, by any measure. It grew and then crested each time he looked at his blooming purple spring drop petals, or faced him as he did now.

“Prince Virion, Lady Syloce,” Zirkhlon spoke, lips tilting as he bowed his head politely. At his side, the ever-present Gyulen did the same.

Virion returned the gesture, but did not move away immediately. The chieftain always had an extra word for him, and only him, and he could never go without it.

True to form, Zirkhlon straightened and asked, “Were there any matters discussed today that bring worry to you?” Before either could respond, he continued, “I would hope not, but I am available to discuss them in private, if need be.”

His sharp eyes slipped over to Virion, willing him to heed the invitation.

He made one to Virion with every new feen, and upon each fresh feen, Virion was compelled to deny it.

“We are well-informed for now, but I will be sure to let you know if that changes,” he replied with another bow of his head.

As stoic as Zirkhlon was as chieftain, any watching would not miss how disappointment rounded his bulky shoulders before his entire frame sank from it.

Virion’s heart ached to be the cause, worst yet, when the dragon still smiled at him with such vast understanding.

“I will always be available,” he whispered, and despite the present company, those words were for the prince alone.

With a nod, Virion made his leave and did not allow himself a glance back, let alone a breath, until he was sure he was far enough away for Zirkhlon to miss the way it shuddered miserably out of him.

“Is he truly so terrible?” Syloce asked in the quiet of the hall where they walked alone.

“It is the opposite,” Virion mumbled with a sad smile of his own. “I fear he is perfect.”

——————-

In the cocoon of his consort rooms, Virion took his evening meal alone, not bothered to share it among the elves who would rather stare at him with curiosity or envy.

Virion thought there would be more resentment, but if there was any, none had shown it in his company. The elves at the Assembly had long since guessed that Zirkhlon sought something from him and did so with unprecedented determination, and that was the cause of their delay.

They argued that it was one of the invaluable jewelled brooches that he wore one morning, the aged talisman that hung from his silk robes the next. Whatever the prize was, the dragon wanted it, and Virion, the known collector, had yet to hear an offer that appeased his greedy eyes.

But they never guessed that Virion himself was the treasure that Zirkhlon was so determinedly chasing.

While he picked at his serving of all his favourite foods, Virion scanned the latest messages that awaited him on his personal tablet. The majority came from Ciradyl and Aiasthlyn, followed by his Wona, and then the twins.

They all demanded to know when he would be returning home and what the true purpose of his delay was. Aiasthlyn threatened more than once to come and whisk him away himself, but held his post at home because Virion begged him to.

Virion knew it would be easier to let his younger brother take him home to hide, but just because hiding was what the prince was doing with his feelings and his heart did not mean that it was what he wished to do.

He wished only that he were brave enough to give himself to the man he longed for.

The messages went on, too many for him to respond to, but of all that came from his brood, there was only one that truly held his attention.

I am here when you are ready to speak about it.

Virion stared at his mother’s message, unable to part from it.

It was only one line. She had sent it two feens ago, but Virion had not allowed himself to acknowledge what it was— a gesture, a helping hand from the most unlikely of places.

It was not that his mother was uncaring, for she loved him and all his siblings with a fierce loyalty, but discussing one’s emotions was not where the queen mother’s love shone.

When one of her nest faced a problem, her response was to mend it, not discuss it. Yet, that was precisely what she offered.

Virion wondered now, as he had since he had first read it, if she inferred something of his situation.

Perhaps whispers of the dragon’s attention had gotten back to her, or if Ciradyl had cracked under one of her harsh stares, then she knew more. It was the only premise that made sense, because her wording mentioned nothing of the Assembly or his prolonged attendance.

It was the hope of such a thing that gave him the strength to click the name and call his mother.

She answered not even a moment later.

His com ignited with the image of his mother. Her usually stern face was lined with worry and obvious relief, but she tempered it a moment later for him.

Virion waited for her to present her strongest front— the one that had legitimised her as queen for half of her lifetime, but it never came. Instead, Virion’s mother— not the queen mother, but the woman who nursed him— gazed back at him, patient and waiting.

Virion’s eyes filled before he could stop it.

“Oh, Virion,” she whispered, her purple eyes filling just the same. Virion could not remember the last time he saw his mother cry. “Tell me it all.”

And he had no other choice.

“There is someone,” he began, voice trembling with emotion he could hardly restrain anymore. “I found someone.” Just saying the words hurt, even more when his mother’s gaze brightened with joy. “He is infuriating and wonderful. He knows me, Mother. He cares for me deeply, as I do him, but—”

Virion struggled for his next words, not knowing how to express it all. There was so much, from the hurt he felt upon learning Zirkhlon’s rank, to the magnitude of the connection he felt with the man he barely knew, and then, the terror—… the ever-present terror that churned every time he thought of trusting in him and all his wonderful assurances.

“He did something that wounded me, and he is sorry for it,” He decided at last, hoping that was enough. “He has made amends, and I hold no more grievances with him. He is no longer the problem,” Virion shared the words as he knew them to be true. “I am.”

“How so?” His mother asked with care, but her gaze suggested it was impossible in her mind for him to ever be such a thing.

“I do not think he would hurt me again,” and it was a truth he knew in his soul, “but I am still scared, mother. I am scared that even then, I will be hurt if he were to part from me later, or these feelings of his were to lessen while mine grow. And they can only grow when—” Virion fought his tears as they rose again, “—he has already consumed my world.”

Virion was too old to cry to his mother like a babe, so he bit his lip and caged the sounds, but it might as well have been as if he was the small prince he once was, wailing to his mother when she worked too long to spend the evening she promised with him.

Just as she did then, his mother forgot all else to comfort her first son.

“I am going to tell you a story— not to distract you, but because there is a lesson in it I want you to learn,” she said softly, yet her tone was stern and sure. She waited until her sniffling prince rubbed his own nose where she could not before she spoke again. “I knew from the moment I met your wona, that she was the one destined for me. I spotted her by her shores, and no other stood a chance.”

It was a tale Virion knew well, of how his mother had experienced the most beautiful phenomenon of loving another from the moment you spotted them, but he still paid her his full attention.

“It was instant, and yet, while I had done all I could to make her feel for me what I felt for her, and succeeded, it was I who slowed us at the finish line,” she continued, making his eyes widen. This, he had not heard. “I… I did not witness love from my parents as you have with us. It was a myth, and then suddenly, my reality, and I did not know how to enjoy it when it presented itself because… I was so afraid.”

As she spoke, Virion found a part of himself unfurling with acknowledgement . His mother smiled knowingly.

“The prospect of what I felt for her being reciprocated terrified me, and I did not know what to do with myself, try as I might.”

“So, what did you do?” Virion asked quickly, desperate for her answer that might arise as his own.

His mother gazed back at him, with the violet eyes and inked hair that she had given to him alone. “I braved the fear, Virion,” she replied softly. “It is the only option when you dread what you want. You must leap for it, even knowing that you might fall.”

The prince shrank back, curling into himself the way his raging heart did. That was not what he wanted to hear, nor what he wanted to do. He did not want to put his heart on the line. Not now. Perhaps, not ever.

“Virion,” his mother whispered as if hearing his thoughts.

“It is not so easy,” he defended with a sudden frown.

“I never said that it was,” she confirmed sweetly. “It is hard, perhaps one of the hardest things an elf in your position can do. But it is worth it.”

The prince found his frown deepening, this time spurred by confusion. “An elf in my position?”

His mother stared back at him, her expression strangely difficult for him to read until she whispered her next words. “You have never been a coward, Virion. There is only one reason taking such a step would ever terrify you so, Virion.”

Virion blinked, lost in mind, but his soul seemed to understand the words from her mouth, for it vibrated within its confines. It spurred his heart into a thunderous symphony that climbed with each note. He felt calm and erratic all at once, and suddenly wondered if making this call had been wise.

“What is your favourite memory with this man?” His mother asked, changing the subject so suddenly that he almost could not understand it.

Virion hesitated, not because he had to find one, but for how quickly it came to him.

It was their second night in Zirkhlon’s hut, when they had talked for hirts over wine. The storm mounted outside, and yet, they cared only for the conversation between them, free and open for the first time.

Virion could not recall the last time he had smiled so freely before that night.

“Why is that your favourite?” His mother asked next, and Virion only then realised he was smiling for how quickly his confusion made it fall.

“I did not even tell you what it was.”

“Does that matter?” She retorted with frustrating calm.

“Yes, it does,” he replied snappily. “You can not ask me a question and then part from it before I can answer.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” He could not believe this was his mother he was speaking to. “You would not grasp the full picture.”

“Of what?”

“Of how I came to love him!”

The minute the words spilled from his lips, Virion’s world righted itself.

He had always thought that when he fell in love, he would know it. He would either feel it like his mother, instantly and at first glance, or the moment would sneak upon him, and it would be so perfect that he would confess it right there and then to his love, who would obviously be at his side.

He never dreamed, never thought to consider, that one could fall in love and not even realise it. But that was precisely what Virion was. He was in love with Zirkhlon.

“…I love him.”

Having not even thought the words before, it shocked Virion how easily they fell from his lips. More so, how right it felt to breathe air into them.

His mother smiled at him, her tears falling again as she pressed a hand to her chest. She looked overcome with emotions, while Virion felt as if he were only just discovering his.

Was that why he had been agonising about the very worst scenarios of their coming together? Why terror had claimed him so and refused to let go? Because he already loved this man, this dragon that infuriated and understood him so, and feared that he might not feel the same?

Zirkhlon had promised him so very much and given even more, but love… that was so much more.

“It demands bravery, Virion,” his mother reminded when his shock refused to abate. “Dive for it, and you shall not regret.”

———————————-

VIRION MY SWEET SUMMER CHILD!!! YOU ARE IN LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AHHHHHHH

Thoughts?????

Thoughts on Virion calling his mom??? Thoughts on her being the one to help and support him????

I love love loveeee the way he comes to the realisation and the way it absolutely rocks his world oh my God! He’s so damn precious to me, especially as a character that comes across quite self-absorbed (and he is) but we learn has softer, more fragile parts ughhh

Only 2 more chapters lefttttt 😭😭😭😭😭

My editor already edited the next one cause she wanted to know what happened next lmfaooo, so you might get it earlier than next Wednesday if I’m able to make the time! 

But that’s all for now – find the full story on my Patreon and Website for all tiers – https://www.hopp.bio/tippy446

Until next time,
Byeeeeeeeeee Humanssssssssss