First Chosen by the Dragon (Evelyn) novel Chapter 65

[Evelyn’s POV]

The delegation is gone. I stand on the high wall with Draven, watching the last Mintian horses disappear around the eastern ridge. The compound exhales around us—warriors returning to patrols, servants dismantling guest quarters—but nothing about this feels like relief.

“She’ll be back,” I say. “Whatever she tells Father will bring a response.”

Draven’s jaw works once. “We have weeks. Maybe a month before Mintia makes its move.”

“Then we stop letting her control the narrative.” I turn to face him. “We reveal Aspis ourselves. On our terms. To the Alliance, under the Luminary Protocol.”

Draven goes very still. When he speaks, his voice drops low. “That’s not just a revelation, Evelyn. That changes the balance of power across the realm.”

“The balance was already changing,” I hold his gaze without flinching. “We’re just deciding whether to lead it or be crushed by it.”

Silence stretches between us. Draven studies me with an intensity that feels like being seen through skin to bone. “You’re not the same woman who arrived at my gates all those months ago.”

“No,” I agree, and the truth settles into my bones. “That woman was running. This one’s done running.”

His hand moves slowly until his fingers find mine on the stone. The contact sends heat racing up my arm. Neither of us pulls away. His thumb traces my knuckle, and the simple touch undoes something in me that’s been holding tight for weeks.

“Alright,” Draven says, and the word carries the weight of a vow. “We do it together.”

“Together,” I echo, lacing my fingers through his. His grip tightens, and when I look up, his eyes have gone dark with something that has nothing to do with strategy.

“Come with me,” he says roughly, and pulls me toward the tower stairs. The walk to his chambers is silent, urgent. His hand stays locked around mine through corridors I know by heart. The door closes behind us with finality.

Draven turns, and the space between us disappears. His mouth finds mine with hunger that tastes like relief and desperation—two people who’ve been standing on opposite sides of a chasm and just decided to jump.

I kiss him back with everything I’ve been suppressing, my hands fisting in his tunic until I can feel his heartbeat hammering. His hands frame my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones with gentleness that contradicts the fierce pressure of his mouth.

When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, eyes molten black. “The world’s about to come down on us,” he says roughly. “And I need you to know—”

I silence him with another kiss, deeper, my tongue sliding against his. His hands move to my waist, pulling me against him with possessiveness that sends heat pooling low.

He walks me backward until my spine hits the wall beside his bed, stone cold through my tunic, sharp contrast to his heat.

His mouth trails from my lips to my jaw, down my throat, teeth grazing the pulse hammering wildly. I arch into him, head falling back, and his hands slide under my tunic, mapping the curve of my waist, burning through fabric.

My fingers find his tunic laces, and he helps me strip the fabric over his head. Candlelight catches on scarred muscle. I trace the raised line along his ribs—Lyanna’s last battle—and his breath catches. His hands return, pulling my tunic up and over, and the mark on my chest glows faintly—his handprint, pulsing with warmth.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify