The Dragon King and His Fallen Star novel Chapter 139

Chapter 139: What Waits in the Dead of Winter

EIRLYS’ POV

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I hadn’t realized the extent of Kierygan’s preparations until Solara placed the parchment in my hands. My eyes skimmed the neat columns of ink-times, names, duties-all arranged with meticulous care. He hadn’t only readied the council for the changes to come; he had seen to every last detail: the date, the dress, even the ravens already dispatched with invitations.

“Tell me if everything is to your liking, or if you’d like something changed,” Solara said before slipping away, no doubt off to tackle another wedding task.

I watched her until she disappeared around the corner, then carried the parchment into Kierygan’s study. Wordlessly, I took the seat across from him, the paper still held delicately between my fingers.

“Morning,” he said, voice steady and familiar.

I managed a nod and a hum in reply, then finally looked up at him. “You did all of this?” I asked, disbelief coloring my words.

His quill stilled, then he lifted his gaze to me. Calm, steady. “Most of it,” he admitted.

I blinked at him, the parchment crinkling slightly beneath my grip.

“That is why I’ve been away so often,” he continued, setting the quill aside. “I met with seamstresses for your dress, jewelers to resize my mother’s crown, even those cursed caterers who argued for three hours over the cake. They insisted on pears, but I knew you wanted lemon.”

A faint crease touched the corner of his mouth, as if fighting down a laugh. “But I also had help,” he said at last. “Do you remember that meeting with Evander and Ulyanna-the one I told you that you could not attend? I was assigning them tasks to move things faster.”

My breath hitched. Of course, I remembered. The heat in my chest, the sting of being shut out. I had stormed from this very room, warded my chamber door, and left him standing alone in the hall.

Guilt coiled low in my chest, making my cheeks burn. Shame prickled at me at how utterly childish I must have seemed.

I glanced at the parchment one last time before setting it gently atop his desk, then lifted my eyes to him again. “Most weddings are held in summer, yet ours will be in two months. In the dead of winter.”

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< Chapter 139: What Waits in the Dead of Winter

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Kierygan leaned back slightly, sunlight from the window catching in his blue eyes. “If I could make it sooner, I would,” he said without hesitation. “But there are traditions-customs of the crown-that cannot be ignored. Two months is the earliest they allow me.”

He paused then, his expression softening in a way that sent my heart skipping. “I chose that day for two reasons. First, because it marks your first year of freedom from the tower. Exactly one year since I first laid eyes on you.”

A warmth crept up my throat, flooding me with disbelief and wonder. Had it truly been a year already? It felt both impossibly short and like a lifetime ago.

“And second,” he continued, his voice lower, heavier with meaning, “because this cannot wait. I want you made mine, and I yours, officially, while we still have this reprieve. The Light Reaper has been momentarily thwarted since they failed to wrest the tome from you. I will not waste the time fate has given us.”

His words struck something deep inside me. Warmth unfurled in my chest, flooding through me until it was too much to sit still. Before I could think better of it, I rose, rounded the desk, and lowered myself onto his lap. His body stilled beneath me for a heartbeat, then his hand slid slowly along my back.

I pressed my cheek against the strong line of his neck, breathing in the musky, leathery scent of him. “I’m excited,” I whispered. “But afraid someone will try to ruin that day.”

“We won’t let that happen,” he said firmly. “Security will be doubled-tripled. You, Ulyanna, and Scylla can strengthen the wards.”

Kierygan pulled back to meet my eyes. “Until then,” he said, voice low with warning, “keep yourself safe. No running off. No flying alone. Understood?”

“Then don’t give me a reason to,” I shot back, half a challenge.

He chuckled, pinched the tip of my nose, and I swatted his hand away. But before I could scold him, he stole a kiss-first at my lips, then my cheek, then lower at the curve of my neck. Soon the room was full of his deep laughter and my breathless giggles. Until a deliberate throat-clearing sliced through the moment.

My head snapped up, and there stood Callum, leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed. His expression was maddeningly casual, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his

amusement.

Heat rushed to my face so quickly it burned. I jerked upright, fumbling to get off Kierygan’s lap, mortified at being caught like a child misbehaving. But his hand stayed firm on my waist, keeping me pinned in place.

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< Chapter 139: What Waits in the Dead of Winter

“Callum,” I stammered, cheeks hot enough to scorch.

He dipped his head in mock deference. “My Queen,” he drawled.

I scowled at him. “Can you not?”

He only chuckled.

“Do you have something for me, Callum?” Kierygan asked, sounding entirely unruffled.

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The commander pushed off the doorframe and strode forward, dropping into the chair I had vacated earlier. He cleared his throat again, though the mischief was gone. “There’s been unrest,” he said at last. “Especially in Vargheim.”

A ripple of unease prickled through me, tugging me straighter against Kierygan’s chest.

“Some of the Alphas see your union as a threat,” Callum continued, tone matter-of-fact. “You already hold Altierra and Vargheim. Now-marrying Eirlys would mean Val’Thirael as well. Technically speaking, she’s the queen.”

My brow furrowed. “How can I be queen of a dead kingdom?”

Callum’s gaze flicked to me, steady but not unkind. “The werewolves don’t care whether it breathes or not. What matters is the title. And with your power, known to be Malric’s weapon, they worry Kierygan might use you and become another tyrant like him.”

He continued before I could speak. “And there’s another matter. Some of the more conservative wolves already chafe at being led by a dragon. Now their soon-to-be queen is a fae. They don’t see it as strength. They see it as… an insult.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came. Doubts I had tried to bury stirred up again-doubts of ever being accepted, of ever truly belonging as a queen. Callum’s words had only confirmed those fears. But then Kierygan’s hand closed firmly around mine, grounding me, just before his voice cut clean through the air.

”

“Do they need me to make an appearance in Vargheim?” His tone was cool, measured, but I felt the tautness coil through his frame beneath me. His next words cut sharper, quieter. Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough the last time.”

“Not for now,” Callum replied. “Orryx has gone himself to talk them down. We’ll see how they take his assurance.”

Callum rose, gave a crisp nod, and left the study without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving only the quiet crackle of the hearth.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my forehead against Kierygan’s chest. “Is… is this going to be a

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<Chapter 139: What Waits in the Dead of Winter

problem?” My voice wavered, betraying the knot of worry tightening in my stomach.

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He tilted his head so his forehead met mine. “It will be a problem,” he said, low and certain.” Just not for us.”

I blinked up at him, searching his calm, unreadable eyes.

“It will be a problem for the Alphas,” he continued, a faint twitch of a smile playing at his lips, as if the thought amused him. “For those who question my rulership… and question my queen.”

MIRAEL

Mirael sat cross-legged on the cold, rot-infested ground, the protective circle of tar beneath her glowing faintly in the flicker of surrounding candles.

The air hummed with the residue of dark magic, heavy and oppressive, as she drew on the powers granted by the Light Reaper.

For weeks she had tried to shadow walk, to pierce the defenses of Drakemont Palace, to glimpse even a fragment of its grounds-but each attempt ended the same. Nothing. Not a single thread.

“They’ve strengthened their wards even more,” she muttered, grinding her teeth. Her fingers dug into her palms as frustration simmered through her. “Those b*tches.”

She must have hissed too sharply; the candle flames guttered and died.

She needed even the smallest glimpse, or a single whispered word, to plot her next move. Most of all, she needed a glimpse of him.

Mirael rose from the circle, shadows writhing around her before vanishing. She clenched her fists, weighing whether to summon the Light Reaper himself-perhaps enough raw power could finally tear through Drakemont Palace’s defenses.

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