Page 19 of Dragon King’s Bullied Mate

Luckily a younger soldier approached with news about the horses and drew Dag’s attention away before he could continue pressing her. Lyra silently thanked every god willing to listen while the captain immediately fell back into command and issued rapid instructions about the route back to the castle and which physicians were to be summoned before they even crossed the outer gates.

In the confusion, he let the matter drop.

So did she.

And yet, as she watched them prepare to carry Mikael away, the truth pressed heavily against the back of her throat.

Poison.

She should have told Dag. Any sensible person would have. An injured king in the forest was one thing but a king who had been poisoned was another entirely. It was something darker and far more dangerous, and withholding that knowledge bordered on recklessness.

Still, the words never came. She had no idea why she held back, but it just seemed like the right thing to do at the moment.

Even as the soldiers began their journey down the narrow path with Mikael secured between them and Dag mounted his horse and glanced back toward her one final time, she remained silent without fully understanding why.

Perhaps it was instinct. Or maybe fear. Or perhaps some part of her simply did not trust what would happen once the truth left her mouth.

Beckett moved beside her after they disappeared into the trees. His small hand slipped into hers. “Is he going to die?”

Lyra looked down at him, startled by the bluntness of the question. Children often danced around difficult things, but Beckett rarely did.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“He can’t help us if he does.” He sighed as though that made perfect sense before they turned to head back inside.

The cottage greeted them with silence so complete that Lyra immediately hated it. Mikael had been impossibly large inside her tiny home and filled the space with a strange restless energy that lingered stubbornly even after he was gone.

Now the rooms felt hollow and just wrong.

She needed to busy herself with work because she didn’t know what else to do. After standing motionless for several moments beside the now-empty sofa, she finally reached for her gloves and tugged them firmly over cold fingers before she forced brightness into her voice. “Come on, sweetheart. Grab your jacket. We have a farmer’s market to get ready for.”

Beckett immediately brightened at the reminder and scrambled for his mittens so quickly that one nearly fell into the basket of clipped greenery beside the door. “Can I get some candy while we’re there?” he asked hopefully, already halfway into his coat.

Lyra couldn’t help smiling at the eagerness in his face. Despite everything, the boy still managed to find joy in the smallest things. Their booth always sat near the local confectioner’s stall, and every market day Beckett spent half his time staring longingly at molded chocolates, peppermint sticks, and honey candies wrapped in shiny paper.

“Of course you can,” she promised as she tied her scarf securely beneath her chin. It was one of the few times she could truly spoil him without guilt, and she secretly enjoyed watching his excitement almost as much as he enjoyed the treats themselves.

“Can I get the cinnamon drops this time?” he asked as they stepped outside into the bitter cold. “Not the peppermint things. Those make my tongue hurt.”

Lyra laughed softly under her breath. “I thought you said the peppermint ones made you breathe smoke like a dragon.”

“They do,” Beckett argued seriously while trudging beside her through the snow. “But dragons probably don’t like it either.”

The path through the woods crackled beneath their boots as they spent the afternoon searching for the remaining hardy winter blooms needed for the bouquets they sold at the market each month. They gathered pale frost lilies, dark evergreen sprigs, winter roses, and the tiny silver-blue flowers that somehow survived even beneath the snow.

Usually the work calmed her because arranging flowers required patience and focus, and because the rhythm of clipping stems, bundling greenery, and sorting colors into careful combinations gave her mind something steady to hold onto. This time, however, the familiar task failed to soothe the restless unease twisting tighter inside her chest.

Beckett knelt beside a cluster of white blooms that poked stubbornly through the frozen ground while Lyra crouched nearby with the shears in hand. She trimmed long stems before she passed them carefully into the basket between them.

“This one should go in the fancy bouquets,” he declared with absolute certainty as he held up a flower nearly bent beneath the weight of ice crystals.

“The fancy bouquets?” Lyra arched a brow.

“The ones rich people buy,” he explained matter-of-factly. “The ladies who always smell like berries.”

Lyra snorted. “You mean perfume.”

“Whatever it is, they always buy the biggest bouquets.” Beckett tilted his head. “Do you think if we make enough, maybe we can get the caramel candies too?”