Page 72 of Dragon King’s Bullied Mate

Mikael turned sharply and left before the rage boiling beneath his skin fully surfaced again. He should have known that Dag would use the one thing he had taken a blood oath to never reveal.

By the time he returned to his bedroom, exhaustion weighed heavily through every muscle in his body. Lyra was already asleep in her room, curled beneath the blankets with Beckett tucked against her side after what he suspected was another nightmare. Both of them finally looked peaceful for once beneath the soft glow of the fireplace.

Mikael stood there silently watching them for several long moments before he turned toward his own chamber. He would miss holding Lyra, but there was no way he was going to disturb them.

He laid back on his bed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, daylight streamed through the windows. He shook his head and wondered how he had slept so soundly.

A sharp knock interrupted the thought.

One of his guards stood outside the door, visibly tense. “Your Majesty.”

Mikael stepped carefully back into the hallway. “What is it?”

The guard lowered his voice immediately. “We intercepted communication outside the castle walls.”

Mikael’s expression hardened. “From who?”

“Boden, Sire. The one you told us to immediately report.”

Ice slid through Mikael’s chest. “Report.”

“He made contact with confirmed Skelvarn operatives approximately two hours ago.”

“What kind of contact?”

“We’re still investigating, Sire.”

A soft whimper interrupted them. Mikael turned to find Beckett partially hidden in the doorway, his eyes still swollen from sleep but with tears running down his cheeks. It was clear he had heard enough to understand one terrible thing.

His father knew where he was.

Chapter 26

Lyra

The castle had never stopped feeling cold to Lyra, no matter how many fires burned behind stone hearths or how many servants bowed their heads when she passed through the endless corridors draped in banners bearing Mikael’s crest.

There were moments when the grandeur almost stole her breath, like the candlelight reflecting against polished marble floors and the towering windows that overlooked snow-covered cliffs, yet beneath all of it lingered the same quiet awareness that she did not belong here the way everyone else did.

Or perhaps worse, they believed she would not belong for very long.

She saw it in the glances exchanged between nobles during dinner feasts and in the whispers that died too quickly whenever she entered a room holding Beckett’s hand. Some servants had grown warmer toward her after Mikael’s increasingly open devotion made it impossible to deny her importance. But others still looked at her with thinly veiled curiosity, as though she were some fascinating creature temporarily occupying the king’s attention before reality eventually corrected itself.

The flower girl. The commoner.

Whatever name they chose, she was nothing more than the king’s newest obsession.

Temporary.

The word followed her everywhere even when nobody spoke it aloud and made her chest ache in ways she could not explain.

Somehow Beckett had adapted to castle life far faster than she had.

The sound of laughter echoed across the training courtyard below Lyra’s balcony and drew her attention downward. Snow drifted lazily through pale afternoon sunlight, and despite the heaviness inside her, she found herself smiling before she could stop it.

Mikael stood in the center of the courtyard with a wooden practice sword resting over one broad shoulder while Beckett attempted to imitate his stance several feet away. The child’s face scrunched with fierce concentration beneath a wool cap that kept slipping crooked over one eye.

“No,” Mikael said, though amusement warmed his deep voice. “Again. Your footing is weak.”