Page 73 of Dragon King’s Bullied Mate

Beckett huffed dramatically. “I’m little.”

“You are careless.”

“I’m six.”

“That is not an excuse.”

Beckett lunged anyway, wildly overcommitting himself in a way that made Lyra instinctively tense. Mikael moved with impossible speed before the wooden sword could even connect and caught Beckett around the waist. He lifted him effortlessly into the air while the boy shrieked with startled laughter.

“It appears that I have defeated the enemy.”

“That’s cheating!”

“It is strategy.”

“That’s not strategy!”

Mikael’s mouth twitched with rare softness as he set Beckett back onto his feet. “Every ruler says that after losing.”

Lyra leaned lightly against the balcony railing while something fragile and painful unfolded inside her chest. Beckett looked happy. Not like the cautious child accustomed to disappointment, but something steadier and safer than she had ever seen from him before.

This was after finding out his father was close by. Mikael had comforted him by offering the training lessons so Beckett could defend himself. That had stopped the tears and the fears all at once.

Mikael reflected Beckett’s happiness. The bond between them was deepening so naturally it almost frightened her. Mikael read to Beckett each evening before bed despite the absurdity of a king spending hours sprawled across carpets beside a child while attempting dramatic voices for adventure stories. Beckett adored every second of it.

Sometimes Lyra would pause outside late at night and hear laughter drifting beneath the door while Mikael pretended annoyance after being corrected on details from previous chapters.

Other nights the laughter never came, and those nights were harder. The nightmares had not disappeared simply because they now lived inside castle walls. Beckett still woke up trembling sometimes, crying out from dreams filled with memories too large for a little boy to carry alone.

More than once, Lyra rushed into his room expecting panic only to stop short in the doorway because Mikael already sat beside Beckett on the bed. The little boy would bury his face against Mikael’s chest, small hands clutching desperately at the fabric of the king’s shirt as quiet sobs shook his body.

Mikael simply held him. “You are safe,” Mikael murmured quietly, one large hand smoothing through Beckett’s curls. “Nothing will touch you here. I swear it.”

Beckett sniffled. “Promise?”

“I do not make promises lightly.”

Lyra had stood there silently for several moments before retreating without either of them noticing her. Somewhere during that moment, something shifted irrevocably inside her. Beckett trusted him now, not as a king or protector, but as family. And that presented a slight problem.

She turned away from the window and headed for the library. It was her favorite room in the castle and a private shield from public eyes.

“You look miserable.”

Lyra glanced up from the half-finished embroidery resting forgotten in her lap to find Malaya lounging carelessly across a velvet chair near the fireplace, dark eyes sharp with amusement.

“I’m not miserable.”

“You have been staring at the same stitch for ten minutes.”

Lyra sighed softly before setting the fabric aside altogether. “Maybe I’m tired.”

“You’re anxious.”

Malaya always spoke with terrifying directness, which Lyra suspected was precisely why Mikael trusted her so deeply.

Snow battered lightly against the windows while silence stretched between them. “Can I ask you something?”

“Only if you want a straight answer.”