(Author's note. This Scene is with Greyson not the real Chase)
Tilly Ann
Chase approached Emperor, and the dragon watched him with eyes the color of molten gold.
One wrong move and those jaws would close around him. One sudden movement and those claws would tear him apart.
I told myself I didn't care.
I told myself it would be a relief.
I told myself so many lies in the space of a single breath, even i knew I was lying to myself.
The armory couldn't be the last time I kissed him. The hallway yesterday couldn't be the last time he drove me near crazy. Today couldn't possibly be our last.
I wanted more. I...needed more.
"Ch—" I stepped forward. It was too late.
Chase mounted the dragon with the casual ease of a man who'd been riding since before he could walk, and the crowd—the crowd—actually cheered.
It was stupidity on display. They actually cheered. Including my father.
It seemed like I was the only one holding my breath. Every other person cheered like it was some heroic something to applaud. I only saw a million ways he could break his neck.
It was a moronic move. But he made the climb and he sat on Emperor.
He didn't hesitate. He settled onto Emperor's back like he'd been born to it, and for a moment, the dragon went still. The crowd went still. The whole world went still.
Then Emperor launched.
The dragon's wings snapped open, and they were in the air, climbing toward the clouds like they had something to prove.
The crowd gasped. I didn't. I couldn't.
My hands were frozen on the railing, my heart somewhere in my throat, and I hated myself for every second of it.
He was going to die. He was going to fall. He was going to—
Emperor banked hard, and Chase leaned with him, his body moving in perfect sync with the beast beneath him.
He didn't fall. He didn't die. He rode. Against all fucking odds.
And around the arena, cheers erupted, but I barely heard them. I was watching the way he moved with the dragon, the way he seemed to become part of it, the way his laugh—his actual, genuine laugh—rang out across the training grounds.
He looked free.
He looked like he'd been waiting his whole life for this.
He looked like someone I didn't recognize. Almost happy.
The flight lasted three minutes. Maybe four. It felt like forever.
When Emperor finally touched down, dust billowing around them, Chase slid from the dragon's back with a grin so wide it transformed his whole face.
The crowd was on its feet. Electra was cheering. Even Father was clapping, a surprised smile on his face.
I didn't move. I couldn't move.
Chase's eyes found mine across the arena.
For one heartbeat or two, he held my gaze. He paid attention.
"Are you alright? You look white?" He mouthed from the distance.
I gave him the middle finger.
"Very mature" He mouthed.
He was surrounded before I could blink—the blonde girl from before, a brunette with a cloth, a cluster of nobles all desperate for his attention.
He laughed at something someone said, his hand finding a brunette's waist, and just like that, he was swallowed by admirers.
I stayed at the railing, my hands still frozen, my heart still somewhere in my throat.
"He's not dead," Electra said quietly beside me.
"No," I managed.
"You were scared."
"I was not."
"You were white as a sheet, Tilly."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because she was right. I was scared. Not of the dragon, not of the fall, but of what it would mean if he didn't get back up. If I never saw that infuriating smile again. If I never got the chance to—
To what?
To punch him? To scream at him? To kiss him?
I didn't know. I didn't know anything anymore.
Is this going to be my life now? Holding my breath. Forgetting to breathe?
"Come on." Electra tugged my arm. "Let's get you some wine. You look like you're about to faint."
"I'm fine."
I let her pull me away from the railing, away from the crowd still cheering Chase Dubois's name.
I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I could hear him laughing, could picture the blonde's hand on his arm, could feel the jealousy curdling in my stomach like something poisonous.
He was alive. He was laughing. He was surrounded by women who had never called him a whore, never wanted to punch him in the face, never wished him dead.
And I was standing at the edge of the celebration, pretending I didn't care, pretending I hadn't been terrified, pretending I was done with Chase Dubois.
I wasn't that good a liar.