~129 A.C~

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

DRAGONSTONE
The library of Dragonstone was quiet save for the echo of Vellena's boots against the stone floor. Shelves towered around her and Jacaerys, the scent of old parchment and burning coals thick in the air. The painted table lay between them, scattered with scrolls, maps, and records of dragons long past and still living.

"Seasmoke knows me," Vellena said firmly, pacing around the table. "I rode with him when I was but a child, clinging to our father's back. He remembers. He'll remember me."

Jacaerys, dressed in his red and black riding gear, arms crossed over his chest, watched her intently. "Seasmoke has been riderless since father's death. He's grown wild. The dragonkeepers can handle him while we determine who's worthy to try claiming him. It's not safe for you."

"I'm not asking," Vellena said, stopping and facing him. "I am going."

They circled the table like two caged flames, neither willing to bend. But as she turned to walk past him again, Jacaerys reached out and caught her arm.

"Vellena," he said, low and serious.

She stopped. Slowly, she turned her head, locking her purple eyes with his deep brown ones. Neither spoke. The air between them was tight, charged.

She sighed, lifting her free hand to gently cup his cheek. Jace leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

"I'll be fine," she whispered. "You have to trust me."

He opened his eyes and met hers again. A slow nod. "I do."

She smiled faintly. "That's the first time you haven't threatened to lock me in my chambers or... punish me." Her tone was teasing, dry with mirth. "Progress. Since our... agreement."

Jacaerys' lips twitched into a crooked grin. "So you admit it was an agreement."

Vellena cursed under her breath in High Valyrian, turning to step away—but he caught her again. In one swift move, Jace lifted her and set her atop the table, scrolls and books clattering to the floor.

"Seven hells, Jace," she hissed, half-laughing.

He stood between her knees, hands braced on either side of her hips, his face inches from hers. "Don't tempt me," he murmured.

"You're already tempted," she whispered, fingers brushing the back of his neck.

"I always am."

She leaned in to kiss him, fierce and urgent, but it softened after a moment, lingering with something deeper.

"Mitty dārilaros" she muttered between kisses—foolish prince.

Jacaerys laughed against her skin. "But he's your foolish prince."

Their laughter echoed off the stone, the war forgotten—for a moment.

Jacaerys' lips trailed down Vellena's neck with aching slowness, every kiss igniting another flicker of heat beneath her skin. When he reached her earlobe, his breath was warm and deliberate, the touch of it alone enough to make her pulse race.

He moved closer, one of his legs slipping between hers, pressing just enough to make her gasp. They were still fully clothed, but the pressure—combined with his voice at her ear—made her whole body tighten with need.

"You're soaked," Jace murmured, his voice velvet and fire. "And I've barely touched you."

Vellena's breath hitched, her head falling back against the cool surface of the table. Her fingers gripped the curls at the nape of his neck, the strands soft and damp between her trembling hands. A flush rose to her cheeks, bright against her pale skin.

"Lekia..." she breathed, the Valyrian word slipping from her lips like a plea.

Jacaerys' lips curved into a smirk against her skin. "Do you like it, my sweet?" he whispered, before pulling back just enough to capture her mouth with his again—firm, deep, possessive.

Vellena's response came as a jumbled sound "Mhmpbah..." , somewhere between a sigh and a moan, lost between his lips. Her hands slipped down to his back, holding him as though the storm inside her could only be weathered with him pressed this close.

Outside, Dragonstone's winds howled beyond the library walls. But inside, between the scent of parchment and stone and fire, only they existed.

Their lips refused to part. Every kiss was deeper than the last, desperate and searching—Jace's hands roamed her sides while Vellena tugged him closer by the lapels of his tunic. They moved together like two flames converging, the world outside forgotten. Her breath caught with every brush of his mouth, her fingers tangled endlessly in his dark curls.

Jace murmured her name between kisses, low and reverent. Vellena clung to him, her legs tightening around his hips and his knee kept on rubbing against her clothed drenched sex, the table beneath her creaking slightly as they moved. It was as if they'd waited years for this moment—even though they never stopped finding each other in stolen shadows.

But then—

CLACK.

The sharp sound of the library door jolted them like a splash of ice water. Vellena's eyes flew open. She shoved Jace off her, forcing him back to his feet just as she hopped down from the table, hastily brushing her clothes, straightening the wrinkled folds of her black riding gear.

Jace cleared his throat, adjusting his tunic, forcing an expression of vague interest as he leaned over a nearby book. "Have you noticed," Vellena said suddenly, loudly, "how the clouds roll in faster over Dragonstone than anywhere else?"

"Must be why it's always so... wet," Jace muttered, lips twitching.

Vellena mewled involuntarily, immediately covering her mouth with her hand and coughing to mask it, shifting on her feet and clamping her thighs together with a subtle wince.

The door creaked wider. Lyra and Bennar stepped in, pausing at the sight of the flushed royals trying far too hard to look composed.

"...Are you both... alright?" Lyra asked slowly, brow raised.

"Perfectly!" Vellena chirped, leaning an elbow on the edge of the table—only for three heavy tomes to tumble off the edge with a thud. She froze.

Jace sighed, dragging his hand down his face. "Seven Hells," he mumbled under his breath.

Vellena crouched, hastily gathering the books into her arms, then in a sudden, overly casual step—crunch—her heel landed squarely on Jace's foot.

He let out a pained grunt through gritted teeth, stumbling back with a quiet curse.

Lyra and Bennar exchanged a knowing glance, wisely choosing not to comment. "The dragonkeepers have Seasmoke ready," Bennar announced, lips twitching in amusement.

"Thank you," Vellena said sweetly, stacking the books back on the shelf with exaggerated care before striding out the door. "Come, Lyra."

The two women disappeared down the hall, the sound of Vellena's boots echoing off the stone.

Jace stood silent for a moment, then exhaled sharply, glancing at Bennar.

Bennar crossed his arms, smirking. "Weather's... wet, is it?"

Jace didn't dignify it with a reply—just groaned and rubbed his foot.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The dragonpit of Dragonstone was alive with tension as Queen Rhaenyra, her children Vellena and Jacaerys, and their companions Lyra and Bennar gathered before the mighty Seasmoke. The silver-grey dragon, once bonded to Laenor Velaryon, stood restless and unclaimed since Laenor's death.

Queen Rhaenyra placed a gentle hand on Vellena's shoulder.

"You don't have to do this, my love," she said softly.

Vellena met her mother's gaze with determination.

"I want to," she replied. "Seasmoke knew me when I fled with Father. If I can calm him, perhaps I can feel closer to Laenor."

Jacaerys scoffed, his arms crossed.

"The dragonkeepers can handle Seasmoke. We don't need to risk you."

Vellena shot him a sharp look but said nothing.

The dragonkeepers approached Seasmoke cautiously, attempting to soothe the restless beast. The dragon's pale green eyes scanned the gathering, his body tense.

Vellena stepped forward slowly, her voice calm and melodic.

"Lykirī... Seasmoke. Rȳbās. Dokimarvose..."

Seasmoke growled lowly, his gaze fixed on Vellena. The presence of so many people seemed to agitate him, and his growl deepened into a rumble.

Sensing the tension, Vellena raised her voice, commanding, "Dohaerās!"

The word echoed through the pit, and Seasmoke's demeanor shifted. He lowered his massive head, allowing Vellena to gently place her hand on his snout.

A tear slipped down Vellena's cheek as memories of her father flooded her mind. She quickly wiped it away, composing herself.

Turning to the assembled dragonseeds and hopefuls, she addressed them with authority.

"He will choose his rider. Good luck."

With that, Vellena walked towards the exit, accompanied by Lyra, Bennar, Jacaerys, and Queen Rhaenyra. They ascended to the balcony overlooking the pit, ready to observe Seasmoke's choices.

In the depths of the dragonpit, tension cracked through the air like lightning as one after another, would-be dragonriders stepped forth to try their luck with Seasmoke.

The silver-scaled dragon watched them with growing agitation, his tail lashing, nostrils flaring. Some of the bastards approached with bravery, others with desperation in their eyes. None of them succeeded. One brave young man tried to speak Valyrian commands, another even held out a fresh kill as an offering—but Seasmoke was unmoved.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Then came Ser Steffon Darklyn, Commander of Queen Rhaenyra's Queensguard. Proud and confident in his armor, he stepped into the pit, placing a hand on his sword only for reassurance. "If you are truly unclaimed," he said, "then let me serve my queen from your back."

Seasmoke stared for a long moment. The silence was heavy.

Then, in a flash of fury, he opened his maw and let loose a torrent of flame.

The scream was short-lived. Ser Stefan's armor clanged as it fell, charred and empty. The dragon lowered his head, sniffed the corpse, and—without warning—snapped his jaws shut around it, crunching bone and steel alike.

Gasps and shrieks rippled through the pit. Even from the balcony above, Queen Rhaenyra flinched. Her face tightened, and she turned away.

"Enough," she muttered, more to herself than to her children, and without another word, she began walking back toward the castle.

Vellena stayed frozen. Her knuckles whitened as they gripped the stone railing, her breath shaky. She had believed—truly—that today would end differently. That Seasmoke would choose someone, anyone. That they could begin forming the army of dragonriders.

That she could feel closer to her father.

Her lower lip trembled. Then Jace's hand slowly reached over and curled around hers. His fingers were warm, grounding, soft as they squeezed hers gently.

Vellena glanced at him, her purple eyes shimmering with unshed tears, disappointment heavy in her gaze. She gave him a ghost of a smile—one that never fully formed—and pulled her hand away.

Then, she turned and walked swiftly back toward the keep, her boots echoing through the stone halls. Jace followed her immediately, his voice soft but urgent.

"Vel. Vellena, wait—"

Behind them, Bennar and Lyra exchanged a glance and hurried after their prince and princess.

Vellena didn't stop. Her steps grew faster, her breath shorter, tears now slipping freely down her cheeks. She shoved the door to her chambers open with force, startling the two small kittens curled on her bed—Mera and Berion—who mewed in protest and scurried to the edge of the pillows.

Jace entered behind her, followed closely by Bennar and Lyra. Before he could say a word, Vellena screamed—not in fear, but in raw, shaking fury—and then fell forward onto the bed, burying her face in her hands.

The grief, the frustration, the disappointment—everything poured out of her in muffled sobs against the silken covers.

Jace inhaled deeply, pressing his lips together as he looked at her. Then he turned to the others.

"Leave us," he said gently.

Bennar nodded once and pulled Lyra by the arm. The handmaid hesitated, casting a worried look over her shoulder at the girl she had grown so fond of—but eventually she followed.

The door clicked softly behind them, leaving the two siblings alone.

Jace walked toward the bed, slow and steady, and sat beside her as her shoulders shook with quiet cries. Without saying anything, he reached out and laid a hand on her back, just between her shoulder blades, and waited—offering her the only thing he could right now.

His presence. His comfort. His quiet loyalty.

And in that silence, he didn't speak of dragons or failure or plans for the war. He simply stayed.

Jace quietly approached the edge of the bed and sat beside her. His hand rested lightly on her knees, warm and steady—an unspoken offering of comfort. Vellena stiffened at the touch, her fingers still trembling slightly. She slowly pulled her hands away from her face, her eyes red and wet.

"I had hoped it would work," she whispered hoarsely, her voice brittle with disappointment.

Jace gave her a faint smile, one corner of his mouth twitching up as he looked down at his hand. "It is me who should be disappointed," he said lightly. "It was my idea, after all."

Vellena shook her head, her silver braid slipping over her shoulder. "Mother needs riders. Desperately. What are we supposed to do? How do we get them?" Her tone grew tighter with every word, her desperation cracking just beneath the surface.

Jace inhaled deeply, then stood, his boots making a soft thud against the stone floor. "I have an idea."

She looked up at him, brows furrowed. A hint of amusement, confused but genuine, tugged at her mouth. "Jace...?"

He turned slightly, smiling now—not with triumph or calculation, but with something warmer. "Do you remember what you liked to do, besides reading?"

Vellena blinked, then drew in a sharp breath. She tried to suppress the smile rising on her lips, but it was hopeless. Her voice came out with a light scoff, "You mean, when I used to braid yours and Luke's hair into knots? Or pretend I was Visenya come again? Or dance around the hallways like a mad girl with a crown of books?"

"That's the one," Jace said, grinning.

And so, they did.

In the hours that followed, the tension and shadows faded from the air. Jace sat patiently on a cushion while Vellena braided his hair, muttering about the knots he never brushed out and how Luke had at least tried to look presentable. He chuckled, letting her work with gentle fingers, then returned the favor—braiding her silver hair with a clumsy, serious focus that made her giggle.

They mock-sparred with wooden sticks from the fireplace, Vellena declaring herself Visenya the Valiant, protector of kittens and punisher of stupid older brothers. Jace played along, letting her "defeat" him with a dramatic fall to the rug, arms sprawled wide, groaning.

Then came the dancing.

Jace pulled her by the hand, spinning her around the room in clumsy circles. Vellena laughed, her boots slipping slightly on the polished stone, her cheeks flushed with joy. He scooped her up without warning, lifting her off her feet and spinning both of them until they were breathless and dizzy. Mera and Berion darted around their feet, mewing and pouncing on ribbons that had fallen from the shelf.

Eventually, as twilight turned the room golden, the two of them lay together in her bed, tangled and soft in the afterglow of laughter. Vellena's head rested against Jace's chest, her fingers curled lightly into his tunic, while his hand traced slow, soothing lines along her back.

Silence stretched peacefully between them, broken only by the kittens' purring and the distant waves crashing against Dragonstone's cliffs.

Vellena tilted her head slightly, her purple eyes watching Jace's face—his eyes closed, breath even, the lines of worry on his brow finally gone. The same boy she grew up with. The one who pulled her hair when he was annoyed, who protected her like a shadow, who kissed her once like it would break the world. That boy was still there. Still him.

Her heart swelled, her breath caught. And before she could stop herself, she murmured, "Jace..."

He hummed softly in response.

"I lo—" she caught herself, heart suddenly pounding, "I mean..." she coughed, embarrassed, "...thank you."

Maybe he doesn't feel the same... I would only embarrass myself... we made an arrangement... it doesn't mean anything... it's just stress... the arrangement will be over after this war and I will be able to wed Daeron... then why am I not happy...?

Jace didn't open his eyes, but a smile crept onto his lips. "No need," he whispered. "That's what older brothers are here for..."

He kissed the top of her head gently, and Vellena felt herself finally surrender to the exhaustion, her body melting into his warmth.

Within minutes, her breathing slowed, evened out. Jace's fingers stilled against her back, his head resting lightly atop hers. And in that moment, wrapped in quiet comfort and old memories, both of them drifted into sleep—side by side, hearts unspoken but deeply entwined.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The kitchen was quiet now, the fires reduced to warm embers and the scent of baked bread lingering in the air. Lyra was wiping the last of the flour from the wooden table, humming under her breath. The scrape of a boot startled her, and she gasped softly, turning to face the entrance.

A tall figure stood there in shadow. Her heart caught for a breath before she saw who it was.

"Bennar," she exhaled, voice quiet. "You scared me."

He stepped forward, the torchlight catching in his dark curls and strong jawline. "Didn't mean to," he said with a boyish sort of smile, voice low and warm.

She turned back to the table, continuing to scrub it even though it was already clean. Bennar stood behind her, hands at his sides. He should have looked away, should have excused himself. But instead, he watched her—the way her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, the way her blonde hair had slipped from its knot and curled around her neck.

He had bedded women before, many of them. In camps, in towns, in brothels that smelled of wine and smoke. It had never meant anything. But Lyra... this girl with her soft voice and sun-touched hair... she made him forget how to speak.

Her voice brought him back. "You left your post," she said, not turning. "You should be outside Princess Vellena's quarters, hm?"

Bennar grinned. "Prince Jacaerys is with her. In her room."

Lyra turned around then, only now realizing just how close he had gotten. "Do you think they...?"

Bennar's grin deepened. "I'm sure of it."

Lyra's eyes widened with glee, and she giggled before slapping a hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she whispered, her cheeks pink.

"You finished up?" he asked, nodding toward the now-spotless table.

She sighed, brushing her hands on her apron. "Finally." Then without thinking, she took his arm, tugging him gently down the dark corridor. He let her, her touch light but certain. They walked together through the winding hallways until they reached the modest door to her room.

Inside was nothing grand—one small bed, a wooden table with a chipped leg, a closet barely big enough for two dresses. But there was a flower pressed in a jar by the window, and a neatness that spoke of pride.

Lyra talked as she moved around the room, unpinning her hair and letting it fall over her shoulders. "I always knew it. Prince Jacaerys and Princess Vellena. The way they argued? That kind of fire doesn't burn cold. Not with them. They're perfect for each other."

She turned toward him, her voice teasing. "Don't you think so?"

Bennar blinked. He hadn't heard a word. He'd been staring—at the way her lips curved, at the soft line of her throat in the moonlight.

"What?" he asked, startled.

She rolled her eyes with a smile. "I said—don't you think they're perfect for one another?"

He nodded slowly, his voice softer now. "They are."

She walked to the window and leaned on the sill, her back turned to him. The moon cast silver along her skin, and Bennar's hands itched to reach for her. Any other time, any other woman, he would have done it already. Taken what he wanted. But with Lyra, he felt as though one wrong move would break something sacred.

He swallowed hard. "Lyra?"

She hummed softly in response.

He hesitated—then her voice, barely a whisper: "Hug me, please."

And that was all it took.

He crossed the room in two steps and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She was small, warm, and fit against him like a secret he'd always known. Her head barely reached his chin. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in.

Together, they stood at the window, watching the moonlight spill over the waves crashing below Dragonstone.

And in that silent moment, neither of them said a word—but both knew something had changed forever.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The morning light slipped in softly through the curtains of Vellena's chamber, casting a golden sheen over the tangled sheets and the figures still tucked within them. Vellena lay nestled against Jace's chest, his arms wrapped securely around her, his breathing deep and steady. They were still in yesterday's riding gear, creased and wrinkled, forgotten in the warm comfort of each other's presence.

But the peace shattered with the sudden sound of whispers and hurried footsteps echoing from the corridors beyond the door.

And then came the roar.

It wasn't the call of a dragon in distress or rage—it was a triumphant sound, one that trembled through the stone walls of Dragonstone like a drumbeat from the skies.

Both Vellena and Jacaerys sat up quickly, instinctual and alert, eyes wide. They clutched each other still as their hearts thundered from the sound. For a beat, they just stared at one another, breathless.

Then Vellena scrambled off the bed and toward her balcony, throwing the doors open with a gust of sea breeze in her hair. Jace followed quickly, his boots thudding softly on the stone floor.

Outside, the dawn painted the sky in rose and gold. And soaring across Blackwater Bay, cutting through the clouds, was a dragon—silver-white with hints of seafoam green, majestic and unmistakable.

"Seasmoke," Vellena breathed, eyes narrowing as she leaned over the edge, trying to see better.

But then her heart caught. There was a rider.

"There's someone on him," she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief and joy.

Jace's hand gripped the stone balcony, eyes scanning the sky. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked, voice low and warm, breaking into a hopeful grin.

Vellena turned to him, cheeks flushed, eyes shining, and nodded.

Before either of them could think, she launched herself at him with a delighted laugh, arms flinging around his neck. They tumbled backward onto the floor, Jace landing on his rear with Vellena in his lap, her chin resting against his shoulder as they clung to each other, both breathless with laughter.

For a moment, they stayed there in the warmth of that perfect joy.

Vellena pulled back just enough to look into his face. Their giggles slowly faded as her violet eyes searched his brown ones. There was a softness in him she hadn't seen in so long—not the hardened prince, not the heir weighed down by war, but the boy she once knew.

She leaned forward and brushed her lips to his. A fleeting kiss. Barely there. She pulled back almost as quickly, cheeks flushed, her voice sheepish.

"Sorry," she mumbled, avoiding his eyes. "Kisses in the morning weren't part of our agreement."

Jace's lips parted in a soundless exhale, the corner of his mouth twitching with something unspoken. He lifted one hand and gently brushed a strand of silver hair away from her face, letting his fingers rest on her cheek, stroking it lightly. His thumb lingered on her skin, tender and reverent.

There was so much he wanted to say. He could feel the words weighing heavy in his chest—I love you. I'm sorry. I was wrong. Stay with me. You're mine.

But instead, he leaned in again, his eyes locked on hers, and kissed her.

This time, it wasn't a fleeting thing. His lips moved with purpose, with the ache of everything left unsaid. He deepened the kiss slowly, tasting her, until his tongue brushed hers and a soft moan escaped her throat, warm and unguarded. It made his heart skip.

He drew back just enough to capture her lower lip, sucking it gently. She gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulders as she shifted in his lap—unconscious, instinctual—and he groaned low in his throat as their bodies aligned too well.

Still fully clothed, still bathed in golden morning light, they kissed again and again, mouths finding each other like they'd been made for it.

By the time they broke apart, both of them were breathless, foreheads pressed together.

Vellena's cheeks were flushed, her eyes glazed with something more than just desire. Something tender. Something dangerous.

And in that quiet moment, with the roar of Seasmoke still echoing in the distant sky, Jace knew it as sure as fire and blood:

She was his.

She had always been his.

And nothing—not duty, not war, not even the gods—would ever change that.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The sun had dipped lower in the sky, painting Dragonstone in long golden shadows. The heat of the day had eased, yet a pulse of tension stirred in the corridors.

In the Queen's council chambers, Jacaerys stood beside his mother, face schooled in royal discipline as he listened to matters of defense, grain stores, and alliances. He nodded in response to Maester Gerardys, but his mind wasn't truly there—not since Vellena had left the chamber earlier. Her absence always carved a space beside him, one he'd never grown used to.

Meanwhile, Vellena made her way through the winding corridors, her footsteps light and swift. Bennar trailed beside her like a quiet shadow until they reached the room where the new dragonrider had been given quarters. As they neared, the door cracked open and out stepped her grandfather.

Lord Corlys Velaryon stood tall, his age worn in his posture but pride shining in his sea-colored eyes. A brooch of the Hand of the Queen gleamed on his chest.

Vellena's lips curved into a smile as she greeted him softly, "I see you're back, grandsire."

Corlys turned to her, his expression warm, weathered by grief but softened by her presence. "I've had two children persuading me," he replied, voice tinged with quiet affection. There was a glimmer in his eye—a fondness not just for Rhaenyra's daughter, but for the granddaughter of his son, Laenor.

He offered a short bow of respect to Bennar before walking off with a subtle limp, the Sea Snake returning to the tides of war.

Vellena's gaze lingered on him a moment before she turned to the open door. "Wait for me out here," she murmured to Bennar, who bowed his head and stepped back to his post.

Inside the room, a boy stood near the window, dressed in a tunic of dark blue and leather, his posture stiff—still not used to the gravity of who he was now. He turned at the sound of her steps, startled, and straightened quickly when he saw her.

She recognized him instantly. That face, the silver hair, the deep violet eyes—he was the boy from Driftmark, the one who mistook her for a thief on the docks when she wore her boy's clothes and walked the moonlit shore in secret. Addam.

Vellena folded her hands behind her back, tilting her head with a mischievous grin. "Congratulations, Addam."

He stumbled, bowing awkwardly. "P-Princess..."

Vellena laughed softly, a tinkling sound that warmed the room. "You looked more composed the night you nearly tackled me near the docks," she teased.

Addam's face flushed with color. "I—I thought you were stealing from Lord Velaryon's ships."

"You thought wrong," she said, stepping closer, "but it's not often I'm mistaken for a thief. I rather liked it."

They both chuckled, the tension easing. Vellena glanced out the window briefly. "You have a great responsibility now. Seasmoke... he was my father's. Yours, now. But he's not tamed by strength alone."

Addam nodded, serious now. "I know. I'll honor him. Your father. I promise."

Outside, footsteps echoed.

Jacaerys had just finished his council duties and was heading toward Vellena's chambers, intending to speak with her, maybe even pull her back into his arms where she belonged. But he slowed as he heard a familiar voice—a laugh, soft and warm—coming from an open door down the corridor.

Her laugh.

He turned toward it, drawn like a moth to flame.

Peering in, he saw her.

Vellena, standing in the light, hands behind her back, speaking gently and laughing with the boy who had claimed Seasmoke—Addam.

They stood a little too close.

Her smile lingered too long.

And the sound of her laugh—it stabbed him.

Jace's blood ran hot. His fists curled at his sides. That was his laugh. That smile belonged to him. No man was allowed to be the cause of that sound. No bastard, no rider, no one.

He turned sharply, boots grinding against stone as he stalked away, his jaw clenched tight.

Back in the room, Vellena felt the breeze shift and glanced toward the door—but saw nothing. Just Bennar, standing stiffly.

Inside, her laughter had faded into something more reflective. Addam had gone quiet too, sensing perhaps that their light moment had passed.

But down the hall, Jace was already climbing the stairs, retreating to the chamber still warmed by her scent, his heart a storm of jealousy and possession.

She was his.

And soon, he would remind her.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The chamber was dim, lit only by the flickering flames of a few candles placed reverently around Meraxes's massive skull. Vellena stood close to the hollow eye socket, her delicate fingers brushing the ancient bone as if trying to draw strength from it. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint sound of her breathing.

Then, a voice cut through the quiet — sharp, familiar, cold.

"I saw you talking to the new rider of Seasmoke."

Vellena turned, a soft smile playing on her lips as she faced Jace, who stood a few feet away, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"His name is Addam and—"

"If you ever talk to Addam again," Jace interrupted, voice low but firm, "I will kill him."

The smile slipped from Vellena's face like a shadow. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, staring at her brother with a mix of disbelief and hurt. The warmth she'd felt this morning — the kiss on the balcony, the rare softness in his eyes — all felt like a cruel mirage now.

Jace's chest rose sharply as he drew a breath, his tone shifting, harsher.

"Have you never asked yourself why you look different from me, Luke, and Joff?"

Vellena shook her head, silent.

Jace stepped closer, his shadow falling over her as she instinctively took a step back, until her back met the cold surface of Meraxes's skull.

"No, but why would you?" he chuckled bitterly. "You're too blind to see it, and the fault is only mine."

His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. "Hiding it. Always protecting my sweet, delicate sister from the vile whispers that would ruin her."

He leaned in, breath hot against her cheek. "Your brothers are bastards, Vellena."

His words hissed, sharp and cruel.

"We are mother's mistake."

Tears welled up, blurring Vellena's vision as they slipped down her cheeks. She shook her head, struggling to hold herself together.

Jace's gaze softened for a moment, as if wrestling with his own demons, before he turned to walk away.

But then her voice stopped him, trembling but clear.

"I know you hate me."

She looked up, purple eyes shining through tears, voice breaking. "You've always secretly despised the fact that I inherited Mother's silver silky hair and lilac eyes... not your resemblance."

A pause, then she whispered, "I loathe it, too."

Her hands clenched into fists, voice snapping with pain. "It hurts... to know my own brother detests me, yet uses me for his sinful desires."

Jace froze, breath hitching, eyes wide with shock.

"That's how baseborn daughters are used, after all. How whores are used."

His face darkened instantly. "WATCH YOUR FILTHY TONGUE!"

He spun on his heel and stormed out of the tomb, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.

Vellena's hand flew to her mouth, muffling a sob. Her knees gave way, and she sank to the cold sand beneath Meraxes's skull, eyes tightly shut as grief and anger tangled into a storm inside her.

Alone with the ancient bones, she let the tears fall freely, the weight of their fractured bond pressing down harder than any dragon's fire.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

WELCOME BACK JACE THE DICK LMAO (only for a few more chapters then everything will be PERFECT🫦🤌🏻)
A VERY HOT JEALOUSLY WITH SMUT SCENE IS COMING... LIKE IF YOU READ TWISTED HATE CHAPTER 40... you will know;)) (WELL NOT EXACTLY LIKE THERE BC WE DONT GO FURTHER YET hihihi🎀