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The night in Briar Valley was a tapestry of shadows, woven with the whispers of ancient magic. Malleus stood atop the castle’s tallest spire, his emerald eyes glowing like embers against the moonlit sky. Below, in the courtyard, Lilia danced through a mock sparring match with Silver, his movements fluid, his laughter a melody that cut through the silence. That laugh, bright and careless, was Malleus’s lifeline and his curse. It tethered him to the world, yet it stoked a fire in his chest, a draconic hunger to claim, to possess, to ensure Lilia would never slip away.
Lilia was more than a guardian, more than a mentor. He was the one who had hatched Malleus, coaxing life into the dragon prince’s egg when the world was cold and empty. Malleus had no memory of that moment, only the stories Lilia told with a mischievous grin, tales of a stubborn egg that refused to crack until Lilia sang an old fae lullaby under a storm swept sky. “You were a tough one, Malleus,” Lilia would say, ruffling his hair. “But I knew you’d be worth the wait.” Those words had rooted themselves in Malleus’s soul, binding him to Lilia with a thread stronger than magic. Lilia had given him life, and in return, Malleus had given Lilia his heart. A heart that loved fiercely, darkly, obsessively.
Malleus’s attachment to Lilia was born from that act of hatching, but it had grown into something vast and untamed. He was a dragon, and dragons did not love lightly. Lilia was his treasure, his constant in a life defined by solitude. Malleus had no parents to mourn, no memories of the king and queen lost to the war. The Silver Owls had taken them before he could know them, leaving only Lilia to fill the void. And fill it he did, with laughter, with lessons, with a warmth that made Malleus feel seen, not as a prince or a monster, but as himself. But that warmth was a double-edged sword, for it fed a need in Malleus that grew sharper with every passing year.
He watched Lilia now, his claws curling into the spire’s stone, etching faint scars into its surface. The sight of Lilia’s nonchalance, his easy smiles, his casual banter with Silver, ignited a storm in Malleus’s chest. How could Lilia be so carefree when Malleus’s world revolved around him? How could he jest and laugh, oblivious to the way Malleus’s heart thundered with a possessive claim: You are mine. The thought was primal, unyielding, a dragon’s instinct to hoard what was most precious. Malleus wanted Lilia by his side always, not as a mentor, not as a father figure, but as something eternal, something only he could claim. The idea of Lilia drifting away, to the world beyond Briar Valley, sparked a jealousy so fierce it threatened to consume him.
His motivations were rooted in isolation, in the weight of being the last of his line, feared and revered but never truly known. Lilia was the exception, the one who had seen Malleus at his most vulnerable and stayed. That act of hatching had made Lilia irreplaceable, a beacon in the darkness of Malleus’s existence. But it also made him dangerous, for Malleus’s love was not gentle. It was a dragon’s love, consuming, territorial, eternal. He cataloged Lilia’s every gesture, every word, as if memorizing them could bind Lilia to him. He lingered in the shadows of the castle, watching Lilia’s carefree antics, his heart warring between adoration and a darker urge to ensure Lilia could never leave.
Malleus’s obsession manifested in subtle ways. He wove enchantments into the castle’s roses, spells to make them bloom eternally, a silent plea: Stay with me, as these flowers do. He crafted illusions in the night sky, constellations that echoed Lilia’s lullabies, hoping Lilia would look up and feel the weight of Malleus’s devotion. But Lilia, ever nonchalant, would only laugh and call them “pretty tricks,” oblivious to the desperation behind them. That nonchalance was a blade, cutting deeper with every smile. Malleus wanted Lilia to see him, to understand the depth of his need, but Lilia’s carefree nature seemed to mock that desire, as if Malleus’s storm of emotions was just another game.
Tonight, as Silver retired and Lilia lingered in the courtyard, Malleus descended the spire, his steps silent, his presence a shadow cloaked in power. Lilia was perched on a stone bench, tossing a pebble into the air and catching it with infuriating ease. “Malleus,” he said without looking up, his voice warm but teasing. “Skulking about again? You’ll scare the bats with that brooding face.”
Malleus sat beside him, close enough to feel the faint hum of Lilia’s magic, a reminder of the life he’d given him. For a moment, he could pretend they were eternal, two souls bound by fate. But the words burned in his throat: I love you. I need you. I cannot let you go. Instead, he said, “You hatched me, Lilia. Why do you act as if it means nothing?”
Lilia’s crimson eyes flicked to him, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before his smile returned. “Nothing? Oh, Malleus, it was the best challenge I ever took on. Cracking that egg of yours was like winning a war single handedly.” He laughed, leaning back on his hands, the picture of nonchalance. “But you’re here now, all grown up and ready to rule. My job’s done, isn’t it?”
The words were a spark to Malleus’s kindling. Done? The thought was unbearable. Lilia was not a task to be completed, a duty to be fulfilled. He was Malleus’s everything—the one who had given him life, who had stayed when the world turned away. Malleus’s claws dug into the bench, splintering the stone. “You will always be needed,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “By Briar Valley. By me.”
Lilia tilted his head, his smile softening but still maddeningly casual. “You’re sweet, Malleus. But you don’t need an old bat like me hovering forever. You’re stronger than you know.” He stood, stretching with a theatrical yawn, as if the weight of Malleus’s devotion was just another breeze to brush off.
Malleus’s magic flared, a pulse of green light that made the courtyard’s shadows dance. He wanted to confess, to demand, to weave a spell that would bind Lilia to him forever, not with chains, but with enchantments so delicate Lilia would never notice. He imagined a world where Lilia’s laughter belonged to him alone. But he said nothing, only watched as Lilia waved and sauntered off, humming a tune that echoed the lullaby from Malleus’s childhood.
As Lilia disappeared into the castle, Malleus made a silent vow. I will never let you go, Lilia. You taught me love when all others failed. You made me love you. His obsession was a dragon’s hoard, vast and unyielding, built from years of solitude and the singular light of Lilia’s presence. If Lilia ever tried to leave, if he spoke again of stepping back, of wandering the world, Malleus would find a way to hold him close. Not with force, but with magic that sang of lullabies and storms, a tribute to the fae who had given him life and claimed his heart.
The moonlight caught the glint of Malleus’s horns, a crown of shadow and power. He was a dragon, and Lilia Vanrouge was his treasure. If the world tried to take him, Malleus would weave a spell to rival the stars themselves, ensuring Lilia remained his, forever.