Chapter 123: _ She is Our Mate

I mounted Xanthos’s back, securing my boots into the stirrups. With a powerful push of his massive hind legs, Xanthos launched us out of the cavern mouth, bursting into the open sky above Last Bastion.

The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. Initiates below were finishing their daily drills, but as Xanthos’s massive shadow swept across the courtyards, hundreds of heads turned upward.

We landed near the perimeter of the West Annex dormitory with a CRASH of stone and dust. Xanthos folded his wings against his flanks, letting out a growl that instantly scattered a group of second-year initiates who had been idling near the entrance.

I dismounted and strode into the West Annex corridor.

Because it was late afternoon, the hallway wasn’t completely empty, but the few initiates present immediately froze at the sight of me. Whispers, gasps, and frantic giggles erupted from every direction. High-born noble girls pushed their doors open, craning their necks, instantly trying to fix their hair or posture in a desperate bid to catch the Crown Prince’s eye.

I ignored them entirely. My eyes were fixed straight ahead.

I stopped in front of a noble girl near the middle stairwell. "Where is Room 3B?" I demanded.

The girl gasped so hard I thought her lungs were going to collapse. Her face flushed pink, her hands fluttering helplessly against her tunic. "R-Room 3B?! I-it’s... it’s right down there, Your Highness! On the right! I can walk you—"

"That won’t be necessary," I cut her off, stepping right past her.

I reached the door labeled 3B. I paused for a single second, taking a quiet breath, before raising my gloved hand and knocking twice on the wood.

Footsteps echoed from inside. A lock clicked.

The door swung inward.

And there she was.

Seeing Elira standing right in front of me felt like taking a physical blow to the sternum.

She was wearing an extraordinarily expensive, high-collared gown of midnight-crimson silk, embroidered with silver wolf tracks along the hem. Ivar’s dress. The fabric hugged her slender frame, making her look strikingly elegant, but what drew my gaze instantly—what made my blood run entirely cold—was the high collar.

Framed by the dark red silk was a freshly healed mate mark stamped into the skin of her throat.

Elira froze. Her hazel eyes widened into disbelieving circles as she stared up at me.

"P-Prince... Prince Remus?" she stammered, stepping back a pace, her hand instinctively flying to cover the mark on her neck. "I... I mean... Your Highness! I—"

"There is no need for formalities, Elira," I interrupted, forcing my voice to remain completely steady despite the agonizing ache pulsing behind my ribs.

I looked past her shoulder, peering into the interior of Room 3B.

The room was a disaster area. Overturned trunks lay shattered across the floorboards. A desk was broken in half. Scattered parchment, broken glass, and torn anti-magic ropes were strewn across the rug. Standing near the ruined table was the tall, sharp-eyed girl from Redmere who was watching me with a guarded posture.

My brow furrowed. "What happened here? Who did this to your room?"

Elira flinched, looking back at the wreckage. "I... it’s nothing, Your Highness. Just... a bunch of jealous initiates who came to pass a message because... because of..."

She trailed off, her voice cracking, unable to finish the sentence.

She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t bring herself to say because Ivar claimed me.

The hesitation in her eyes spoke volumes. It wasn’t the proud, arrogant look of a girl who had successfully trapped a sovereign prince. It was the haunted, overwhelmed look of someone who was drowning under a wave of chaos she hadn’t asked for.

My heart did a strange flip. She needed me.

Without thinking, I extended my right hand toward her, palm up, offering her a way out of the wreckage.

"Could you spare me a moment, Elira?" I asked quietly. "Come with me."

Elira looked down at my outstretched hand, then turned her head back to look at her roommate. The Redmere girl hesitated for a second, looking between me and Elira, before offering Elira a silent nod of permission.

Elira turned back to me. Slowly, she placed her small hand in mine.

Her skin was soft, warm, and sent an electric jolt straight up my arm, making my breath hitch. I closed my fingers gently around hers, pulling her out of the ruined room and leading her down the corridor.

By the time we stepped out of the West Annex, news of my arrival had spread like wildfire.

Dozens of initiates had gathered in the courtyard, crowding the stone pathways to see why the Dragon Prince was visiting the commoner dorms. The moment we stepped into the light—me holding Elira’s hand, Elira dressed in Ivar’s silk with the wolf mark pulsing on her neck—scandalized murmurs erupted across the crowd.

"Look at them!"

"Why is Prince Remus holding her hand?!"

"First the Wolf Prince, now the Dragon Heir?!"

"What kind of dark magic is she using on the royals?!"

I felt Elira shrink slightly beside me. Her hand trembled in mine, her shoulders tensing as the judging, hateful gazes of a hundred noble-born initiates bore into her like hot knives.

That protective instinct, the same one I feel, the one that dredged me down to a murderous protectiveness every time someone tried to humble her flared in my chest. I didn’t want her standing out here under their filthy gaze for another second.

If not, I just might burn every single initiate here who has dared to open their mouth about her right in my presence.

I quickened my pace, leading her straight toward the open courtyard where Xanthos was waiting.

"Have... have you ever ridden a dragon before, Elira?" I asked as we approached the beast.

It felt strangely tingling calling her by her name... to her face, just the two of us.

Elira blinked up at me, swallowing hard as she looked at Xanthos’s intimidating, scaled frame. "N-no. Never."

"Good," I said, not even realizing the faint shadow of a smile touching the corner of my lips. It’s been ages since I last smiled out of amusement.

I cleared my throat in a bid to get a grip on myself.

"Then it is only fitting that your first experience is on a royal dragon."

Xanthos let out a purr that vibrated the ground beneath our boots. My dragon... the terrifying apex predator who usually snapped at anyone who dared to step within ten feet of his saddle, lowered his head to the pavement.

To my utter shock, Xanthos didn’t roar or puff smoke.

Instead, he gently nudged his gigantic snout against Elira’s shoulder, rubbing the side of his scaled face against her arm with astonishing, affectionate softness.

Elira gasped, her eyes wide as she tentatively reached out, her small hand stroking the golden scales near Xanthos’s eye. Xanthos let out another contented purr, leaning into her touch like a domestic housecat.

I stood frozen, staring at my dragon in speechless bewilderment.

I had owned Xanthos for ten years. He had never—not once in his entire life—been soft with anyone. He hated Veyra. He tolerated Vaela. He had almost bitten off a Warden’s arm last month just for touching his reins! Yet here he was, melting under the touch of a markless commoner girl like a helpless hatchling.

’Xanthos,’ I snapped telepathically. ’What in the hells are you doing?!’

Xanthos turned one eye toward me and his telepathic voice boomed inside my head.

’I can smell the heat off her, Remus. MATE. SHE IS OUR MATE.’