The Dragon King's Hated Bride-Chapter 123: Vesper

>>Aelin

The room was carved in obsidian and deep maroon stone, the shadows caught in every crevice like whispers that didn’t want to be heard. I sat beside Draegon at the table, my fingers loosely clasped in my lap. Drakkar, Draken, Ariston, and several demon advisors sat around us, the air heavy with something more than formality.

Tension had a shape here—like a low hum I could feel in my bones. Since the gate opened days ago, no one had truly rested.

Not even Draegon.

The massive map of the demon lands was sprawled across the center of the table. A red mark had been drawn outside the walls of the palace—right at the edge of the forest. That’s where the last gate had opened. That’s where the ground had splintered and black rot had begun to spread beneath the trees.

And where, we now feared, countless people had been sacrificed in blood rites to fuel it.

Draegon leaned forward, his purple eyes glowing faintly as he addressed the table. "We can’t delay any longer. We need confirmation—physical evidence. The gate was summoned with death, and those deaths left echoes."

"The soldiers are already scouting the place," Ariston nodded. "But It’ll take time."

Draken grunted. "The forest is too dense, pinpointing the exact location is hard."

Silence answered him. He wasn’t wrong.

Draegon turned toward one of the advisors—an older demon with ashen skin and curling ram-like horns. "Take two teams. I want a full sweep of the forest perimeter, and I want those bodies catalogued if found. The palace will send purification mages with the search parties."

The advisor nodded. "It will be done, my king."

My eyes drifted back to the map. That forest... It wasn’t more than a fifteen-minute walk from the side gates. I had passed near it once before when I’d gone walking after a sleepless night. And now, to think that beneath its moss and tangled roots, people had screamed and bled—

A chill passed through me.

The meeting carried on, formalities exchanged, strategies whispered like oaths. But eventually, Draegon stood, and with a firm nod, said, "That’s enough for now. We’ll reconvene once the scouts return."

The demon advisors bowed and left the room, their movements efficient, noiseless, as if trained to become shadows when not needed.

I started to rise with the others—Ariston cracking his knuckles, Drakkar muttering something about needing wine to stomach the day—but then Draken leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, and said:

"By the way... Vesper’s coming."

The words hit like an unexpected knife through still water.

The air shifted.

Draegon stopped moving.

He didn’t speak at first. Just blinked—once, then again—his lips slightly parted in something close to disbelief.

"When?" he asked, his voice quiet but dangerously sharp.

Draken tilted his head, nonchalant as ever. "By sundown, most likely. She sent word three days ago. I forgot to mention it with all the commotion going on."

Drakkar swore under his breath.

I looked between them, confusion knotting in my chest. "Who’s Vesper?"

Draegon turned to me slowly. "She’s..." He hesitated, and for the first time in a long while, I saw uncertainty flicker across his face. "She’s a childhood friend. We were raised together."

That answer was vague. Too vague.

Drakkar’s jaw tensed. His eyes flicked to mine for a second, and then quickly away. Ariston, ever perceptive, didn’t miss the shift either.

Ariston narrowed his eyes. "There’s more to it, isn’t there?"

Draken chuckled. "Of course there is."

"Draken," Draegon warned, voice low.

But the damage was done. Everyone in the room was paying attention now.

Drakkar dragged a hand down his face and muttered, "This is going to be a nightmare."

I turned my gaze fully to Draegon, trying to read the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. "What kind of... friend was she?"

Draegon didn’t answer immediately.

"She was close to all of us," Draken said, stepping in like he was enjoying the heat. "Especially Draegon. They were inseparable when we were younger. Everyone thought—"

"Draken," Draegon snapped.

I flinched slightly—not at the anger in his voice, but at how unlike him it sounded when it involved this woman. Vesper.

My stomach turned.

"She’s a war hero now," Drakkar said slowly, thoughtfully. "She’s risen through the ranks faster than most. Saved a demon outpost during the Third Siege, if I recall correctly."

"She’s not here to reminisce," Draegon said flatly, almost too flatly. "She wouldn’t come here just for old times’ sake."

"No," Drakkar agreed. "She always has a reason. And she’s never subtle. I wonder if she is going to cause trouble."

"What sort of trouble?" I asked, my voice lower than before, barely rising above the sound of my own heartbeat.

Draegon glanced toward the doorway where the others had just exited, as if to make sure we were alone. He stayed silent for a moment, then turned to face me again. His jaw tightened ever so slightly before he said, "Vesper has always been... headstrong. She believed she was destined for greatness since the moment she could walk."

I swallowed. Something about the way he spoke her name—measured, heavy—tightened something in my chest.

"She wasn’t wrong," Drakkar added, still standing near the edge of the long table. "She’s one of the few women who fought in the War. Not just survived it—led in it. She’s powerful."

"She was more than just a fighter," Ariston suddenly said, snapping his fingers. "Wait—was she the one with the flaming red hair? Always wore a double-bladed glaive on her back?"

Draken nodded. "That’s her. Vesper Veylan. She went to war with her husband, Nilu, but... he didn’t make it back."

I felt my breath catch.

Draegon’s expression changed—softened. "She’s been in mourning since the war ended. Only a few months now."

And then, as if the tension had just started to build behind his eyes, he turned sharply toward Draken. "But that still doesn’t explain why she’s coming here. Did she say?"

Draken shrugged, pushing away from the wall. "She wants to fight the Abyss creatures. Said she’s not done with war yet. Said if the world is breaking again, she wants her blade to matter."

I stared down at the table, at the fading ink lines marking the edges of our forest. Vesper... was returning not just as a friend from Draegon’s past. She was returning as a soldier. A widow. A warrior still itching for a battlefield.

"She’s the first to come back," Draken continued. "Unlike the others, she’s not hiding behind her honors or titles. She’s picking up her glaive and stepping right into the storm."

Drakkar exhaled slowly and said, "She was appointed captain of the legion before the war, wasn’t she? Now that Draegon’s no longer the commander, it’d be her position to take."

At that, Draegon’s mouth curved downward slightly, thoughtful. "It would be her rightful position," he admitted, quietly.

Rightful.

It was the way he said it that made my skin prickle. Respect. Maybe admiration. Maybe more. It didn’t matter how logical it sounded—the tension inside me, the strange stirring that had been blooming ever since Draken first said her name, suddenly felt undeniable.

I didn’t want to ask.

I knew I shouldn’t.

But the words came out before I could stop them. "Was she... something more than a childhood friend to you?"

My voice barely cracked the air.

Draegon’s purple eyes lifted to mine, slowly. The silence between us stretched, heavy and taut, and for a moment, all I could hear was the soft flicker of the magic torches on the stone walls.

He didn’t answer right away.

Which, somehow, made everything worse.

My heart started to pound—faster, sharper. I didn’t know what I was hoping to hear. I didn’t even know why I asked. But now the question was there, hanging between us like a blade waiting to drop.

He finally looked at me fully. I could see it—conflict. Regret. And maybe... guilt?

"Aelin," he said slowly, "we were close. In ways that mattered when we were younger."

My stomach turned.

"She was someone who... understood me. Back when the world was simpler, and everything I did was just to survive the Queen’s court." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "She was kind. Brave. Reckless. The kind of person who made you believe the world could burn and she’d still walk through the ashes smiling."

I nodded slowly, keeping my expression still. But I didn’t like how he was praising her.

"But," he said, and leaned a little closer, his voice quiet but firm now, "it was never more than that. There were... assumptions... Things many people thought might happen. Even she thought it once, maybe. But it never did happen."

The breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding slipped out.

His answer didn’t satisfy me. There was a lingering question still, because he molded his answer, not giving me the clear cut statement.

"She lost Nilu not long ago," he added gently. "And even if we had been more, I wouldn’t look at a grieving widow and... feel anything except sorrow."

I searched his eyes. "And what do you feel now? That she’s coming?" free𝑤ebnovel.com

He looked at me—really looked at me.

"I feel a little wary," he said. "But she is a good friend of ours and there is nothing more there than that now."

I nodded slowly again, my thoughts still swirling. The knot in my chest didn’t loosen and the ache still lingered. He’s saying things but avoiding saying things at the same time too.

It’s making me uneasy

I felt anxious.

"I need to ask this," I gathered the courage to say it.

"Yes?"

"You said nothing happened, but there was something between you two?" I looked into his eyes, "Wasn’t there?"

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