The Dragon King's Hated Bride-Chapter 129: Easier Ways?

>>Aelin

The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of mana still pulsing faintly in my veins. I stood at the center, breath slowly returning to normal, the warmth of power gradually fading from my fingertips.

Seraphine watched me with her usual composed calm, her hair tied back neatly, not a single line of weariness on her face despite having been here for the entire session. She always carried herself with that graceful kind of endurance—like nothing could shake her.

"Well?" she asked gently. "Do you feel any different?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes... actually, I do."

Her eyebrows lifted, interested.

"I feel... lighter. Not just in my body, but..." I hesitated, trying to put the feeling into words. "When I use the magic now, it doesn’t feel like it’s consuming me anymore. It listens. Flows."

Seraphine’s smile was immediate, wide with pride. "That’s good. That means you’re syncing with it. Mana that settles is mana that serves—it’s no longer just a storm inside you."

Her words warmed me. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I was never officially trained and so when I started to learn by myself, I wasn’t doing it right. But to know that it could be shaped, trained—understood—was the first time in weeks I felt in control of anything.

"That’s enough for today," Seraphine said, stepping back. "You’ve done well."

I nodded, brushing off the sweat from my brow, just about ready to excuse myself and head for the washroom when she added lightly,

"But remember—training isn’t all you should be doing. You should spend time with your husband too."

I froze.

Just a flicker—but it was enough. My spine stiffened, my hand tightening slightly at my side.

I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes. Instead, I stared at the floor, at the tapestry beneath my boots, letting silence stretch for a beat too long.

Seraphine noticed, of course. She missed nothing.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, the softness in her tone making it worse somehow.

I bit my lip, struggling to form the words. "It’s not that I don’t want to..." I started, then trailed off, fumbling.

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and forced myself to speak, my voice quieter than I intended. "Yes, we should be spending time together... but Draegon and I— we aren’t really that close. Not the way we should be."

The silence that followed felt like it rang.

I still couldn’t look up. I didn’t need to. I could feel Seraphine’s reaction—subtle, but there. Her stillness changed. Not in judgment, exactly, but like the air had stilled.

I told myself it was fine. That her disappointment, if it was that, was understandable.

But something twisted in my chest anyway.

Because even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, I felt like I had.

This... marriage of ours, it wasn’t born from shared dreams or love. It had been necessity. Circumstance. A deal struck in the dark. And while Draegon had never once treated me poorly, never once acted without respect or honor—I still didn’t know where we stood.

Not with my feelings all over the place now and I have no clue how to face him or how to know if he will ever love me too.

Sometimes he looked at me with softness in his eyes, and I’d feel the ground tilt beneath my feet. Other times, he was distant, unreadable. He said kind things. Protective things. But love?

I didn’t know what he felt. I curled my fingers around the hem of my dress and forced a smile. "I’m sorry if that disappoints you."

It came out smaller than I meant it to.

Seraphine smiled at me—soft and patient, like she always did—and said gently, "Aelin, there is no way I would ever be disappointed in you."

I blinked. "You’re not...?" I finally looked up at her, but in surprise.

My voice came out small, disbelieving. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.

But she only shook her head, that smile deepening with reassurance. "Of course not. What kind of mother would I be if I expected love to blossom overnight?"

Mother...

She reached out and placed a warm hand on my shoulder. "There’s no shame in where you are right now. If there’s distance between you and Draegon... well, then it just means that space can still be closed."

Her words settled into me like warmth blooming under my ribs.

It wasn’t just what she said, but how she said it—with such certainty. Like the distance I felt, the awkwardness I struggled with, wasn’t a wall but a bridge waiting to be crossed. Like it wasn’t too late.

I looked down, chewing lightly on the inside of my cheek. A small voice whispered that I should take this chance while I had it.

So, hesitantly, I asked, "How... do I close that distance?"

Seraphine’s eyes lit up as if she’d been waiting for me to ask that and that alone made me feel a bit more confident. She leaned in slightly, a bit of a mischievous glint flashing across her face—one I hadn’t seen before.

"There’s a saying," she began, folding her hands in her lap like she was preparing to share a sacred secret passed down from generations. "An old one. Very simple. But it’s lasted through every age for a reason."

I tilted my head. "What is it?"

She grinned. "The way to a person’s heart... is through their stomach."

I stared at her for a beat, confused. "You mean... food?"

Seraphine’s grin widened, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. "Exactly. Food is comfort. Effort. A gesture of care. It’s something anyone can feel. A shared meal, —it says something words often can’t."

I blinked again, this time a little surprised.

But as I thought about it, it started to make a strange sort of sense.

All our meals had been formal, distant. Always prepared and brought by servants. We never even ate together most of the time—he’d eat in his study room or take meals between meetings, and I’d eat wherever the staff placed my plate.

It was another part of our strange little arrangement I’d grown used to... but maybe shouldn’t have.

Seraphine must’ve seen something shift in my expression because she laughed softly and said, "Isn’t it true? You both eat separately because he’s always busy, and you’re too polite to interfere. But meals are sacred in many cultures, including ours. Sitting together, sharing food—it changes things. Slowly, yes. But it does."

"I... I never thought about it that way," I admitted, still half-stunned by how simple it was.

"And that’s the beauty of it," she said. "Love doesn’t always start with grand gestures. Sometimes it begins with something as small as a warm plate and a quiet moment."

I swallowed, her words sinking in deeper than I expected.

***

>>Ariston

I offered the man a carefully crafted smile. His form shimmered in shades of slick purples and grays, his upper body was humanoid—broad-shouldered, angular-jawed—but it was the tendrils coiled around him that made him impossible to ignore. He had a pair of arms, but at least six long, glistening tentacles moved around him like lazy snakes, some draped across the back of the couch, others curling idly near his legs.

He leaned in slightly, his molten black eyes studying me like I was a drink he meant to savor.

"I haven’t seen you around before," he said, his voice like liquid ink. "New girl?"

I kept the smile on my lips and said nothing, sipping my drink slowly.

He chuckled. "Mysterious. I like that."

One of his tentacles moved—slowly, deliberately—and coiled around the back of the seat before slipping forward. It slithered lightly across my shoulder, smooth and cold, then down toward my arm, like a question seeking permission I hadn’t granted.

Inside, my muscles tensed. Every instinct screamed to reach for my hidden blade and end this whole performance right now.

To hell with this loser! Why is his slimy tentacle all over me?! I hated the feeling of it. I like Drakkar’s tail around me way better!

Wait no! I’m not going there.

On the outside, I just tilted my head slightly, the picture of unbothered grace. I gave him a look from under my lashes—cool, unreadable.

"Touch me again without asking," I said quietly, "and you’ll be trying to regrow that limb for weeks."

The tentacle froze.

The demon blinked.

Then he laughed—loud, surprised, genuinely amused. He withdrew the tentacle, raising his hands in mock surrender, though one of the lower ones still hovered near the hem of my thigh.

"Ooh, I do love a little fire," he purred. "Careful, sweetheart. That kind of attitude will get you in trouble in a place like this."

I leaned in slightly, just enough for him to feel the heat of my voice.

"I am the trouble." His eyes gleamed. I took another sip of my drink, "And if you have nothing to offer, you should leave. I’m not here to waste my time."

The tentacle demon smirked, the corners of his lipless mouth curling with dark amusement. One of his tendrils slid back languidly, almost in approval.

"Well then," he said, voice thick with mischief, "what is a pretty little thing like you here for, if not a good time?"

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