The Dragon King's Hated Bride-Chapter 122: Vanishing Hope

>>Aelin

My heart lurched in panic as I reached out to steady him, my hand pressing against his back as the fit wracked through him again.

"Draegon—hey, breathe, look at me," I said quickly, moving to kneel in front of him.

He clenched his eyes shut, struggling to clear his throat, and I could see the tension in his jaw, the way he was trying to hold himself together.

My fear twisted into something deeper.

And just like that, my thoughts of being unworthy vanished.

Because if something was wrong with him... if he was hurting...

I didn’t want to imagine a world without him in it.

His coughing didn’t stop, my heart a wild, frantic thing in my chest as I reached for him again, desperate to help. But Draegon only turned away, shaking his head faintly as another violent tremor wracked through his body.

Then a terrible thought surfaced from the dark corners of my mind.

The abyss corrupts, Ruoxy had once said something along those lines. Those who are exposed too long... change.

The memory struck like a blade to the gut.

My eyes widened.

The nun. Her blood. That black, writhing filth that had bled into Draegon during the battle.

It had sunk into him. Into his skin. His bones. His breath.

"No—no," I whispered, almost stumbling as I reached for him. "Draegon, I can heal you. Please, let me—"

He shook his head sharply, one arm still pressed against his mouth as another cough tore through him.

"I can do it," I whispered, hands trembling as I lifted them.

The golden white light bloomed at my palms, flickering like a gentle flame. It was warm.

But just as I moved closer, Draegon caught my wrists.

His touch was firm—not cruel, but absolute.

He held my hands in place, halting the spell mid-air. The glow dimmed under his grip.

"Stop," he rasped, voice hoarse.

And then he pulled his other hand away from his mouth.

My breath caught in my throat.

His palm... was stained black.

Black blood.

I stared. The color of the abyss. The sickness that meant something inside him was beginning to rot.

The warmth drained from my chest. I felt cold, like the floor had vanished under me. Like the walls of this room were closing in.

"No..." My voice cracked. "Draegon..."

He met my eyes, calm despite the pain. "You just recovered," he said softly, like that was what mattered right now. "You shouldn’t be using your powers yet."

"I can do it," I said fiercely, pulling my hands forward again.

But he didn’t let go.

"You don’t know how," he said.

"Yes, I do—"

"You don’t," he said, firmer now. "You passed out for four days, Aelin."

The words struck like a slap.

"What?"

He looked away, guilt in every line of his face. "You collapsed after the nun’s death. You drained yourself. Lazelle said it was from using that power. You’ve been unconscious ever since."

Four days.

Four days?

I couldn’t breathe for a moment. I had thought it was just a few hours—a day at most. But four days... and he hadn’t told me right away.

He stood slowly, swaying just a little as he did.

His tall frame was tense, like holding in the agony now creeping through him.

"Where are you going?" I asked, rising with him. My voice was too tight, my throat closing up.

He turned to walk away.

And something in me shattered.

"No!" I rushed forward and grabbed his arm, clutching it like I was holding on to the only steady thing in a crumbling world. "You can’t just go!"

He stopped.

But he didn’t look back.

I pressed my forehead to his back. "I won’t let you walk away from me like this."

He was silent for a long, long moment. Draegon’s coughing finally began to ease, the awful sound tapering off until he was just breathing heavily through his nose, shoulders tight with strain. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

My breath caught.

I stared at that stain on his hand like it was a death sentence.

"I’m fine," he said hoarsely. "It was nothing."

"No, it wasn’t," I said before I could stop myself. My voice was sharper than I meant it to be, too urgent to contain. "Don’t lie to me." I was panicking, "And you know that I was only weak from the revival magic."

"Yes, and you need to recover from that,"

His eyes met mine, and I pushed on. "Ruoxy said something about the abyss corruption. I know it’s that."

He opened his mouth, about to argue, "Aelin I-" but I didn’t let him.

"No," I said quickly, stepping closer. "Let me help you. I’m the only one who can fight the Abyss. Whatever this power is inside me, it’s connected to it—I know it is. I can stop it from spreading."

It hit me a second later—that I’d just interrupted him. My chest tightened. I never cut him off. Never dared to speak so boldly, so unfiltered.

I looked at him, nerves crawling up my spine.

But instead of frowning, he was smiling at me. Soft. Like I’d just done something right.

"I won’t stop you," he said gently. "But there’s no need to heal me right away."

I blinked. "What?"

"You just recovered, Aelin. You still look pale." He stepped closer, his tone careful, but firm. "If you try to use your magic again right now, you’ll hurt yourself. You’re not ready. We both know you used it on something far greater than any other power in the world."

"I can do it," I said quickly.

"You’re not ready," he repeated.

I stared at him in disbelief. "I—no..."

He nodded. "Your body hasn’t caught up to your power yet. When it does—when you’ve regained your strength—you can try again. Then I won’t stop you."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head.

"No more right now," he said, gentler this time, like he could see the storm gathering inside me.

I looked down at the black blood still on his hand and clenched my fists.

"I have recovered," I said, sharper than I intended, the frustration burning just beneath my skin. "I can do it now."

Draegon raised a brow, but his expression didn’t shift from that maddening calm. "I’ll be the judge of that." freeweɓnovel-cøm

I stared at him. "You don’t believe me?"

He chuckled lightly and put his clean hand on my head, as if patting a child.

!!!

His action not only startled me, it got me embarrassed, "I believe you, but I also want you to rest." His voice was soft, "Just a little more."

I blinked at the ground, my cheeks heating up weirdly.

Did he just chuckle? He laughed?

Or am I hearing things now?

But... his laugh is so nice. My heart fluttered.

"Rest some more," He moved away while I was still in the heartstruck dilemma, "I have a meeting to attend." He turned to leave but as he reached the door I snapped back to reality

"Wait!" I said, my heart pounding.

I was unsure if I could ask him this

He turned to look back at me and I hesitated.

"Yes?" He asked

I clenched my right hand over my chest, "C-can I attend the meeting too?"

Upon hearing my question, a soft yet proud smile spread across his face, "Yes," He answered, "But before that, there is somewhere else I need to be, do you want to come?"

His question caught me off guard

Come?

Where?

***

The wind was gentle this morning, tugging lightly at the hem of my gown as I stood at the edge of the driveway, watching the carriages line up.

They gleamed with polished gold and silver banners, the House of Havenmoore’s sigils flapping softly above them. The human delegates were finally leaving, headed back to the capital. Headed back to a city I hadn’t seen in years—one that had never really been mine.

Draegon stood beside me, silent, broad-shouldered, immovable as stone. A quiet presence. I was grateful for it.

But my eyes were fixed on one man alone.

King Orin stepped up into the highest carriage—the royal one, the most ornate of them all. He didn’t look back.

Not once.

Not at me.

Not even as the soldiers saluted and bowed, not even as the driver called for departure. The horses stirred, the wheels creaked, and still—he never turned.

I had tried not to expect anything. Not a glance. Not a word. Not the smallest nod of acknowledgment.

But still... I had hoped. I had hoped he would talk to me. Not only was I the demon Queen now, I also demonstrated how much power I had. Yet still... nothing.

And it shattered something in me.

I lowered my eyes quickly, so Draegon wouldn’t see.

It was foolish, really. I wasn’t a child anymore. I haven’t received his approval or his favor throughout my life. And I had survived without it for years. And yet—

Why did it still feel like I was ten years old again, standing outside his chamber doors, hoping he’d remember I existed? Even though I didn’t want to, I recalled the time, I stood there many times, in different clothes, in different states;

With my hair a mess

With my dress torn by the bullying

In my normal state but sleepless state

On days I had gotten good academic scores.

But on none of those days did the door open.

Why did it still feel like I was waiting for a father to simply say, Well done?

I wanted my father to recognize me.

I wanted him to see that I was someone else now. I had shown it to him.

I had shown it to many of them when I stood by the broken wall and casted my magic

It took a lot to do that.

And

Behind all my bravery, all my courage... All of my want to show everyone I wasn’t weak, there was a hidden reason I managed to do it

Because I wanted Father to see I was someone capable of something.

I let out a sigh

But as I watched him go, the final feelings of fleeting hope seemed to vanish with the disappearing carriage.

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