The Dragon King's Hated Bride-Chapter 126: How Could I Be One?

>>Aelin

" I don’t know." She answered

I stared at her. "You don’t?"

She shook her head slowly. "The prophecies never said how. Only that the prophesied one—the Solwyn sun—would find the way. That they would uncover what was lost and choose the path to remake the seal."

"That’s not an answer," I said before I could stop myself, my frustration curling in my chest. "That’s just more pressure without direction. You’re saying it’s up to me—but I have no map, no guide, nothing to even start with—"

Seraphine held up a hand gently, then reached beside her into a small leather satchel she’d placed on the arm of her chair. She pulled out a rolled scroll tied with a thin golden thread and held it out to me.

"This might be your starting point."

I stared at it. It was old—older than any parchment I’d handled before. The edges were frayed, the seal broken long ago. A faint shimmer ran across the faded cover, like starlight frozen in ink.

"What is it?" I asked, reaching out slowly.

"Another relic from my family," she said. "We’ve kept it sealed for generations. None of us could read it. Not even me. But my mother used to say, ’One day, when the world teeters again, the child of the sun will open it.’"

My fingers closed around the scroll. The moment I touched it, something hummed—like a vibration in my bones, low and ancient and alive. My breath caught.

"You feel it, don’t you?" Seraphine asked quietly.

I nodded slowly, my heart thudding loud in my chest.

I hadn’t even opened the scroll yet, but it recognized me.

"Only a Solwyn could read this." She said, "Just like the book."

A strange mix of fear and awe swelled in my throat. Because this wasn’t just some legacy. It was real. Tangible. A thread connecting me to the ancient past—and maybe, just maybe, to the answer the world needed.

I held the scroll in my lap and looked up at Seraphine. "What if I fail?" Honestly, I had nothing vouching for me. And the pressure had started to eat me up inside.

Was there a chance I could run from this?

She leaned forward and took my hand in hers. Her fingers were warm and strong.

"Then the world still had a fighting chance," she said. "Because someone like you tried."

I didn’t know what to say to that.

But I held the scroll tighter.

Her words were weirdly encouraging. Yet at the same time, they ate me up more.

I sat quietly, still clutching the scroll in my lap like it might vanish if I let go. The faint pulse of power I felt from it had quieted now, but I could still sense it—waiting, patient, expectant. Across from me, Seraphine watched me with that soft, ever-knowing gaze, her tea untouched and cooling on the table between us.

I took a deep breath, holding it for a few moments before letting it out slowly. The fire cracked and popped gently beside us, filling the stillness.

Then I frowned.

Seraphine’s brows lifted slightly. "What is it?" she asked.

I glanced at her, then down at the scroll again. "Something still doesn’t make sense to me."

"What’s troubling you?" She asked

I hesitated, then said quietly, "How could I be a Solwyn? No one knows about them anymore. The name... it doesn’t exist in any human records. Not in our temples, not in our history books. That has to mean they went extinct—vanished a long time ago, right?" I had a reason for asking that question and as soon as I said it out loud, my heart began to pick up speed.

Seraphine smiled gently, her expression one of someone who had waited a long time for someone to ask that question. "The Solwyn didn’t go extinct, child. The people simply stopped worshipping them. After the Abyss was sealed, the Solwyn faded from sight. And when there were no more monsters, no more signs... people forgot."

I stared at her. "Forgot?"

She nodded. "The world forgets faster than you think, especially when it wants to. After the war with the Abyss ended, there was peace. And when there’s peace, there’s no need for saviors or divine protectors. So people moved on. The Solwyn vanished, but that doesn’t mean they’re gone. You’re proof of that."

A cold dread tightened in my chest.

"But... neither of my parents had this kind of power," I said slowly. "My mother was gentle, kind, but just... human. And my father... he—" My voice caught. I looked down, my hands curling around the edge of the scroll.

Seraphine didn’t press.

A thought entered my mind, uninvited and unwanted: Is this why he hated me?

The question burned.

Was I really... the result of an affair? A child from something secret, something forbidden?

"I don’t know the details of your lineage," Seraphine said softly, as though she could see the storm behind my eyes. "But I believe that scroll will hold the answers. When you’re ready to open it... perhaps you’ll find not just what the Solwyn were, but what you are."

I looked down at the scroll again. My fingers brushed the golden thread, and that strange warmth flickered once more beneath my skin.

I swallowed. "I’ll open it later," I said, quieter than I intended. "When I’m ready."

Seraphine nodded, her face full of understanding. "There’s no rush. Whatever you decide, it’s fine by me."

Something in me relaxed at her words, the cold edge of fear softened by her warmth. I didn’t realize until that moment how much it meant to me—to not be pushed, but to be gently dealt with.

And maybe it was the softness in her voice, the way she didn’t look at me like I was a burden or a mistake, but something cherished—but I felt it again, that strange warmth.

A kind of comfort I hadn’t known since I was a child.

She’s like a mother, I thought, the realization settling in me like a sunrise.

Seraphine leaned forward slightly then, her eyes sparking with something new. "Draegon asked me to help you with your magic."

I blinked. "He did?"

She smiled. "He told me how far your power exceeds, how deeply it runs. How you saved his life."

I felt heat creep up my neck, suddenly very aware of the compliment. "He... exaggerated, probably."

"No, he didn’t," she said, chuckling softly. "He was very honest. Maybe even a little proud."

I glanced away, a shy smile tugging at my lips before I could help it. But the next question came out before I could stop myself.

"Do you think I made the right choice by saving her?" I asked, my voice quieter now. I didn’t say which choice—I didn’t need to.

Her eyes softened.

"I hold no grudges over it, Aelin," she said simply.

I nodded, relief stirring in my chest—but I also knew that was the end of that topic. She didn’t want to talk about it more, and neither did I.

"Then let’s focus on what matters," she said briskly, standing up with the grace of a queen. "I’ll teach you how to manage your mana. You’ve touched on the surface of your power—but you’ve barely begun to understand how to control it. I’m sure you can do even better once you’ve trained."

I nodded, tucking the scroll safely under my arm.

***

>>Draegon

The training fields buzzed with motion—clashing steel, sharp commands, and the rhythmic thunder of footwork on scorched earth. Smoke curled from the charred dummies being used for firecasting drills, and the air held the familiar scent of sweat and raw magic.

I stood at the edge of the grounds, my arms crossed over my chest as I watched a young demon soldier correct his stance under Ariston’s strict eye. They were improving. Slowly. But it wouldn’t be enough—not yet. Not against the Abyss.

"Draegon!" freewebnσvel.cѳm

I knew that voice before I turned.

Vesper.

She cut through the ranks like a flame with legs, her armor catching the midday sun and throwing it into brilliance. Soldiers looked her way, a few saluting. Her long, fire-red braid swung like a whip behind her as she strode straight toward me, smiling like we were back in the sparring rings as kids again.

I braced myself the moment I saw her arms outstretched.

I took one step back.

It was subtle—measured—but enough.

Vesper’s arms faltered mid-air before falling to her sides, her brows lifting just slightly in confusion. "What, no hug today?" she asked, her smile still in place but dimmed at the edges.

I didn’t return the smile.

"About the other day," I said, keeping my voice calm but firm. "I wasn’t able to say anything because it happened so quickly, but I’d prefer we avoid physical contact from now on."

She blinked, surprised. "Avoid... why?"

"It’s not anything personal," I said, meeting her gaze. "But in human culture, physical interaction—especially things like hugging—can be interpreted differently. It’s considered something intimate."

Vesper scoffed. "That’s stupid."

My jaw tensed, but I didn’t react to the jab. I’d expected that kind of response from her.

"Maybe," I said plainly. "But it doesn’t matter if it seems strange to you. My wife is human. Her comfort is my priority now."

For the first time in my life, Vesper looked genuinely caught off guard.

She stared at me for a moment—silent. Then gave a huff of laughter, sharp and dry. "So that’s how it is."

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to.

She shrugged and looked away, her expression unreadable. "Fine. I’ll keep my hands to myself."

I inclined my head slightly. "Thank you."

Then I turned my gaze back to the field, watching as two soldiers clashed swords with a little more precision than before.

But I could feel her still standing beside me—watching me.

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