Page 40 of Forged Flight

Before he can protest again, I step closer and drape the scarf around his shoulders.

“Lucan—”

“Hold still.”

I wrap the knitted wool around his neck, careful to tuck the ends beneath his cloak. My fingers brush the soft curls near his nape as I adjust it, and I suddenly become acutely aware of how close we’re standing. Close enough to feel his breath against my chest.

Micah goes quiet. He tilts his head back, staring up at me with wide brown eyes behind his glasses.

I finish tucking the scarf snugly beneath his chin.

“There,” I say with a soft smile. “All better.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

I nod, stepping back before I do something foolish.

A moment later, I notice his shivering has stopped. A strange sense of satisfaction settles in my chest, knowing he’s warm. That he’s safe and protected.

“Better?”

He nods, burying his chin deeper into the wool. “Much.”

“Good.”

Maple lets out an impatient chirp from farther up the trail. She tugs hard against the taut leash, her tail swishing as she waits for us.

I chuckle. “Looks like someone’s eager to reach the top.”

Micah gives her a melancholy smile and tightens his grip on the rope.

Together, we continue up the mountain, following Maple through the falling snow.

Chapter Eleven: Micah

The moment we crest the final ridge, I stop walking.

My breath catches.

Mount Embercrest opens onto a vast, breathtaking plateau beneath a gray sky. A sprawling meadow stretches as far as the eye can see. Beyond it, towering cliffs rise from the mountainside, their sheer faces dotted with enormous nests carved into the stone and nestled among the roots of ancient alpine trees.

The dragons are everywhere.

Great ruby, emerald, sapphire, and obsidian beasts circle high above the peaks, their enormous wings cutting through the clouds. Others cling to the snowy cliffs, their claws digging into the stone as they climb with effortless grace. A few rest on the ledges of their nests, watching us with gleaming eyes.

I instinctively lean into Lucan. He shifts closer, his arm brushing mine.

For a moment, the logical part of my brain reminds me that I should be afraid.

These are dragons, after all. Powerful creatures capable of tearing a person apart with their claws or reducing a cottage to ash with a single breath.

But I’m not afraid.

I’ve spent years studying them from ancient texts, learning their behaviors and instincts. Dragons aren’t inherently violent. They’re intelligent, social creatures with strong territorial instincts, but they don’t attack without reason.

Respect their boundaries, and they’ll respect yours. It’s really that simple.

Yet King Castor and his government have spent years telling the people of Thistle Grove something very different.