"I had everything brought back."
The Dragon King stood behind his wife in a closet doorway and learned, in real time, that silk on hangers could do more damage than any weapon in his armory.
He was standing close enough to feel the moment her composure cracked. Her shoulders. First. Then her breathing.
"Are you sure?" The question came out raw and small, and she couldn't look at him because looking at him would break the dam she was barely holding together.
Her hand covered her mouth, and her eyes burned with a heat that had nothing to do with bathwater and everything to do with the fact that the absence of this room had been a wound she hadn't realized was still bleeding.
"I'm sure. My dragon wouldn't have it any other way."
His dragon rumbled in agreement, vibrating through his ribs and into her spine. Then the scent hit him. Salt and warmth and something cracking open behind her composure that she was fighting to keep sealed.
Excellent work, Commander.
"What's wrong?"
