Not to cold, exactly—but to something sharp. The kind of chill that slips between your bones and reminds you that you're still made of flesh.

Eira wrapped the cloak tighter around her shoulders, but it wasn’t warmth she was missing. It was... distraction.

Since hearing the song again, the silence had grown heavier. The Dragon King hadn't spoken to her since their last meeting in the garden, though he watched her—always with that unreadable, ember-like stare.

He was watching now.

Eira could feel it as she walked the edge of the lava river, her bare feet barely making a sound on the obsidian. She stopped at the edge, the glow painting her skin gold.

“Is it curiosity,” she said aloud, “or are you just bored?”

No answer.

She turned.

He was standing in the archway behind her, tall and cloaked in shadow, arms folded. His hair glimmered like flame in moonlight. His chest was bare, scaled only across one shoulder—muscle defined, dangerous. And his eyes…

She swallowed.

“You’re not as silent as you think,” she said. “You breathe like a storm.”

His mouth lifted at one corner—something close to a smirk.

“And you speak like a girl who’s forgotten where she is.”

“Maybe,” she replied. “Or maybe I’ve stopped being afraid.”

He stepped forward.

Not fast. Not threatening.

But close.

Close enough that she could smell the heat on his skin. Like scorched cedar and smoke.

“Fear is not the only thing you should watch in me,” he said.

Her breath caught.

“Then what else?” she asked, quietly.

He tilted his head.

“You tell me, girl of the altar.”

---

They were close now. Far too close.

Eira refused to move first.

“You’ve never touched me,” she whispered.

“Should I have?”

“No.” Her voice was a little too fast. “But you’ve thought about it.”

That brought the full smirk to his lips. Not cruel. Just… dark.

“I forget,” he murmured. “Humans think they can read beasts.”

“I’m not reading,” she said. “I’m watching.”

His gaze dropped—for just a second—to her mouth.

Then back to her eyes.

And he stepped away.

The heat rushed back into her skin like a slap.

---

That night, Eira couldn’t sleep.

The cavern pulsed softly with the light of molten stone veins, but her body was restless. Her dreams tangled between fire and breath and that gaze—the way he looked at her, as if she were a question he hadn’t decided whether to answer or consume.

She rose from bed, pacing the edge of the chamber, then made her way down the hall.

He was in the garden again.

This time without his cloak.

He looked almost human in the starlight that filtered through the cracks in the stone ceiling. Almost.

“What keeps you awake?” he asked without looking.

“Same thing that keeps you,” she said. “Memories. Temptation. The ache in my spine.”

He turned, brows raised. “You’re bold tonight.”

“You don’t scare me like before.”

“Then you’re not paying attention.”

“I am,” she said. “Too much, maybe.”

He came closer, slow.

“I could burn you without trying,” he warned.

“Then why haven’t you?”

He didn’t answer. But this time, when he brushed past her, his hand grazed hers. Barely.

Enough to light every nerve in her arm.

Eira stood still, heart racing, skin tingling.

Not fear.

Not anymore.

Something else.

Something dangerous.

Something mutual.

---

Back in her chamber, she collapsed onto her bed of moss and silk. She could still feel the heat of his body in the air.

She didn’t know if she hated him.

Or wanted him to come closer.

But one thing was clear:

The Dragon King was not untouchable.

And neither was she.