His POV

I have never revealed my human face. Not to kings who tremble beneath my wings. Not to generals who marshal their swords at my command. Not even to her—my solitary light in an endless night.

They know the dragon. They know the wildfire in my throat, the scorch of my claws on stone, the thunder of my wings across the heavens. They quake when I descend upon their enemies, and I indulge them. I let their foes writhe in ash, let their strongest warriors beg for mercy behind cracked shields. Let them learn, in every scream, how absolute my power truly is.

Yet she—my princess—stands by the ramparts, untouched by the terror. Her delicate frame, swathed in silks I could burn with a breath, remains resolute. She greets me each dawn with a quiet nod, as though my fire is merely sunrise and not the end of worlds. She speaks of moonlight on marble floors, of petals drifting in the courtyard fountains, of dreams too fragile for this place. And I listen, enthralled by the innocence in her voice.

Sometimes, when darkness drapes the land and no enemies stir, I toy with the idea of descending beside her—in human form, vulnerable, flesh instead of scale. I imagine brushing a lock of hair from her brow, whispering truths I haven’t dared to voice. But I never do. To shed the dragon’s guise is to shed my only armor. It is to expose scars carved into my soul by every life I’ve claimed. And I trust no one enough for that.

I hunger for her trust the way I hunger for battle—but it is a hunger I will not sate lightly. She does not know that I have burned traitors alive while they wept for mercy. She does not know how I delight in the crackle of bone beneath my flames, how a single twist of my tail can end dozens of lives. She cannot fathom the cruel joy I feel when fear becomes worship, when death becomes art. That part of me—my rage, my ecstasy in destruction—remains locked away.

And yet, despite it all, her presence stirs something I thought long dead. A flicker of curiosity, perhaps of compassion, that warms the black ice of my heart. I watch her from atop the highest tower, wings folded, talons curled around cold stone. I wait for the moment she will ask me to stand beside her, not above her. When she will see, in my draconic eyes, a shadow of the man I once was—and might still be.

But until that day—if it ever comes—she will know only the dragon. The merciless guardian who answers every threat with flame and fury. The cruel sentinel who will not hesitate to reduce the world to embers before she is harmed. Only when I am certain her fear has turned to something stronger—only then—will I show her the face that bleeds.

And when that time arrives, she will understand that the most savage monster she ever knew was the only one capable of protecting her fragile light.