Chapter 9 - The Unbroken Bond
Three weeks passed before the formal restructuring of the Dragon Corps was completed.
Lord Ashby was stripped of his titles, his lands confiscated and returned to the Crown’s protective trust, and his corrupt subordinates were dishonorably discharged and sent to labor in the southern mines. The standardized training regulations were rewritten from scratch, placing veteran handlers—men and women who understood patience and mutual respect—in charge of the new generation of riders.
And Vesper?
Vesper no longer lived in the dark, isolated corner of the north enclosure.
Following a unanimous decree by the newly reformed council, the north wall of the enclosure was torn down, opening his territory directly into the sprawling, sunlit meadows of the river valley he had fought so fiercely to protect. He was officially declared a free-roaming sanctuary dragon—unbound by force, unrestrained by iron, and accountable to no master.
Yet, he never left.
Every morning, when the mist cleared from the northern hills, Vesper could be found resting just outside the wooden porch of the infirmary.
On a bright, crisp morning at the end of autumn, Sorcha stood on the porch steps, tying back her hair with a leather cord, watching the great black dragon sun himself in the courtyard.
Heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel path behind her. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Cassian stopped beside her, leaning against the wooden railing, a cup of steaming black tea in his hand. He had traded his heavy, scarred commander’s plate for a simpler leather jerkin, though the quiet authority in his posture remained unchanged.
“The new batch of trainees arrived from the capital this morning,” Cassian said, his eyes fixed on the horizon where a pair of young dragons circled lazily in the blue sky. “Not a single rope in sight. They’re using your recommended approach—observing first, handling only when invited.”
Sorcha smiled, resting her hands on the wooden railing. “And how are they doing?”
“Surprisingly well. No injuries reported so far.” Cassian took a sip of his tea, then glanced sideways at her. “The council has been asking questions again.”
Sorcha’s smile faltered slightly. “About what?”
“About Vesper. They still maintain that a dragon of his size and power shouldn’t remain unbonded in a functioning Corps. They’re drafting a formal petition to assign a new rider by spring.”
Before Sorcha could feel the familiar knot tighten in her stomach, a low, rumbling huff echoed from the courtyard.
Vesper raised his massive head. He didn’t look at the sky, and he didn’t look at the distant training rings. His amber eyes fixed directly on Sorcha. Slowly, deliberately, the great beast stood up, walked across the gravel path, and rested his massive, scaly snout right against the hem of her wool skirt, letting out a long, contented breath that stirred the autumn leaves around her boots.
He didn't need a rider. He didn't need a master, a council, or a saddle.
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Cassian looked from the dragon to Sorcha, a knowing smile touching the corners of his lips. He set his teacup down on the railing and held out his hand.
“I suppose,” Cassian said quietly, “we’ll just have to tell the council that some bonds can’t be written into a military contract.”
