Content Warning: This chapter contains depictions of a physically and emotionally abusive relationship, emotional manipulation, substance use, suicidal ideation, self-harm, and unsafe BDSM/kink practices.
The air shifted, the quiet lakeside smell replaced with steam and expensive perfume. They were in Sol Centura, standing at the entrance to a bathhouse Poppy knew all too well. Her past self strode through the main room, making a beeline for the back. A large man moved to block her way.
“Reserved,” he grunted.
“Wanna bet?” She reached up and pulled back her hood. The man’s eyes widened and he stepped back quickly.
“Sorry, Penelope. Didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Is he back there?”
Claude glanced away, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Stuff it, Claude,” she said, not breaking her stride. That earned a hearty chuckle from the bouncer.
“Yeah, he’s been drinking the bar out of stock for hours.”
“How predictable,” Draconus sneered from his perch on a phantom steam pipe, his scales a cascade of deep crimson and gunmetal grey. “A grand performance.”
Poppy ignored him as her past self slid a panel to the side of the wall, revealing a hidden door. She slammed it shut behind her, walking down a narrow, slanted hallway that opened onto a hidden veranda carved into the cliffside. In the backmost corner sat Nikolas, tall and flamboyantly dressed, his perfectly groomed, full beard a stark, disciplined line against the chaos of his silk shirt. A feathered hat was perched on his head and a drink was in his hand. A blonde woman was practically melting into his side, her arm linked tightly through his as she whispered against his ear, though his attention was already drifting. He looked up as Poppy approached, his eyes lighting up as if he’d just found his evening’s entertainment.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” he boomed, his voice designed to command the attention of the entire veranda. He swept the feathered hat from his bald head in a theatrical flourish. “Everyone, a drink! The princess has finally escaped her gilded ca—”
His grandstanding was cut off as a projectile of fiery, orange light bloomed against his chest, scattering like glowing petals before fizzling out. Several onlookers turned to see Poppy standing there, hand on her hip, where a glowing bud of red and yellow energy still swirled in her palm. Nikolas smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Point taken, Penelope dearest.”
Poppy closed her hand, and the swirling blossom of magic fizzled out. “I’m not in the mood.”
Niko smirked, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Don’t tell me you’re getting all your highs from a pouch these days, I’d be so disappointed for you.”
Poppy just raised an eyebrow. “That line might have worked a year ago. You’re getting rusty.”
His eyes then twinkled as they raked over her. “A terrible shame,” he said, his voice dropping into a low purr. “But that’s a problem with an easy… and very enjoyable solution.” He took another deliberate sip of his drink. “Unless, of course, your taste is now Sable Company? I did hear you were spotted around their banker recently…”
“I’m just exploring my options,” Poppy said with a dismissive shrug. “It’s always smart to build relationships with companies that are actually solvent.”
“Ah, but you forget,” Niko said, his purr deepening into something dangerous. “Some investments are for life. It would be a terrible shame if your new friends discovered just how… volatile… your family’s assets can be.”
“Is that a threat, Nikolas?” Poppy shot back, voice dripping with scorn. “Or are you just admitting that after your little stunt ‘cleaning up after the Avatar of Grak,’ you aren’t getting much employment at all nowadays?”
It was Poppy’s turn to have magic slam into her, a blast of concussive force that she deflected off a hastily summoned magical shield. Debris rained down from the ceiling.
“Take the foreplay to the bedroom!” the barkeep yelled.
The blonde hanging on Niko’s arm rolled her eyes. “Nik, can we just go alrea—”
“No, you can leave,” Poppy spat, not even bothering to look at her.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard the woman,” Nikolas said, his hands still glowing. “You probably don’t want to be in the middle of this anyway, Tiffany.”
“It’s Christine!”
“Of course, Trisha.”
Christine stormed off, shoving Poppy’s shoulder as she passed. Poppy didn’t budge an inch.
We acted like such children, present-day Poppy thought, a strange mix of embarrassment and nostalgia washing over her. It was so easy to do. Just say the worst things we could think of, trying to get under each other’s skin.
“There’s that fire,” Niko said, a predatory smirk spreading across his face as he took yet another pointed sip of his drink. “I was worried all that time playing nice around a politician had made you dull. Tell me you came all this way just for me.”
“Not everything is about you, you pompous prick—”
Instead of getting angry, Niko threw his head back and laughed—a rich, genuine sound that held no warmth. “Finally,” he said, his eyes glittering. “For a minute there, I thought you’d forgotten how we play.”
The laugh disarmed her. In the memory, Poppy’s anger crumbled, replaced by the raw magnetism that always pulled her back to his orbit. She closed the distance in three long strides, pushed his drink onto the table, and climbed into his lap, crushing her mouth against his.
“How charming,” Draconus drawled, observing the frantic, passionate kiss. “All the grace and subtlety of a teenage crush.”
“It wasn’t a crush,” Poppy muttered, watching the scene. “It was… complicated.”
“Is that what you called it when you followed him around like a stray whelp?”
“I did not. He was the Captain of my family’s mercenary company. I had to be around him for work.”
“A convenient excuse,” Draconus countered, scarlet and gunmetal scales shimmering in the candlelight. “You adored him. You mistook his arrogance for confidence and his cruelty for strength.”
“Shut up,” she whispered.
The kiss in the memory was a battle, a frantic clash of teeth and tongues. It was devouring, desperate. Poppy watched, a cold knot forming in her stomach, because she remembered where this desperation led. She turned away from the scene.
“I’m done with this,” she said, her voice tight. “There’s nothing more to see here.”
The dragon let out an amused laugh, a sound like grinding stones. “Don’t turn away from the appetizer, Poppy. That was just a performance.” He slithered closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. “You want to see the real desperation? The real reason you mistook his cruelty for strength? We have to go back further. To where the real pain began.”
⊰
The memory of the frantic kiss on the veranda dissolved. The heat of it began to feel like a different kind of heat, the pressure of his lips like a different kind of pressure around her neck…
“Ah, and here we are,” Draconus’s voice was a low, satisfied rumble. “So this is how you played. This is the real passion. The desperation. Is this what you enjoyed so much, Poppy?”
Poppy didn’t answer, forced to watch. She remembered the feeling perfectly. The hand around her neck was firm, but she was too weak to fight it. Her own hands rested lightly on his wrist, a silent timer. She was chasing the quiet edge of oblivion—it barely mattered whose hand was at her throat. Her grip on his wrist finally loosened, her body going limp as her vision clouded, falling backwards into that peaceful, starry void.
The pressure on her neck vanished, replaced by a blissful quiet. The burning in her lungs cooled to nothing. She was weightless, drifting in a silent, velvet darkness dotted with rivers of silver light swirling violet and gold. It was beautiful. For the first time in so long, there was no pain, no duty, no Grandfather, no sister to fail. There was only herself. She reached out a phantom hand, wanting to run her fingers through the starscape and stay in this perfect, empty nothingness forever.
A sharp slap across her face brought her crashing back.
“Tap out next time, Penelope,” Niko snarled, his voice a mixture of genuine frustration and cold annoyance. “Actually killing you would be an inconvenient amount of paperwork.”
Poppy glared, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth as she slid from against the wall to the floor. “I was fine- I didn’t- I wanted- fuck you,” she rasped, still dizzy.
“You were,” he replied dryly. “Until you just tried to take a little side trip to the Well.”
The Poppy on the floor coughed, flecks of bright red accompanying the harsh noise. Niko made a sound of annoyance and adjusted his pants before walking to the dresser. He rustled through a bag, produced a bottle of light blue liquid, stalked back to Poppy, and held it out to her.
“Drink.”
“Make me.”
Watching herself, Poppy saw the faint outlines of purple bruises forming on either side of her neck.
“He pulls you back from the one moment of peace you’ve had all day,” the dragon murmured, his voice a venomous purr. “And now he wants to heal you. He breaks his favorite toy, and then he glues it back together so he can break it all over again.”
“I’m not a toy,” Poppy bit out, her eyes still fixed on her hands, refusing to look at him.
“No?” The dragon’s purr deepened, thick with satisfaction at having drawn a reaction from her. “Then tell me, what are you trying to escape from? Does he even know? Or does he just enjoy being the gatekeeper to your oblivion?”
Poppy’s gaze continued to remain on her hands as she picked at a cuticle. “And what if it is?” she retorted, her voice quiet but sharp. “It was better than feeling nothing at all.”
In the memory, her past self’s head was being forced back, the healing potion dumped straight into her mouth—she could hear the coughing and gagging as she struggled. Finally, the noise stopped. She glanced back over to see Niko releasing his grip on her hair, several strands of red still wrapped around his fingers.
Her past self scrambled back, pulling her knees to her chest as Niko stood. He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning to the bed, pulling the thick quilt off it, and wrapping it around her. He gathered her into his arms and turned, placing her unceremoniously on the bed.
“You were getting blood on the floorboards,” was all he said.
“Such tenderness,” Draconus sneered from his perch. “A true gentleman. Is this what you mistook for affection, Poppy?”
“He was making sure I was comfortable,” Poppy snapped, not looking at the dragon. “It was his version of helping.”
“Helping you feel pathetic?” the dragon countered, his scarlet and gunmetal scales glittering with contempt. “Because that seems to be all he’s accomplishing.”
In the memory, Poppy wrapped the quilt tightly around her shoulders. She was shivering, though the room wasn’t cold. Niko watched her, then let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand over his head. He lay down next to her, pulling her to rest her head on his chest. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough. “Alright, are you going to spit it out, or just sit there and bleed on my good quilt?” He nudged her foot with his. “What’s wrong?”
Her voice was muffled against his chest. “I’m not bleeding anymore.”
“Cut the crap, Penelope,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ve looked like you’re chewing on glass for weeks.”
She pulled back enough to glare up at him. “It’s Lynn. I can’t find her.” The admission was ripped from her, raw and furious. “Every lead is a dead end. Every informant is useless. It’s like she just… vanished. And Grandfather,” she spat the word like a curse, “he knows I’m failing. I can feel him enjoying it from miles away.”
“Because you were failing,” Draconus’s voice hissed in her ear. “For all your supposed skills, when it came to the one person you claimed to care about, you were a failure.”
Present-day Poppy flinched. “That’s not true,” she whispered. “Lynn just didn’t want to be found.”
In the memory, Niko’s grip on her tightened slightly, a silent acknowledgment of their shared dislike of Abraxus. He didn’t offer empty platitudes.
“He’s a bastard,” Niko stated, simple and true. “But the People of the Earth are not useless. I’m not useless.” He shifted, forcing her to meet his gaze. “We’ll find her. I’ll tear this whole damn country apart myself if I have to.”
His promise echoed in the quiet room. Poppy felt the phantom warmth of his chest, the steady beat of his heart against her ear. He would have done it, too.
And it wouldn’t have mattered.
The memory dissolved like smoke, the feeling of the quilt fading into the cool air of the peninsula. She was alone with the dragon again.
“He was looking in the wrong place,” Poppy murmured, her gaze fixed on the empty space. “We all were. She wasn’t in the country. That was the problem.”
Draconus uncoiled from his perch on a nearby stump, slithering silently across the ground to her feet. He looked up, his crimson and silver scales glowing. “For someone who prides herself on seeing every angle,” he hissed, “that seems like a rather obvious thing to overlook.”
Poppy didn’t answer. She just stared into the darkness, the truth of the dragon’s words a familiar weight in her chest.
⊰
The darkness in her mind swirled, coalescing into a new memory. The scent of blood and grime was replaced by something musky and sweet—pipe smoke.
She was in Niko’s bed again, one of the many times after she had found him to relieve some stress. Present-day Poppy watched from the foot of it as her past self’s eyes snapped open, sitting up with a start.
“Settle down,” Nikolas said, his voice a low grumble. “You were out for maybe half an hour.” He took a drag from the pipe he was smoking, a sheet draped across his waist as he sat against the wall.
Her past self pulled the blankets to her chest, breathing slowly, trying to still her racing heart. A nightmare. Poppy remembered this one. Screaming. Blood. The feeling of being trapped.
“I thought this was love,” Poppy whispered, her voice barely audible. “The way he was so… calm. After the nightmare. It felt safe.”
Draconus let out a low noise, a blend of a scoff and a chuckle. “You call this love?” he sneered. “This sad, desperate performance? How predictable.”
In the memory, Niko’s voice cut through the haze. “Are you alright, Penelope? You’re looking paler than normal. Not that I’m not enjoying the view.”
“Shut up,” her past self snapped, laying back down to stare at the ceiling.
“Ah, pillowtalk. My favorite.” He took another drag from his pipe. A flicker of something—genuine concern—crossed his face. He blew the smoke out in a slow stream before speaking again. “Seriously, Poppy. What’s wrong?”
She tried to ignore him, but the words wormed their way in and she groaned. “Fine. Just a bad dream.”
“Sounded like the screaming kind,” he observed, his voice flat.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Good. I don’t want to hear about it.”
“He was hurt there,” Poppy said quietly, more to herself than to the dragon. “I could never see it then, but he was.”
“Was he really? Because from my viewpoint, he looks like he was telling the truth.”
The memory continued, deaf to her reflection. Niko set his pipe on the bedside table.
“What did Abraxus tell you to do now?” he asked.
“I have a year,” her past self mumbled into the pillow.
“Sorry, dear, you need to speak up.”
“He gave me a year!” The words exploded out of her, raw and desperate. “One year to track her down, figure out who helped her disappear, silence anyone who knows too much, and drag her back home before he decides she’s a loose end that needs to be cut. One year, Niko. Do you realize how impossible that is?”
Her past self’s rant faded, the memory blurring at the edges, leaving the echo of her own desperation in the air. Poppy stood in the silence, feeling the phantom weight of that impossible task settle on her shoulders again. She had been so lost, so utterly alone.
Draconus hopped off the dresser, his movements silent and fluid as he coiled at her feet. He tilted his head back, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“You see? You were just a girl in a cage, grateful that the monster in the next cell was kind enough to listen.” He paused, letting the venom sink in. “You’ve never been in love with anyone. You are incapable of it. You only used him. And you did it because you didn’t think you deserved any better.”
“What the fuck is your problem?” Poppy finally whirled on him, her voice cracking with fury and pain.
The dragon just blinked slowly, his work done, as the last vestiges of the memory vanished completely.
⊰
The fury of her own voice faded, replaced by the quiet hum of a city at dusk. The memory shifted not to a bedroom or a bathhouse, but to a place of her own making: the back office of Special Investigative Press in Ember. Stacks of ledgers and shipping manifests sat neatly on the desk, a large map of the Freelands pinned to the wall. It was her space.
And he was in it.
Poppy let out a mental sigh. She knew this memory well; it was from about a year ago, when she was helping Servius with the Ember expansion. It was the same old dance, just on a new stage. And she was already tired of the music.
Nikolas was leaning back in her chair, his boots propped up on her desk and crossed at the ankle. He wasn’t armed or armored, dressed down in a simple tunic, but he filled the room with a coiled, predatory energy. He looked up as she entered, a slow, mocking smile spreading across his face.
“Just checking on the family’s assets,” he said, his voice smooth. “Making sure your dear cousin Servius isn’t running your little paper into the ground.” He lowered his feet to the floor with a soft thud. “And making sure you haven’t completely lost your mind.”
“My mind is fine, Nikolas,” her past self said, closing the door behind her. “And my business is my own. What do you want?”
“I hear you’ve been slumming it with a consul. A certain Marianus boy,” he spat the name like an insult. “Didn’t take you for someone who enjoys the company of politicians.”
“Ah, listen to that,” Draconus sneered, his voice thick with contempt. “The sound of a dog growling over his favorite chew toy. Is that what passes for love in your world, Penelope? That pathetic jealousy?”
“Pathetic, maybe,” Poppy conceded, her voice flat with a tireness that went bone-deep. “But it was a language I understood at the time.”
“Titus is not a liability,” her past self was saying, her voice dangerously quiet. “And my relationship is my own concern, not a family asset for you to manage.”
“Oh, but it is,” Niko countered, leaning forward, his smile gone. “When you tie yourself to a man whose entire career is built on public opinion and scandal, you make him a target. You make us a target. He’s a creature of ink and laws, not blood and steel. He’s a bad investment, Poppy.”
“An investment,” Draconus sneered, seizing on the word. “See? You’ve just traded one owner for another. At least Nikolas is honest about what you are to him. Does Jason even know what a valuable asset he’s acquired?”
“He doesn’t see me as an asset,” present-day Poppy shot back, her voice low and fierce. “That’s the point.”
“He’s trying to fix a broken system,” she said, her voice clear and steady in a way that surprised even her present self. “That takes a different kind of strength. One that doesn’t involve swinging a sword for the highest bidder—though trust me, he’s capable of using the sword just as well.”
The insult landed. Niko stood up, his relaxed posture gone, replaced by the familiar, dangerous stillness of a predator. He took a step towards her. “You used to be smarter than this.”
“No,” she said, not flinching as he approached. “I’m just starting to realize what I actually stand for.”
The memory froze on that moment—the two of them, standing on opposite sides of an uncrossable line, the air thick with things that could never be unsaid. As the image dissolved, so too did the dragon’s hostile colors. The angry scarlet and cold gunmetal grey of his scales receded like a fever breaking, leaving behind the neutral, analytical emerald and jade of their first meeting on the dock.
“The final piece of evidence in this matter,” Draconus stated, his voice a low, objective rumble. “What is your conclusion, investigator? When you look at him for the first time without desperation… what did you truly see?”
Poppy was quiet for a moment, staring at her own hands. “I saw a boy,” she said softly. “Just as trapped by my grandfather as I was. He built his walls out of cruelty and arrogance, and I learned to build mine out of anger.” She reflected on the memories, at the defiant girl she used to be. “I thought that was strength, standing up to him like that. But it was just a different kind of fight. I was still playing his game.” A profound weariness settled over her. “I’m not that person anymore. That fight is over.”
“The fight with him, perhaps,” Draconus corrected, his voice taking on a new weight. “But you simply traded one battlefield for another, far larger one. That anger you learned to wield as a shield… a shield is a heavy thing to carry alone.”
As he spoke, the vibrant green of his scales began to dull and deepen. The emerald cooled to a heavy, muted slate grey, and the jade tarnished into the color of old bronze.
“Let us examine a different kind of bond,” he rumbled, his new form looking somber and ancient. “One forged not in passion or conflict, but in the shared weight of a terrible secret.”