The Duke's Reluctant Bride

In the golden light of noon, Clara walked along the cobblestone path that wound through the garden, a small bucket of raw meat swinging in one hand.

A playful smile curved her lips. "I'm glad I managed to sneak some meat for Ashwing and Sylvie. The keepers already fed them, but I think they could use a little extra," she murmured to herself with a mischievous grin.

After a few minutes of silent wandering, she reached her destination—a quiet patch tucked between wild blooms and ivy-covered stones. Nestled in the flowers, Ivy stirred. Her amber eyes opened slowly, in her guardian form, she blended so well into the garden that one might have missed her entirely.

Noticing Clara, she rose, towering over her, and gently nudged her with her snout. Clara giggled and patted her lovingly.

A growl rumbled above, and two small dragons leapt down from Ivy's back. Ashwing and Sylvie landed with light thuds, their heads nearly reaching Clara's knees. They sniffed the air in unison, eyes locking onto the bucket.

"Settle down, you two," Clara said, lifting it just out of their reach. "You'll get it—but only if you do something for me first."

The dragons tilted their heads, curious.

Clara knelt in the grass and set the bucket beside her. "The keepers said you should be able to breathe fire by now. So today... we're going to try."

She picked up a twig and held it out. "Watch me," she said, puffing her cheeks and making an exaggerated whooshing sound. "You need to push the heat from your belly—like this! Fwooosh!"

Ashwing gave a dramatic huff, but nothing happened. Sylvie tried next and managed only a thin, breathy snort. Ivy watched them both, amused, a low growl rumbling in her throat.

Clara leaned closer. "Come on. You can do it. Just a little spark."

But as the minutes passed, Ashwing sneezed with frustration, and Sylvie pawed at the ground, clearly agitated. They tried again and again—until the only thing rising from them was a small puff of smoke and a few pitiful wheezes.

Clara's smile faded into something more gentle.

"...It's okay," she said softly. "Maybe it's not the right time yet. Sorry—I didn't mean to rush you two."

She sat back, her tone warm and reassuring. "You'll get there when you're ready. You don't have to prove anything to me."

The dragons blinked at her. Clara reached into the bucket to grab the meat—when suddenly—

Fwoosh!

A small tongue of fire burst from Ashwing's mouth, startling him into stumbling backward. Sylvie, wide-eyed, let out a shocked yelp—and in the same breath, a flare of flame followed her cry.

Clara gasped, then broke into delighted laughter. "You did it!"

Ashwing looked at her, then at Sylvie, both of them stunned for a moment—then visibly proud.

Clara clapped her hands. "I knew you could do it! See? No pressure. Just a little faith."

She then tossed them their well-earned reward. "Go on. But this time, I want it cooked before you eat."

The young dragons nodded eagerly. They opened their small maws and released a thin tongues of flame onto the meat, roasting it until the aroma of cooked flesh filled the air.

The breeze carried the smoke's whisper through the trees, heavy with the promise of fire and feast... and then—

"Clara?"