The Matchmaker - The Arrax Saga Book 1 Chapter 199

Saphira woke with a gasp.

The room was dim, the lamp near the window casting soft amber light across the stone floor. Her breath came fast, sharp and shallow, her heart pounding against her ribs like a warning drum. Sweat clung to her skin, though the air was cool. She sat up slowly, the blanket slipping from her shoulders, and pressed a trembling hand to her chest.

The dream lingered, not in fragments, but in feeling. It clung to her like smoke.

She had stood in a vast, moonlit field. The grass had shimmered silver, swaying without wind, as if the land itself were breathing. Above her, the sky pulsed with stars that moved—not randomly, but in deliberate, shifting patterns, like runes rearranging themselves in some ancient language she almost understood.

Vaelora had stood beside her, not in her dragon form, but as a silhouette of flame and shadow, her presence immense, her voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere.

*‘Not all royals are born in a royal family,’* the dragon had said, her tone low, almost reverent. *‘Some are developed. Forged. They earn the right.’*

The words had struck something deep in Saphira’s chest, something that had no name but had always been there.

She had tried to speak, to ask what it meant, but her voice had vanished into the wind. The stars had shifted again, forming a symbol she didn’t recognise, three interlocking circles, one burning, one bleeding, one hollow. Vaelora had reached toward it, and the field had cracked beneath them, revealing a chasm of light that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Then the dream had ended.

Now, in the hush of her room, Saphira sat with her knees drawn up, her fingers curled tightly into the blanket. Nikolas stirred beside her, still asleep, his breath slow and steady. She didn’t wake him. Not yet.

She stared at the lantern’s glow, trying to hold onto the pieces before they slipped away.

*Forged. Earned.*

The words echoed through her, unsettling and undeniable. Vaelora was hiding something. Not out of cruelty, Saphira didn’t believe that, but out of protection. Or fear. Or both. And after what had happened in the ruins, after the power that had surged through her, the way her flame had fused with something older—Saphira couldn’t ignore it anymore.

She’d suspected before. She’d felt it in the moment she and Nikolas had connected, when their bond had ignited like a star being born. That wasn’t ordinary magic. That wasn’t just a regular dragon.

And now, after Vaelora’s message, she didn’t have much doubt.

She, or rather, her dragon, was royal.

Not by bloodline. By becoming.

But what did that mean? What had she been forged for?

She lay back down slowly, her body still tense, her mind spinning with questions that had no shape yet. Nikolas shifted beside her, one arm sliding around her waist instinctively. She let herself lean into him, just enough to feel his warmth, his steadiness.

He didn’t stir. But she knew, when she was ready to speak, he would listen.

Still, sleep didn’t come easily.

And in her mind, the stars in her dream kept moving, rearranging themselves into something she hadn’t yet learned to read.

But she would. She had to.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, casting gentle patterns across the stone floor. Saphira lay still, her head resting against Nikolas’s shoulder, the warmth of his arm curled around her waist. His breath was slow, steady. Peaceful.

But her mind hadn’t stopped spinning since the dream.

The words still echoed, *Forged. Earned.* They hadn’t faded with sleep. If anything, they’d sharpened.

She shifted slightly, just enough to stir him. Her fingers brushed his chest, and his arm tightened instinctively around her.

“Nikolas,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His eyes opened slowly, silver light flickering faintly beneath them. He blinked once, then turned his head toward her. “You okay?”

Saphira hesitated, then nodded, though the motion felt hollow. “I had a dream,” she said, voice low. “Vaelora spoke to me. Not in words exactly, but it felt real. Like she was showing me something.”

Nikolas sat up, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. His expression sharpened, the sleep falling away. “What did she say?”

Saphira pushed herself upright, drawing her knees to her chest. Her fingers curled into the blanket. “She said… Not all royals are born in a royal family. Some are developed. Forged. They earn the right.”

Nikolas didn’t speak right away. His gaze held hers, steady and unreadable, but something in his eyes deepened.

“I think she’s hiding something,” Saphira continued, her voice steadier now. “Not to deceive me. To protect me. But after what happened in the ruins, after what we became, I don’t think I can ignore it anymore.”

Nikolas nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. “I’ve been thinking about it too. That power we used… it wasn’t normal or modern. It was something older. Something fused.”

Saphira exhaled through her nose, her shoulders tense. “We shouldn’t flaunt it. Not until we understand it. Not until we know what it means.”

“Agreed,” he said, reaching for her hand. “We use it only when necessary. No displays. No declarations.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Good.”

Nikolas was quiet for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles. Then he said, “There’s something I never told you.”

Saphira turned toward him, her brow furrowing. “What is it?”

“When I was a kid,” he said, voice low, “my parents used to tell me and Jed and Zafira this old prophecy. It was just a story then, something whispered during storms or long nights. But I remember it word for word.”

Saphira leaned in, her pulse quickening.

“They said one day, a powerful couple would rise. Not from thrones or bloodlines, but from fire and bond. A pair who would possess the strength needed to rule over all supernatural’s. Not through fear. Through unity.”

Her breath caught. The words felt too close. Too familiar.

“They said the bond would awaken something ancient. Something buried. And that when one of them stood on the edge of death, the power would ignite in both.”

Saphira stared at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think that’s us.”

Nikolas’s gaze didn’t waver. “I think… when I was dying, something in you refused to let go. And something in me reached back. And our blood mixing woke up something neither of us were meant to carry alone.”

Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with clarity. With recognition.

“I don’t know what we are,” she murmured. “But I know we’re not ordinary.”

Nikolas reached for her hand again, threading his fingers through hers. His grip was firm. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Saphira nodded, her grip tightening in return.

And for the first time, the weight of what they’d become didn’t feel terrifying.

It felt sacred.