[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-saya-and-the-dragon":3,"chapter-saya-and-the-dragon-saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-219":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Saya and the Dragon",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1705028,2177,"Chapter 212: Not That Kind of Proposal","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-219",219,"\u003Cp>Chapter 212: Not That Kind of Proposal\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So. Right. Before you start judging—because I can feel you judging—I should probably explain how I ended up here. In this bed. With him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It wasn’t a plan. Gods know, I don’t make plans that involve paladins. We were supposed to talk. Just talk. I went to sneer at him, rub a few things in his face, maybe remind him what a self-righteous tin sausage he is. And he did that stupid thing he always does—stood there all broad-shouldered and tragic, smelling like leather and soap and poor decisions, saying he was “only trying to help” like the world appointed him its shiny savior. I was angry. He was angry. There was yelling. There was finger-jabbing. There may have been shoving.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And then… well… the shoving got a bit… different.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Turns out fury burns the same temperature as something else and collapses into the same sort of heat if you lean too close for too long. So yes. That’s how I got here. Don’t look at me like that. I tripped. On emotions. And also possibly on his stupid jawline.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So here we are.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I wake up to sunlight on my bare ass and the irritatingly perfect rhythm of Sir Odran's snoring.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There’s that brief, fuzzy second where I don’t remember where I am or why my thighs ache like I rode a centaur backwards. Then I turn my head, see golden curls and bite marks on those smug collarbones, and it all comes back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The tavern. The wine. The fight. The wall. The storeroom. The wall again. Oh gods, did we actually knock over that barrel?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You're staring,\" he mutters without opening his eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I'm plotting,\" I reply sweetly. \"Trying to decide whether to strangle you with this pillow or fuck you again first.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He chuckles, all low and lazy, and stretches like a cat who knows he’s made a mess of the drapes and doesn’t care.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Well,\" he says, reaching for his breeches with royal indifference, \"I’d prefer the second one first. But my fiancée might object.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Silence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m late for suit fitting... She is waiting.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I blink. Once. Twice. Then prop myself on one elbow, making sure the sheet drapes just right to emphasize nipple but not vulnerability.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Your what now?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"My bride-to-be. Lady Iselda of Glavorn. Archduke's daughter. We’re betrothed. Wedding’s in a week.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I just stare. My mouth makes a few pre-verbal noises. Then finally: \"You absolute cockswaddling, dick-polishing, valor-thieving bastard.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He raises one brow like a bored saint. \"Come now. It's politics.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"But—but—we have chemistry!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Hate chemistry?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Yes! The best kind! We stab each other in our sleep and call it flirting! We scam each other and then wake up sore and smug! That means something!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You know,” says Sir Odran, all casual-like, “this doesn’t have to be the end.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I arch an eyebrow, because I know that tone. That velvet-rope voice. The one knights use right before they offer you a “generous position” in a lesser harem.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I could keep seeing you,” he says, tugging on his trousers with the smugness of a man who thinks he's doing charity work. “Like, not publicly, obviously. But… privately. Discreetly. You know.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I blink.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He continues.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Ok. Ok. You could be my concubine.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There’s a moment — a small, sacred moment — in which the universe holds its breath while I do not immediately kick him in the dick.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I beg your pardon?” I say, all slow and syrupy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He brightens. “I mean, not a full concubine. Not like chained-up or anything. More like… timeshare access. We could schedule it! I’d bring wine. You love wine.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I blink again. Still no violence. Amazing restraint.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He keeps going. “And you’d have your own suite. In the tower. Silk sheets. Balcony view. I’ll even assign you a handmaiden, maybe a sprightly one with the red braids—”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I will kill you,” I whisper, with my most radiant smile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looks genuinely confused. “What? I thought you’d be thrilled! I mean, come on, Saya. Be honest. You’re a… what’s the word... free agent. No ties. No real noble blood. Being a discreet lover to a knight of my stature—”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Of your what?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He frowns. “Look, I’m offering you stability. You’d have regular visits. I could even make a shagging schedule. You like structure. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and maybe the occasional godsday quickie.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I slowly reach for the dagger under the pillow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Don’t be jealous,” he adds quickly, as if that’s the problem. “You’d still be my favorite. It’s not like I love Iselda. She doesn’t even moan properly. I swear she fakes it like a bad harpist. But she’s got the estate, the bloodline, the—well, the financials. You have… spunk.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stand up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He takes a cautious step back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, and hey,” he adds brightly, “there’s always room for some creative arrangements down the line. You, me, and the lady bride? You two might get along. She’s a bit shy, but maybe—”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I hate you,” I hiss.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m being diplomatic!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re being executed.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I launch the pillow at his stupid face with full malicious force. \"Fuck you and your posh little bride, Ogden. I hope she gets lost on the way to the chapel and ends up in a Sisterhood re-education camp.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He ducks. The pillow hits the window and knocks over a bowl of dried figs. \"That’s uncalled for.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I sit up, braid tangled, still half naked and radiating fury. \"You said I was your weakness.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I say a lot of things when I’m inside you.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I throw his sun medallion at his head. It bounces off the wall. \"Get out before I rip your balls off and feed them to the Dragon.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sighs. “Gods, you’re dramatic.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I snatch my tunic and storm out, half-dressed, fuming, barefoot, and plotting at least four felonies.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Concubine?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fucking concubine?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’s lucky I didn’t stab him with the fig knife.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>***\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stormed off because I needed air. Because if I stayed another godsdamned minute under his knowing gaze, I was going to break something. Or scream. Or confess something stupid like “this actually hurt.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Dragon said nothing when I left. He just watched. That’s the worst part. He knows before I do.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So now here I am.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the forest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Alone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sulking like a teenager with no date to the solstice dance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I kick a mushroom so hard it explodes into spore dust. Feral little bastard probably deserved it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gods. Fucking Ogden.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That smug, tight-assed, perfect-haired excuse of a knight. Who tied me to a temple pillar one time and made me feel something and then had the audacity to go and—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Marry.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Marry her. Some little highborn twat with an estate, a pedigree, and a fussy name that probably ends in “-elda.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I sit down hard on a fallen log. It creaks like even the dead trees are tired of my shit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stare at nothing for a long time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then I realize I’m crying.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oh, fuck you, face. Not now. Not like this.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I swipe at my cheeks like it’s an attack. It only makes it worse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Stupid. You’re stupid. You never liked him.” My voice is shaky and sharp like broken glass. “You just liked… beating him. Playing with him. Being the chaos in his neat little world.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Right?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I sniff. Wipe again. Fail.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Okay. Maybe I liked him. A bit. But not in the wedding bells and lace panties way. Not in the ‘grow old together and braid each other’s hair’ way.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I chuckle, but it sounds wrong. Hollow. Like it’s been scraped out from the inside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What really hurts,” I mutter, picking at the bark under my thigh, “is not him. Not really. It’s…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I swallow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s that I got reminded.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That I’m gutter-born. That I’ve got no crest, no lineage, no respectable uterus to push out respectable babies. That I don’t have a dowry. Not even a fake one. Just a mouth too fast and a laugh too loud and a back branded by every bastard who ever thought they owned me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She gets to be wife because she’s soft and silent and comes with fifty acres of barley fields.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I get to be the secret.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The plaything.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The practice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I ball my fists into my eyes and breathe through my teeth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m not crying over a man,” I hiss at the moss. “I’m crying over the world.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because the world is rigged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And I keep forgetting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And every time I remember, it feels like someone pushed me back into the dirt I crawled out of.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I sit there until the light fades.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I don't go back until I’ve wiped every tear, redone my braid, and found a smile sharp enough to cut with.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because fuck them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And fuck the world.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And fuck any man who thinks I’m anything less than a godsdamned storm in silk.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>***\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We’re back at camp.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fire’s crackling. The stew’s burning. The Dragon is filing his claws like it’s the most natural thing in the world to ignore my emotional collapse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m fine,” I snap, throwing my sandal at a log and missing. It spins off into the bushes like it wants to escape this conversation too. “It’s not like I care.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He doesn't even look up. “Mm-hm.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s just—who the fuck gets married in this economy? And to an archduke’s daughter? I mean really. That’s just tacky.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He lifts a brow ridge. “He’s a knight, Saya. It’s what they do. Quest, marry above their station, sire dumb children, die in tournaments.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“He told me I was his weakness,” I mutter, kicking dirt into the stew with what might be called enthusiasm. “He said that with feeling.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Were you biting his neck at the time?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Details.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sighs. “You robbed him. Twice.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It was mutual.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You tried to sell him into indentured labor.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mutual!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Dragon finally sets his claw file down and peers at me over the rim of his snout like some judgmental aunt. “You’re jealous.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I am not.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You thought he was yours.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I look away. “I thought we were… building something.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He snorts. “You were building a pyramid scheme of orgasms and betrayal.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I cross my arms and glare at the stew, which is now officially ash and carrot mush. “Well, it was working.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He pokes the burnt mess with one talon. “You’re mad because he picked someone with better lineage. Someone who won’t shiv him mid-coitus.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I never shivved him. I threatened to.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He leans back, all smug scale and ancient self-satisfaction. “You’re mad because you wanted to be his disaster.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I don’t answer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He smiles, just a little. “Don’t worry. No noble bride will ever scream his name like you did. I heard echoes. Across the valley.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I throw the second sandal at him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It hits him in the snout.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Totally worth it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Dragon is licking his claw like he just cleaned a plate, completely unbothered by my rage spiral.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Come on, it’s Ogden.” He stretches, wings twitching. “You think he’s suddenly found true love in some lace-swathed inbred debutante with a name like Iselda the Meek? He’s doing it for the dowry.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I glare at him. “Oh, well that makes it so much better. So now I’m not just dumped—I’m undervalued.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He shrugs. “Not dumped. Relegated.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh, eat a bonfire.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He ignores me. “It’s money, Saya. Big money. Enough to outfit a private company of mercs and buy a villa in Glavorn with a bathhouse and a personal fig-masher.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I throw a stick into the fire hard enough to send sparks flying. “He said I was magic in his arms.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“He also said your scream gave him tinnitus.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I pace. I rant. I swear enough to make the stew curdle. I spit his name like it’s sour in my mouth. And then, without warning, the tantrum screeches to a halt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I turn to the Dragon. Narrowed eyes. Suspicion blooming.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Wait.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He groans. “Oh no.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I step closer. “Just how much is this dowry?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He gives me a long, tired look. “Saya…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“How much.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He exhales smoke through his nostrils. “Taxes of two minor fiefdoms.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I blink.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I blink again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“…How minor?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He rolls his eyes. “Enough to fund a marble bathhouse, three full-time wine boys, and a personal scroll-reader who only recites filthy poetry.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I sit down slowly, brain clicking.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“So she’s not just a frilly little noble tart—she’s a walking sack of gold with ankles.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He nods.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I purse my lips. “Still a bitch, though.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Obviously.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I scratch my head. “What kind of idiot marries a woman when he could just rob her?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Dragon stares at me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stare back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then we both say it at the same time:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“…He learned that from you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I collapse back onto my bedroll, groaning into the furs. “I created a monster.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Dragon pats my head with one enormous claw. “You’ll always be the original.”\u003C\u002Fp>",2150,"2026-06-06T14:39:25.900Z",1,"novelbin.me","94706cdb03a2c3139a5e64d383c270d4e5b10566b99590ee917661407b0be8b1","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-220","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-218",228,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fsaya-and-the-dragon-cover.jpg"]