Page 79 of The Dragon 1

Oh my. . .

A grove of cherry blossom trees stood tall and opened to this secret garden shimmering under the full moon. The trees’ branches arched and formed a floral canopy of pink and white.

Here, their sweet, fragrance filled the air.

Thousands more petals blanketed the ground in quiet layers.

Well. . .the Dragon really knows how to romance a woman. . .but I’m not even a little bit surprised.

At the very center stood a single table low, round, and carved from dark wood. On it were blue and white porcelain dishes. Twin chairs waited next to it like a scene frozen in a love story.

It wasn’t just the table that caught me by surprise.

A small stage sat just beyond the table. It was about a foot high and ten feet wide, made of smooth cedar.

Above it, a sleek black ceiling had been built, elegant and minimal. . .except for one startling detail.

A single iron hook hung from its center, suspended on a thin chain, swaying gently as if stirred by breath.

I blinked at it.

What the hell is that hook for?

Was it for lighting?

A floral arrangement?

Maybe part of some avant-garde performance?

My mind immediately spiraled.

An aerialist?

Or. . .something darker?

I swallowed and forced my gaze away, only for it to land on a man sitting in the corner of the stage.

He was dressed in soft, dark robes and held a long, unfamiliar instrument in his lap.

It looked carved from polished black wood and had strings that stretched across a curved body—like a harp had married a sword, and they’d birthed this quiet, beautiful thing.

He plucked a single note—low and shivering—and the air responded.

The sound was ancient.

Honeyed.

Expensive silk unraveling in the dark.

Each note followed the last with aching slowness.

So warm.

Curling around my skin.

I parted my lips, completely hypnotized.

This wasn’t just music.