“You’ll have to forgive Alistair; he prefers the human world and modern living. Shall we?” His father indicated the huge dining room table that held a feast fit for a king, displayed on shiny gold platters. The gold goblets were decked with jewels. Even the utensils had jewels on them. A massive chandelier hung above their heads, the light from it catching the jewels and making everything sparkle.
Everyone took their seats. His father remained standing. “A toast to the bride and groom, may you honor and carry on the traditions of the dragon shifter. As you both know, the dragon shifter dates to ancient times. We are the last of our kind, the nine clans. It is our responsibility to ensure that dragons live on. So, we bind these two young dragons in marriage so that they will continue to carry on the traditions and customs and keep the dragon shifter alive.”
Alistair glanced at his fidgety bride, who looked as if she was a human maiden about to be sacrificed to a dragon. She was a waif of a girl, barely his age, but she came from an ancient and powerful line of shifters. He should feel honored and privileged that her father had chosen him as her mate, but the sparkling jewels reminded him of the tiny diamonds in Sarai’s face, and that made him think about the curve of Sarai’s lips. For the first time in his long life, he began to question his parents and their way of life.
“It is our duty as the nobles of the dragon shifters to ensure that there will always be dragon shifters. We do this by keeping the bloodlines pure. We are the strongest and fiercest of the shifter clans, and we must always rule over them all.”
“We don’t rule them anymore, this isn’t the old days, Father.” Alistair couldn’t help himself.
“Alistair, hold your tongue when your elder is speaking,” His father snapped at him. His eyes flashed with anger. Alistair stared him down, his own eyes flashing. A hand touched his, and his eyes softened. He turned to see Phoebe looking at him, her hand still resting on his clenched fist. He pulled his hand away, still seething, but he remained sitting even as he fought every urge to flee to the solitary sanctuary of his gym. His father continued his speech.
“Many clans have fallen due to breeding with humans. Though we must be forced to live amongst them, we do not need to breed with them. We must continue to breed with one another, and so, as tradition states, the clan of Quentin and the clan of McCallister, this green and this blue, are a good match. Today, we honor our ancestors by raising our glass in celebration of combining these two houses, in the promise for a union.”
Alistair stared at the table where the flower arrangement was center stage. The beauty of the blooms calmed him some. The arrangement reminded him of its maker, and that brought a smile to his face. He couldn’t get her off his mind, no matter how much he tried not to think of her.
“Alistair, your glass, raise it; your father has given a toast. Where is your head?” His mother’s voice cut into his thoughts.
He hadn’t realized his father had finished the toast. He quickly lifted it, gave a halfhearted smile at Phoebe and obediently took a sip of the wine in his goblet. His father began the ceremonious carving of the peacock that still had its head attached, the feathers tucked beneath it and plumed for an elegant display. It had been stuffed with a savory bread pudding and was surrounded by baked apples and blood sausage. Once he had made the first cut and had taken the ceremonious bite, the knife and fork were passed to Phoebe's father who made his ceremonious cut and took his bite. Then the peacock was whisked away so that the servants could carve the rest of it to serve after the soup and salad courses.
No one spoke as they shoveled the food into their mouths. Alistair was grateful for that. He liked to enjoy his food, and lobster bisque happened to be one of his favorite dishes. He glanced at Phoebe who seemed to be mindlessly stirring hers. “Not to your liking?”
She leaned over and whispered, “How can you eat? My stomach is in knots.”
“Try to eat something, they’re staring.”
She obediently began to eat, and the elders returned to their own eating. The empty soup bowls and salad plates were removed and heaping plates of peacock, blood sausage, and baked apples came out and were placed in front of each person. Phoebe ate her baked apples but didn’t touch the blood sausage or the peacock, so Alistair waited till the elders were busy eating and snatched her blood sausage from her plate. She gave him a grateful smile.
“What? I happen to like it. Try the peacock, it’s not much different from turkey.” She took a bite and found he was right; it wasn’t much different from turkey. At last, their plates were emptied and whisked away, just in time for dessert. A massive flaming pile of meringues was wheeled out on a cart. The servants put out the flames and cut into the meringues. Under the meringues were layers of fabulous fruits, candied nuts, smooth cold custard, and creamy chocolate mousse. Alistair savored every bite.
“Shall we adjourn for coffee and let the love birds have some time alone together?” his mother suggested.
“A wonderful idea,” her mother said. They all walked out, leaving Alistair and Phoebe sitting at the table.
Phoebe sighed heavily. Knowing he wasn’t the only one not thrilled by the match brought a smile to Alistair’s face.
“What do you say we get out of here?” He stood and offered her his hand.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked as she took it and allowed him to pull her from her chair.
“Fresh air?”
“Yes, that would be wonderful.” They walked through the doors of the dining hall and passed the parlor where they could hear the parents talking, then passed through a gilded archway. Alistair stopped to open a pair of French glass doors, and they stepped out onto the terrace that looked over the vast sparkling pool. The moon was bright, and the stars were already out.
Phoebe spoke softly. “Our yard is full of ancient statues of, well, what else, dragons. They represent the dragons that came before us. Father is very big on ancestry and tradition. He’s furious that he never had a son. He’s never forgiven my mother for that.”
“Tradition.” Alistair scoffed. “If tradition stated that the father of the groom must throw himself into a volcano on the night his son and heir was to be wed, my father would do it. He would find a live volcano, climb to the top of it and throw himself in. He follows tradition blindly and never dares to question it. I think some of our traditions are wrong, or at the very least old and outdated. They don’t work in this time, this century, but does he care? No. Tradition is tradition and it must be followed no matter what. Tell me, Phoebe, is this really the life you want? Do you really want to be bound to me for life?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Doesn’t every girl wish to be sold and bound to their master, I mean husband? Used for breeding and then ignored and cast aside, as if she isn’t even a living breathing thing? And curse her soul if she dares not give him an heir.” She flashed him a smirk. “Isn’t it the life you want?”
“I’m a male dragon, of course it’s the life I want. I want to live my life stooped in ridiculous traditions and customs that are so convoluted it’s not always easy to understand them. Curse my soul if I mess it up,” he grunted. She giggled.
She walked ahead of him to the water’s edge where the terrace met the pool. She kneeled, careful to keep her skirt out of the water, and ran her hand through the cool liquid.
“Right, that’s why you have the human-accepting gym.”
“The humans give me money to amass my great fortune.”
“Admit it, you like humans. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. What the traditionalists seem to forget is we were humans once, too.” He laughed.
