A resigned sigh built in my chest. Both my daughters were still learning to control their beasts. At any moment, one or both might spin into shadow or sprout wings and fly to the battlements. Some days with twin shapeshifters were harder than others.
Then again, maybe dragons were meant to be a little wild.
The girls’ happy shrieks echoed as they ran toward the ballroom. I followed, then paused when voices drifted from the opposite direction. The throne room stood at the end of the hall, its doors open just enough to let conversation slip through.
“—feel good about my decision,” a familiar voice said.
Malcolm.
My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t seen my brother in months. Now that he’d finished his doctorate, his work kept him busy. We’d talked via hologram, but hearing his voice in person was different.
I hesitated, my attention split between my brother’s voice and the girls’ distant giggles. The corridor they’d taken led straight to the ballroom, where no less than six Sovereign Guards were stationed at all times. Every guard in the castle was well-versed in toddler capture.
“—what Portia will think,” another male voice said.
Dad.
Wait. What would I think about what? Curiosity piqued, I hurried to the throne room and slipped inside.
Malcolm turned from the dais, where Mum sat between my fathers.
“Hey, Big Bro!” I said, unable to control my grin as I crossed the room.
Relief flashed in Malcolm’s eyes as he smiled, enfolding me in a hug. When I pulled back, I looked between him and our parents. Their expressions were inscrutable.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Malcolm’s throat bobbed, and I knew my surprise showed on my face. My famously easygoing brother looked nervous.
Dad descended the dais first, his golden eyes warm but serious. Mum and Da followed, Da helping Mum down the steps. When they reached me, Mum took my hand.
“Malcolm has refused the throne,” Dad said gently.
The world tilted.
I stared at my brother. “Why?”
He shoved a hand through his blond waves. “It’s not the life I want. At all,” he added, dropping his hand. An earnest look entered his eyes, and the excited edge in his voice reminded me of Albie. “I want to invent things, Portia. I’ve got so many ideas. Unlike the humans I work with, I have the lifespan to pursue them. I’m not meant for sitting on my arse in a castle all day.”
My dad raised a blond brow.
Malcolm gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry, Dad. I know you do a lot more than sit on your?—”
“It’s all right, honey,” Mum said, reaching up and patting Malcolm’s cheek.
My throat tightened. Malcolm had always been brilliant. When we were eight years old, he installed a lightning rod on top of the castle’s tallest tower because he “wanted to study electricity up close.” Mum had taken away his video games for a month, so he’d written the code for a new one—then sold it to a gaming company six months later.
Footsteps rang out, and I turned as Tavish and Albie entered. From the looks on their faces, they’d heard Malcolm’s announcement. They came to me, each one giving me respectful pecks on the cheek.
Dad settled his golden gaze on me. “So, our people will have a new heir.”
I waited for him to say a name.
“You, lass,” he said softly.
At first, the words didn’t make sense.
“I…” My voice emerged as a croak. “I don’t think…”
