She touched her throat, where her silver pendant now had a small obsidian stone attached with her and Vaelrik’s sigils intertwined—Vaelrik’s wedding gift to her. The mate mark on her chest pulsed warmly beneath the dress, a reminder of the bond that had changed everything. Not just between them, but for the entire realm.
A sharp knock on the door startled her from her reverie, making her pulse jump.
“Serenya?” Kyr’s familiar voice called through the thick wood. “It’s time.”
She smoothed her hands over her dress, checked her reflection one final time in the mirror, and opened the door. Kyr stood outside, looking formal in his ceremonial Obsidian armor, polished to a mirror shine. His gray eyes held a warmth she’d grown to recognize over the past month—acceptance, respect, and something approaching genuine affection.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply, offering her his arm. “Vaelrik’s going to lose what’s left of his mind when he sees you.”
Serenya laughed, a sound bright and unguarded. “I think I’ve driven him crazy enough this past month. I fear there’s not much left to claim.”
“Trust me,” Kyr said with a smile as they walked through the city, “there’s plenty left. He’s been pacing the courtyard for the past hour like a caged dragon. I thought he might shift and set the shrine on fire just from nervous energy.”
“Nervous?” Serenya raised an eyebrow. “Vaelrik doesn’t get nervous.”
“He does about you,” Kyr replied, his voice dropping to something more serious. “You’re the one thing in his life he’s terrified of losing.”
The honesty in his words made her chest tighten with emotion. Even now, after everything they’d shared, after the mate bond that tied them together, she sometimes forgot how deeply she’d changed him. How completely he’d changed her.
Kyr guided her through Cinderhollow’s winding streets toward their destination—a secluded courtyard behind an ancient obsidian shrine, tucked away from prying eyes but close enough to the heart of the city that their union would be witnessed and acknowledged.
“Are you ready for this?” Kyr asked as they walked, his tone lighter now. “Becoming the wife of the most dangerous dragon in the realm?”
Serenya’s lips curved in a smile that was pure fire and determination. “Kyr,” she said, her voice warm with anticipation and a hint of that wicked edge the realm knew her for, “I was born ready for that.”
The courtyard behind the Obsidian shrine felt like stepping into a sanctuary carved from volcanic dreams. Warm stone released the day’s heat in gentle waves, mixing with the intoxicating sweetness of jasmine that tumbled from ancient stone planters. Beneath it all lingered Cinderhollow’s signature scent—distant volcanic ash that spoke of power and permanence, of a city built to endure.
Serenya’s breath caught as she saw Vaelrik standing at the shrine’s base, and her pulse stuttered with hunger. He wore formal obsidian fabric that hugged his broad shoulders and emphasized every line of controlled strength in his powerful frame. The dark material was shot through with subtle silver threading that caught the light like captured starfire, and the way it molded to his body should have been prohibited.
His storm-gray eyes found hers across the courtyard, and the intensity in them made her knees weak. This was her dragon—dangerous, devoted, and looking at her like she was the only thing in existence that mattered.
Kyr’s arm steadied her as she approached, but she barely noticed. All her attention was focused on the way Vaelrik’s expression shifted from controlled composure to something raw and reverent as she drew closer.
When she reached him, Vaelrik took her hands in his, his touch warm and grounding. “You look stunning,” he said, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Absolutely breathtaking.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks, but she met his gaze with a wicked smile. “You look pretty attractive yourself,” she replied, letting her eyes travel deliberately over his form. “It’s making it hard for me to focus on anything else.”
His laugh was deep and genuine. “Good,” he said, his thumb tracing over her knuckles. “I was hoping for that reaction.”
Kyr stepped forward, his ceremonial armor gleaming in the afternoon light. The weight of centuries of loyalty showed in his posture as he began the traditional dragon ceremony, his voice carrying the ancient formality of his people.
“We gather today to witness the official bonding of mates,” Kyr intoned, “to honor the choice of two souls who have found their match in fire and light.”
When it came time for vows, Serenya’s voice was steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. “Vaelrik, I promise I will stand with you,” she said, her green eyes locked on his gray ones, “not as a stabilizer or a shackle, but as your equal in light and shadow. I choose you, Vaelrik Obsidian, in defiance of every force that would keep us apart.”
Vaelrik’s hands tightened on hers. “Serenya, I vow I will never again let anyone chain you or define your magic,” he said, each word a sacred promise. “I will love you and protect you until the day I die, and I will spend every breath proving you were right to choose me.”
When their lips met, the mate bond erupted visibly through the brand on Serenya’s chest—a brilliant flare of gold and violet that illuminated the entire courtyard like dawn breaking over the realm. The light pulsed between them, ancient and powerful, sealing their union in magic older than the dragons themselves.
A small projectile suddenly barreled into them the moment their kiss ended, nearly knocking them both off balance. Tamsin wrapped her arms around both their legs, her delighted laughter bright as temple bells in the sacred space.
“Mama! Papa!” she giggled, beaming up at them with pure joy radiating from her small face.
Serenya felt her composure crack completely at the sound, tears of happiness threatening to spill as she scooped theiradopted daughter up into her arms. Vaelrik’s large hand cupped the back of the girl’s head with infinite gentleness, his fierce expression softening into something tender and protective.
Kyr watched them with eyes that held the first true peace Serenya had ever seen in him. His mouth curved in a genuine smile as he stepped closer.
“I promise a celebratory feast at your house tonight,” he said, his voice warm with affection and relief, “with no shadow monsters, politics, or collapsing Gloam rifts to interrupt.”
