“I…” She let out a slow breath. Looking down at the sash, she stroked the gleaming stitches with reverence. “There are some things that are reserved for kin. For spouses.”
Feeling like he couldn’t get enough oxygen, he whispered, “What things, my Shiya?”
Her fingertip traced a tiny, sigil-like pattern he’d seen on his clothing many times. “Blessings. Prayers.” She skimmed the loose thread until she found the shiny silver needle again. “The strongest protection I can offer.”
Without hesitation, she pressed the tip of the needle into the pad of her thumb. Taevas hissed, reaching for her instinctively, but was stopped by the sight of a single drop of her blood slipping down the shaft of the needle and into the gold thread.
The faintest sizzling sound filled the air and the heavy press of magic compressed his lungs for the span of a heartbeat — just long enough for the blood to disappear completely.
A buzzing took up residence in his ears.
No wonder her magic has felt different for a while now.
Alashiya hadn’t just imbued his clothing with powerful wards and spells. She’d bound her magic to them with herblood.
He couldn’t catch his breath. It wasn’t just work for her. It was like the mending hisisadid by the firelight — an act of care for herhusband.It was a visible, tangible,realdisplay of her claim.
His mind shot back to an image of his expansive closet. Stomach swooping, he tried to wrap his head around how much of her blood she’d put onto each garment. Too much, certainly, but also… He really didn’t know how to parse the conflicting feelings of pride and dismay over her hundreds of tiny sacrifices.
It was a sweet relief to know he’d cared for every piece like the treasures they were, but even so, he couldn’t help but feel like he hadn’t appreciated them enough.
He wondered when it’d begun for her. What was the first garment that wasn’t just for a client, but for herhusband?He needed to know exactly which jacket, shirt, handkerchief, or sash it was. He needed to know so he could get it framed.
Gods, she claimed me with blood and magic and stories. I’m her husband. I’m herhusbandand the luckiest dragon in the fucking world.
Dragons took little more seriously than courtship. They were forward, focused, and almost impossible to dissuade once they’d laid their claim. But there was nothing, no higher compliment or greater honor, than for a dragon to be claimedfirst.
She didn’t know his name. She didn’t know his position. She’d claimed him as her husband by instinct alone.
Somehow, they’d known one another. They’d always known. A swelling sense ofrightnessthreatened to expand his chest past the limits of his ribcage. It was too good to let anything else in —no doubt or fear or the instinctive revulsion that’d kept his instincts in check for over a century.
Taevas had never felt a rush like this one. He doubted he ever would again.
Whatever his problems were, there was nothing that could diminish the pure, unfiltered triumph of beinghers.Already knowing the answer, he breathed, “You don’t give your blood to just anybody, do you?”
“Of course not,” she muttered, tucking the needle into the fabric so it couldn’t accidentally stick her. “That’s reserved for kin.”
“And you decided this Adon was kin without even knowing his real name? Withoutasking,at the very least?”
She shook her head. “It’s just a story I tell myself. I decided a long time ago that if I knew the truth about him, it’d probably ruin things anyway. What’s the harm if all I’m doing is adding extra protection?”
It took work to keep the feeling out of his voice when he asked, “Come on, you aren’t curious about him at all? Yourhusband?”
At last losing her patience with his prodding, Alashiya set her needle and the sash down to fix him with an exasperated look. “Of course I am! I’ve embroidered dozens and dozens of garments for him. I imagine what his face looks like when he opens every box. I think about himconstantly.But I’ll never know Adon, and he’d never care to know me, so it’s a sad little fantasy I shouldn’t have told you.”
He watched her with open wonder. An incredulous laugh escaped him. “You claimed him! All without knowing anythingabout him. Yourhusband,Adon. Do you have any idea how lucky he is?”
She stared at her lap, the fingers of her left hand curled into a fist. Speaking in a quieter voice, she said, “Once, my grove was something, but now we’re nothing. I don’t have friends. I’ll never have a real husband or a family or a grove again.This,the sillyfantasy and my work, is all I have. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mock me for it. I’m very aware of how pathetic it is.”
He was so wrapped up in his discovery that he nearly let her stand up and run out of the room. Gathering his wits just in time, he lunged for her free hand and held tight. “Shiya,” he breathed, craning his neck to peer into her flushed, averted face. “My Shiya, no. I’m not mocking you. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not? I know what it looks like. Just a lonely woman making up stories about a man who’ll never even— It’s sad.”
“It’s not,” he argued, tugging on her hand. She held herself stiffly and refused to move, but he wasn’t done. “I know better than you think I do.”
“Uh-huh.” She cast him a flat look. “Let go.”
“Only if you’ll stay.”
