I’ve seen fae court deliberations before—endless circular discussions, political maneuvering disguised as debate, hours wasted on procedural technicalities. Dragon deliberation is different. Sharper. Every word carries weight, every gesture holds meaning.
Prince Korren stands at the formation’s apex, his position marking him as both leader and final arbiter. The scales along his jaw shimmer with barely contained emotion—anger, I think, though dragon expressions are harder to read than fae. Behind him, the four other delegates arrange themselves by seniority: the conservative elder to his right, the progressive member to his left, the scholar, and the two remaining delegates forming the base of the arrowhead.
Callum’s arm tightens around my waist. Through the contact, I feel his tension—the warrior in him hating this moment of helpless waiting, the strategist analyzing every micro-expression on the delegates’ faces.
“They’re taking it seriously,” he murmurs, just for me. “That’s good.”
I want to believe him. But I’ve been disappointed by courts before.
Callum shifts his grip on me, positioning us to watch without intruding. His body remains a wall of warmth against my back, steady and protective even as exhaustion threatens to drag me under.
The conservative elder speaks first, his voice a low hiss that carries despite the quiet tone. “This is political catastrophe. Breaking the contract threatens alliances across three realms. The Council of Elders will demand explanations, perhaps sanctions—“
“The contract was secured through assassination.” The progressive member cuts him off, scales bright with conviction. She’s younger, her bearing sharp with righteous certainty. “Dragon law is clear. Blood manipulation voids binding agreements. We cannot ignore murder simply because acknowledging it is inconvenient.”
I hold my breath. The evidence hovers above us—Caelynn’s murder documented in glowing threads of corruption. Mysister’s death was weaponized to trap me. The proof is undeniable. But will they acknowledge it?
A third dragon steps forward, claws delicately extracting scrolls from a worn satchel. The historical scholar, based on his bearing and the reverent way he handles the ancient documents. “The Concordat of Fang and Flame, Elder Reign 372,” he states, unfurling parchment yellowed with age. “Blood-tainted contracts shall be rendered void upon presentation of magical evidence. The precedent is documented in seventeen cases spanning three millennia.”
He gestures to the corruption map still glowing above us. “This evidence meets every criterion established by our ancestors. Magical signatures proving assassination. Timeline connecting death to contract formation. Manipulation of grief for political gain. This is precisely what the dissolution clause was designed to address.”
The conservative elder’s wings rustle with agitation. “Precedent is not the same as wisdom. The political ramifications—“
“Were considered when our ancestors wrote the law,” the scholar interrupts, his voice taking on the dry precision of someone who has spent centuries buried in legal texts. “The dissolution clause exists precisely because our forebears understood that some violations cannot be papered over with diplomatic convenience.”
He unfurls another scroll, this one bearing seals I don’t recognize—older, more ornate, the wax darkened with age.
“The Treaty of Crimson Scales, Year of the Dying Sun. A marriage contract between House Valdris and the Southern Eyrie was voided when evidence emerged that the bride’s elder sister had been assassinated to create the vacancy.” His claw traces the ancient text. “The circumstances are nearly identical to what we see before us today.”
“That was three thousand years ago,” the conservative elder protests. “The political landscape—“
“Has not changed the fundamental principle.” The progressive member’s scales flash with impatience. “Murder is murder. Using death to create political advantage violates everything our ancestors built. If we ignore this evidence, we become complicit in the corruption.”
The fourth delegate—a dragon I haven’t heard speak yet, his scales a deep bronze that suggests considerable age—clears his throat.
“I have remained silent because I wished to hear all perspectives,” he says, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. “But I find I cannot remain neutral. My great-grandmother sat on the tribunal that decided the Valdris case. The precedent she helped establish was clear: dragon honor does not bend to political convenience. If we bend it now, we dishonor every dragon who came before us.”
The fifth delegate nods slowly. “The evidence is undeniable. The precedent is clear. The only question is whether we have the courage to act on both.”
Prince Korren has remained silent through the debate, his gaze fixed on the evidence with an expression I can’t quite read. His scales shimmer beneath formal robes as he processes what the corruption map reveals—not just about Faelan, but about the marriage he nearly entered. The alliance he nearly sealed with a woman whose sister was murdered to create the vacancy.
Finally, he raises his hand. The delegation falls silent instantly—a testament to his authority despite his relative youth.
“The precedent is clear,” he states, voice ringing through the damaged marble hall with unmistakable finality. “I invoke the dissolution clause.”
The declaration sends a ripple through the throne room. I sway on my feet, and Callum’s grip tightens, the only thingkeeping me upright as the magnitude of this moment crashes over me.
One by one, the delegation casts their votes.
“Dissolution approved.” The progressive member’s voice rings with satisfaction.
“Dissolution approved.” The scholar nods at his own precedent research.
“Dissolution approved.” The bronze-scaled delegate, without hesitation.
“Dissolution approved.” The fourth.
Only the conservative elder hesitates, his wings drooping slightly as internal conflict plays across his ancient features. Every eye in the court watches him—progressive members leaning forward eagerly, conservatives holding their breath, everyone understanding that this vote represents tradition itself being tested against honor.
