Carefully, I lay the sea glass flowers on her pillow where she’ll see them immediately upon her return. They catch the lamplight beautifully, casting tiny colored shadows across the white pillowcase. I step back and sigh, already missing her presence in the space that’s so distinctly hers.
Three weeks until the winter formal, almost five weeks to her twenty-first birthday. Five weeks until she can finally sense the mate bond that’s been driving me to distraction for years.
It can’t come fast enough.
Chapter 16
Raven
T-minus ten daysuntil the winter formal.
I’m out shopping with my birth father, Klauth, and Mom, surrounded by the overwhelming scents of perfume, fabric softener, and the metallic tang of hangers scraping against clothing racks.
I am in hell.
The boutique’s fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows that make everything feel surreal and oppressive.
Unfortunately for me, I’m being named Klauth’s heir apparent by the Temple of Bahamut and Tiamat together—a ceremony that will change everything. From what I’ve been told, princes from several other continents are arriving to meet me. The thought makes my skin crawl. Just what I don’t need—more political maneuvering disguised as romance.
“You don’t have to accept any of them,” Thauglor says as he flexes his wings, the black membranes rustling softly in the confines of the boutique. His voice carries the protective edge of a father who’d rather burn the world than see his daughter unhappy.
“I’ve already let all the parties involved know that she is not considering anyone at this time until after her birthday,” Klauth adds, his tone diplomatic but firm. The words make me bristle with irritation.
“SHE is right here, and SHE can decide for herself,” I snap, letting loose a small growl that vibrates from deep in my chest. I grab the three gowns from my mother’s arms, feeling the expensive fabric slide like water between my fingers, and slip into the dressing room. The small space smells of vanilla air freshener and the faint musk of previous customers.
Mom gave me three colors to choose from. The white silver is similar in color to my talons—elegant but cold. The red is a direct nod to Klauth and the bloodline I’m taking over, bold and political. The black matches mine and my father’s scales perfectly, familiar but predictable. However, it’s the silver one that’s almost white that catches my attention more than the other two. Something about it calls to me, whispering of moonlight and starlight.
I carefully put on the strapless adhesive bra, adjusting it so the girls look amazing beneath the fabric. The silver gown slides over my body like liquid metal, fitting me as if it was made specifically for my measurements. It makes me look more curvaceous than I thought possible, highlighting curves I didn’t even know I had.
As I smooth the fabric over my hips, I notice something extraordinary. My black scales wrap over the balls of my shoulders and down my biceps in thin, ornate lines that look like living jewelry. I turn slightly in the mirror, and my scales form butterfly wing patterns over my shoulders, up the back of my neck, and down my spine. The contrast against the silver fabric is breathtaking—like obsidian inlaid on moonstone.
I realize that I have more scales showing in my human form than my mother ever has. The thought should concern me, but instead, it feels right. Something about this color comforts me, makes me feel safeand powerful simultaneously. After several minutes of studying my reflection, I decide not to bother with the other gowns.
This is the one.
I slip on the heels Mom selected—strappy silver things that make my legs look endless—and stare at myself in the full-length mirror. The transformation is complete. With a firm nod to myself, I push the dressing room door open and step out to where my family waits.
The boutique falls silent as I emerge. Even the ambient sounds of hangers moving and fabric rustling seem to pause. Ziggy managed to show up while I was changing, and his jaw drops as he stares at me. His phone call is long forgotten as he holds the device limply at his side, eyes wide with shock.
The next thing I know, he drops his phone with a clatter against the marble floor and rushes over to me.
“Nope, my baby cannot grow up. I’m not ready!” Ziggy’s voice cracks with emotion. He allows the glow to fade from his eyes, and I see the feline slits he usually hides—a glimpse of the loving father beneath the predator.
Smiling, I shift my eyes to my dragon’s vision and stare right back at him. “Everyone needs to leave the nest, eventually.” The words taste bittersweet on my tongue, but they’re true. I dive in for a fierce hug, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and ozone. “Don’t worry. Mom and I have been talking—we’re going to dig off the neutral living room and create a space for me.”
Ziggy releases me, and the protective glow returns to his eyes as he looks at the others, silently daring them to comment on his emotional display.
Dad is holding Mom as silent tears roll down her cheeks, the moisture catching the boutique’s lights like tiny diamonds. Her usually composed demeanor has cracked, revealing the mother beneath thequeen. I glance over at Klauth, and he pulls a diadem from his jacket with ceremonial gravity.
“Just to see how it looks. You officially receive it the night of the processional,” he explains as he holds it out to me. The piece catches the light, sending sparkles across the mirror behind me.
Hesitantly, I close the distance and curtsy to him, spreading my wings wide in formal acknowledgment. The gesture feels ancient and right, connecting me to centuries of tradition. He places the diadem on my head with gentle precision, then turns me to face the mirror.
The crown is ornate, with rubies placed in exactly the right spots to complement my features. The red stones seem to pulse with their own inner fire, creating a stunning contrast against my black hair and the silver gown.
I stare at myself in the mirror and open my wings so they rest half-spread, framing my reflection like living shadows. The image is striking—powerful and elegant in ways I never imagined I could be.
Mom swoops in with her makeup kit and paints my lips blood red with practiced strokes. The color is bold and dramatic, the final touch that transforms me from girl to woman, from student to heir apparent. I barely recognize the creature staring back at me from the mirror.
