One thingthe family doesn’t know is that I understand all of their languages. The secret sits in my chest like a warm coal, both comforting and dangerous. Dad spoke of wyrm gifts—each dragon receives a different one. Sometimes they come before you hit wyrm status, sometimes years after, and rarely not at all. The ability to understand multiple species’ languages is apparently mine.
I understood when Titan asked Hemlocke if he was my mate, the deep whicker carrying more meaning than simple horse communication. Hemlocke’s subtle nod was enough to confirm what my heart already suspected. Then I heard Hemlocke tell Leander in his musical unicorn language that he and Corvis are my mates and that he doesn’t want to leave my side.
That admission explains so much. I feel safe with both males, like coming home after a long journey. Why Corvis has been able to soothe me for as long as I can remember, his presence calming my dragon in ways I never understood. Even when I was tiny and he proclaimed I was his, hunting for me with the single-minded devotion of a child who knew something the adults dismissed.
I offer him and Hemlocke roses per tradition. The red blooms are soft against my fingers, their sweet fragrance mixing with the scents of ceremony and nervous excitement that fill the air. You gift your mate a rose when you receive a bouquet—an ancient custom that suddenly feels profoundly meaningful.
We reach the other side of the courtyard, and Balor is there waiting for us. His scarred hands are gentle as he reaches up and helps me down from Hemlocke’s back, allowing the unicorn to shift back to human form. The transformation is fluid grace, shadows, and starlight condensing into the familiar figure I’ve grown to care for.
I see now how they look at me. The immense love in their eyes burns like twin flames, and their gentle smiles are reserved just for me. I can’t feel the bond yet, but I know it’s there—thrumming beneath my skin like a second heartbeat.
“Raven, you need to get to the crowning ceremony,” Balor says, his voice carrying the weight of today as he rests his hand on my elbow. The contact is warm and steadying.
“I need a minute.” I step away and into Corvis’s space, breathing in his familiar scent of baked bread and ancient stone mixed with something uniquely him. I look up into his silver eyes, seeing them truly for the first time in my life.
“Do you need something? Are you okay?” he asks softly, his hand cupping my cheek with tenderness. His palm is warm against my skin, calloused from years of sword work.
I search his face, seeing him differently for the first time in my life, and shake my head. Words feel inadequate for what I’m feeling. Instead, I rise up on my tiptoes and rub my jaw along his, just under my ear, on both of his cheeks. The scent-marking is instinctive, primal, and immediate. After I’ve claimed him, the tightness in my chest releases like a knot coming undone.
Stepping away from Corvis, I move to Hemlocke and repeat the process. He towers over me at every bit of six feet six inches, if not taller. I scent-mark his jaw, then both shoulders, breathing in his wild scent of meadow grass and storm winds. Reaching down, I grab his arm and rub his wrists heavily under my ears, coating him thoroughly in my scent.
“Anyone messes with you, I will melt them to a puddle of goo.” I allow my eyes to shift to my dragon’s sapphire vision as I stare up at him, letting him see the predator that lurks beneath my human skin.
“I will impale anyone who stands in your way, then stomp them so hard their ancestors feel it.” His voice is low and rough with a slight gravelly undertone that makes something low in my belly clench with want. I reach up and take the rose I braided into his hair, the petals soft between my fingers, and hand it to him before turning to leave.
Balor falls into step beside me, his boots clicking against the marble floor in rhythm with mine. “What was that all about?” he asks, bumping shoulders with me in a gesture of paternal affection.
“Hemlocke and Leander didn’t know I can understand equine because of Isolde. We’ve been teaching each other our parents’ languages.” I arch a brow at him, enjoying his surprise. I’d rather explain it this way than I believe it’s my wyrm gift massively early.
“And I assume they said something in front of you thinking you didn’t understand?” He chuckles, the sound warm and knowing.
“Yes.” We reach the massive double doors, their carved surface gleaming in the torchlight. I know that Corvis and Hemlocke are supposed to wait for me on the other side. “Titan let it slip that Hemlocke told him he is my mate. Then Hemlocke told Leander he and Corvis are my mates.” I laugh, the sound carrying both amusement and affection. “Guys, I swear.”
Balor chuckles and offers me his arm, the gesture formal but fatherly. “I’ll offer you to them and walk behind you.”
“Is it true I may sense my mate bonds after I jump and shift?” I look into Balor’s eyes, searching for truth in their depths.
“The way it used to work, yes. Your birthday is a little over a week away. Either way, you’ll know sooner rather than later.” He kisses my temple, his lips warm against my skin, and knocks three times on the door. The sound echoes in the corridor like a heartbeat.
The grand doors swing open with a deep, resonant creak, and I see the scarlet carpet stretched out before me like a river of blood. The hall beyond is filled with the soft murmur of voices and the rustle of expensive fabric. I tap his forearm like we practiced, and we step out, our movements synchronized from hours of rehearsal.
My wings are half-open and held high, showing how large and powerful they are. The black membranes catch the light from hundreds of candles, creating patterns of shadow and flame. We reach the halfway point, and Corvis and Hemlocke step out to receive me from Balor, completing the escort to the end of the aisle.
The priestess from the Temple of Bahamut begins the ceremony, her voice carrying clearly through the hall as she recounts the power of both my parents’ bloodlines. The words wash over me like a blessing and a burden combined. She recounts the power of Klauth’s bloodline next, emphasizing that this decision wasn’t made lightly.
“Do you bear his scale?” the priestess asks, her voice formal but kind.
I show her my left forearm, where Klauth’s scale lives on my skin, the foreign presence both alien and familiar. The scale pulses with warmth, responding to the formal recognition.
She walks me onto the balcony to face the gathered masses. Hundreds of faces turn up toward us, their expressions ranging from curiosity to awe to barely concealed fear. “By the power vested in me by the will of the great wyrm King Klauth Ragnar, I hereby change the line of succession. Let me present to you Princess Raven Mrithun, heir apparent of the Marzana Empire.”
I open my wings wide and allow my dragoness’s presence to flood the area. The power rolls off me like heat waves, ancient and terrible and beautiful. Over half of the hall hit the floor before me, their bodies unable to withstand the pressure of my dragon’s regard. When I look back behind me, only my father and Klauth remain standing, their own power protecting them. Even my mother is on the floor, her face pressed against the marble.
I pull back my dragon’s presence like reeling in a fishing line and bow to the priestess after helping her to her feet. Her hands shake slightly as she regains her composure.
I move to stand before my father, Klauth, and mother, then drop to one knee and spread my wings wide in formal submission. Klauth steps forward and places the diadem on my head, the metal cool against my skin and heavier than I expected. He offers me his hand, and I stand and fold my wings in tight against my back.
“When your time comes, rule well.” He kisses both of my cheeks, his short beard scratching gently against my skin, then passes me to my mom and birth father, who repeat the blessing.
