Klauth made the change to the females approaching the males around the time of my birth—a progressive shift that gives us the power of choice.
Thorne comes running up to me, her footsteps light against the marble, and hangs on my arm as I walk around the room. Her familiar vanilla scent is comforting in the sea of unfamiliar faces. “Anyone interesting?”
“Several, but not for me. You, maybe. Or even Lily.” I smile at my sister as I stop at the next table, very aware that Corvis and Hemlocke can see me clearly from their positions.
“Your Highness.” The young male bows to me, his movement awkward with nerves. I lower my head slightly to him and glance at his lackluster bloodline displayed on the table. The parchment shows mediocre heritage at best. He offers me a rose with trembling fingers, and I add it to the growing mass in my arms.
“Thank you.” I smile sweetly at him and his parents, tasting the diplomatic words on my tongue, before moving on.
“How many roses do you have?” Thorne asks, her voice carrying amazement.
“Three dozen, give or take a half dozen.” I roll my eyes before stopping at the next table to read the bloodline. The ink is crisp and formal, telling a story of moderate power, but nothing extraordinary. Not very powerful, but not horrible either. I bow my head again, and the male offers me another rose to add to my collection.
“What’s with the roses? Everyone keeps offering them to you.” Thorne’s curiosity is clear as she examines the growing bouquet.
“The male’s scent-mark the roses and offer them. If anyone really stands out, you can find them again by scent.” I explain while looking up across the room. I’m four tables away from Corvis’s position, and Hemlocke, being a non-dragon, is leaning against the wall talking tomy father. Even from this distance, I can feel their attention on me like warm sunlight.
I stop at the next table like I have what feels like a thousand times and look at the bloodline with feigned interest. I make a show of running my finger down the list, taking longer than I have at previous stops. The parchment is smooth beneath my fingertip. The male offers me a white rose, its petals soft as silk, and I lower my head slightly before moving on.
I skip the next three tables because they hail from Blackhaven and they’re cousins of mine. The thought of their bloodlines mixing with mine makes my skin crawl with revulsion.
Finally, I make it to Corvis’s table, and I can see his parents pale as they notice the diadem on my head. The weight of the crown feels heavier under their scrutiny. I look at his bloodline, and my breath catches—it’s strong, probably one of the strongest besides my nest. The parchment practically glows with power and ancient heritage.
I hand Thorne my roses. Their combined scents create a heady perfume, and I reach into my pouch. I offer his father my scroll with both hands, palms up, in the traditional gesture of formal petition.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Corvis pale as he realizes I’m choosing him. His silver eyes widen with shock and something deeper—hope, perhaps, or fear. His father’s hands shake like autumn leaves as he unrolls the scroll and examines the bloodline written in black and white before him.
I stand tall with my wings flexed, displaying their impressive span. I still can’t sense Corvis as mine through any mystical bond, but I sure as hell am making a statement to the other females in the room. I glance over at my father and motion for him to join us.
The entire hall falls silent as if someone has muffled all sound. Conversations cease mid-sentence, glasses pause halfway to lips, and even the musicians stumble slightly in their rhythm. I am the firstfemale before the age of twenty-one who has chosen a male, and the significance ripples through the gathered crowd like stones thrown into still water.
“Yes, little one?” Thauglor approaches, trying so hard not to burst out laughing as he watches how nervous Corvis and his family have become. I can see the barely contained mirth dancing in his sapphire eyes.
“I’ve given Jorah my scroll. I am petitioning to be deemed good enough for their progeny.” My face becomes an emotionless mask as I stare between my father and Corvis’s father, letting none of my true feelings show.
“Is my Raven not good enough for your son? We’ve trained him for over twenty years. I deem him strong enough.” Thauglor’s voice carries the weight of absolute authority, and I watch Jorah’s hand tremble as he holds my bloodline scroll.
“I feel we should wait for her to turn twenty-one.” Jorah’s voice wavers like a candle flame in the wind as he avoids making eye contact with me.
I turn my full attention to Corvis and stare at him with laser focus. His silver eyes shift to his dragon’s metallic gaze, and I match him by shifting mine to my dragon’s sapphire vision. I feel a warmth bloom in my chest, and my dragoness falls unusually silent, as if holding her breath.
Slowly, I extend my hand to him, palm up in invitation. The gesture feels loaded with significance, weighted with possibility. His eyes drop to my hand, studying it for a heartbeat, then he takes it with gentle firmness and stands, leading me to the dance floor.
The marble beneath our feet reflects the chandelier light like captured starlight. His hand is warm and slightly calloused from sword work, and I can feel the controlled strength in his grip.
“How do I...?” His hand hovers at my side, uncertain how to hold me with my wings in the way.
I take his hand and guide it to rest just above my right hip, then clasp his other hand in mine. He moves us slowly around the dance floor in silence, our steps creating soft whispers against the marble. I can hear his heart pounding from here, the rapid rhythm betraying his nerves.
“Did one of the twins steal your tongue?” I smile, trying to crack a joke to ease the tension between us.
He shakes his head, looking down at me with those mesmerizing silver eyes. Corvis stands about six feet, maybe six-one, making me feel delicate despite my own considerable height. “I'm just shocked you chose me.”
“Why?” I tilt my head, watching his expression change several times like clouds passing over the sun.
“I thought you saw me as another brother.” He laughs, but there’s vulnerability in the sound. “Then you got upset thinking I had a mate, and then there’s the scent-marking.” He releases my hand and cups my cheek, his palm warm against my skin as he looks into my eyes with intense focus.
Is he going to kiss me?The thought sends heat racing through my veins.
