Finally, the dragon went quiet. Sleep claimed me with greedy hands.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I stirred and found myself tangled in Taron’s arms. Realization struck as fast as lightning in a thunderstorm, and I blinked up at the ceiling in stunned silence.I slept. With him. And lived to tell about it.
Even more shocking? So had he. Taron was just beginning to stir, disoriented but warm against me. For a moment, we merely breathed together. When I forced myself to sit up, I noticed the marks on his neck and cheek. The one left by my blood when we first met. Days ago, but also a lifetime. It glowed brighter than usual, with a subtle pulse that echoed in my bones.
I frowned. So what didthatmean? And why did I want to touch the spots more than I wanted to breathe?
Not reaching out physically hurt.
Beside me, he groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “We better get up before I do something we’ll both regret.”
Regret.The word hit, a slap made of ice, waking the dragon.Burn him!
My heart thundering, I shot out of bed as if a catapult had launched me. I couldn’t stay cooped up in the palace with him. I’d cave and touch him.
“I’ll, um, return in an hour,” I called over my shoulder. “Busy day. Be ready.” I didn’t wait for a response.
A cold guestroom became my temporary sanctuary, where I scrubbed the scent of Taron from my skin, a woman possessed. I didn’t have the luxury to unravel what our accidental nap actually meant, or why I’d felt safer in his arms than I had in centuries.
Instead, I threw myself into damage control. From outside the window, I heard the snap of banners in thebreeze, vendors hawking their wares and the clang of toy swords. The Firebound Festival.
The perfect distraction. If I couldn’t kill the heat between us, I could at least engross us both with a full-blown cultural spectacle. An authentic, tradition-drenched, festival-of-flames-style dragon ceremony the professor of ancient dragon lore might enjoy.
A subtle thank you? Not remotely. Effective? Hopefully.
Meanwhile, the dragon inside me grew louder. Needier. Its commands sharpened, seething just beneath my skin. I locked the beast down, again and again, one breath after another.
By the time I returned to my chambers, Taron stood dressed and calm on the surface, but tension tightened his jaw and shadows darkened his face. The much-needed rest we’d shared was wiped away.
We didn’t speak as I led him through the palace’s gilded halls and out into the open courtyard, where my people had transformed the space into a glittering homage to dragonkind. Fire braziers were lit, dancers rehearsing and a feast already beginning to sizzle. Low, sultry music drifted on the air, with drums that mimicked the quickened staccato of a dragon’s heartbeat.
“This is the Firebound Festival you discussed yesterday?” he asked, not even trying to mask his awe.
“Ja. A peek into the past.” Commander Granger had indeed tripled the number of guards. They marched here, there, everywhere, on alert.
The scent of honeycakes, emberbread and hearty cinderpot stew teased my nose. We sidestepped several children of the workers in the palace as they raced about, smiles ear to ear. Rows of brightly colored booths encircled the courtyard. A clothier, with gorgeous scarves in everycolor imaginable, a blacksmith hammering a trinket from molten metal and beneath an awning shaped like a dragon’s claw, worked a calligrapher.
I guided Taron beyond a display of ceremonial armor, toward a row of people dressed as dragon champions and villains throughout the ages, each person calling out battle facts whenever we paused before them.
Taron tilted his head, studying a particularly gruesome weapon used by the shifter king who ruled before Lorik. “I have this,” he said. “The real one.”
“Because of course you do,” I deadpanned.
He grinned, irises gleaming with genuine enthusiasm. “You’re walking me through a living museum. This is a scholar’s dream.”
A quiet satisfaction warmed me. Iknewhow much he’d enjoy the festival. And that I was learning his moods so surely… well, that was tomorrow’s problem. I hated how much I liked his smile. I hated more how each time he flashed it my direction, the dragon inside me writhed.
Test him. He’s marked. If he survives, he’s mine. If he doesn’t, he was never yours.
It was the most the dragon had spoken in eons, and I had to grit my teeth against the pictures painted. One steeped in dreams come true, the other a certain nightmare.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a boy struggling to wrangle a runaway goat that had wandered into the edge of the festival prep. His little arms flailed as the goat gleefully knocked over a table, scattering bowls of corn, oats and barley.
“Excuse me,” I murmured before striding over.
The goat sensed my approach and went still mid-prance, spitting out a mouthful of grains. I crouched beside the boy and brushed a lock of hair from his brow.
“Your will must be stronger than the animal’s,” I told him gently. “But next time, maybe don’t walk him past a buffet of his favorite snacks. Hungry goats are a menace.”
