I’m in the strategy chamber with Alerie, reviewing reports from the lower districts, when my steward appears with a message bearing Kaelreth’s seal. The senior dragon wants an audience. Immediately. The phrasing is polite; the implication is not.
“He’s going to challenge you.” Alerie doesn’t look up from the supply manifest she’s annotating. Her handwriting has appeared throughout my stronghold over the past day—notes on documents, adjustments to patrol schedules, observations about the defense grid that are embarrassingly more insightful than my own. “Politically, at least.”
“He’s going to try.” I break the seal, scan the contents. Standard diplomatic language wrapped around thinly veiled demands. “He wants explanations. Justifications. Assurances that my judgment hasn’t been compromised.”
“Has it?”
I cross the room to where she sits, place my hands on the arms of her chair, and lean down until my face is inches from hers. “My judgment is the clearest it’s been in three hundred years.”
Her breath catches. I can see the pulse jumping in her throat, can feel the heat rising from her skin. Even now, even after everything, she responds to my proximity with an intensity that satisfies the dragon in ways I don’t have words for.
“Then go.” She lifts her chin, meets my gaze without flinching. “Show him what clarity looks like.”
I kiss her because I want to. Because I can. Because the dragon has decided that every moment not spent touching her is a moment wasted, and for once, I agree with my baser instincts.
The kiss is brief but thorough—a claiming that has nothing to do with dominance and everything to do with the simple pleasure of her mouth under mine.
“Come with me.” The decision arrives before I’ve finished making it.
Her eyebrows rise. “To a political meeting with a dragon who fundamentally distrusts my existence?”
“Yes.”
“You want me there while you negotiate with Kaelreth?”
“I want you there.” I straighten, offering my hand. “Beside me. Where you belong.”
She takes my hand. Rises. Smooths the borrowed clothes she’s wearing—we’ll need to address her wardrobe soon, find her garments appropriate for her new position rather than the practical items she’s been making do with. Another small way to mark her as mine. Another statement the Flight will have to accept.
“Then let’s not keep the traditionalist waiting.”
THIRTY-FOUR
IZAN
The Cinder Throne Hall is less crowded than I expected.
Kaelreth waits near the throne itself—a calculated position, placing himself adjacent to the seat of power without claiming it outright. He’s flanked by two lesser dragons I recognize from council sessions, their presence meant to suggest support without directly threatening confrontation.
Seravax stands apart from the group, as he always does. He notes Alerie at my side, notes our joined hands, notes the way I’ve positioned myself between her and the other dragons. I can almost see him filing the observations away for later analysis.
“Enforcer.” Kaelreth’s voice carries across the hall with deliberate formality. “You mated. A witch. Without council approval.”
“Yes.” I don’t release Alerie’s hand. Don’t step away from her. Don’t give an inch of ground that might be interpreted as shame or concealment. “The Flight can accept that or not. The reality doesn’t change.”
Kaelreth’s gaze shifts to Alerie. I feel the dragon in me rise with warning heat.
“You presume to speak in council?”
“I presume to speak where my mate stands.” She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back down. “If that’s council, then yes. If you have objections to my presence, take them up with him.”
The lesser dragons shift uneasily. This isn’t how witches are supposed to address the Cinder Flight. This isn’t howanyoneis supposed to address senior council members.
But Alerie isn’t anyone. She’s mine.
“She speaks for both of us.” I let my fire rise, enough to heat the air around us. “Her voice carries my authority. Her words carry my weight. If that’s difficult for you to accept, Kaelreth, I suggest you take whatever time you need to adjust. Because this arrangement isn’t changing.”
The senior dragon stares at me for a long moment. Finally, he inclines his head. Not submission—Kaelreth would never submit, not fully—but acknowledgment. Recognition that this battle, at least, has been lost.
