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Kaelen's eyes burn. "It's the bond."

"It's our side of the bond. She hasn't chosen us. She doesn't even know who we are." I keep my voice level, even though everything inside me is snarling. "And she may not understand any of this. Not the bond. Not what's happening to her body. A woman in her first heat doesn't always know what she's feeling. If she's never been around dragons, she won't know the first thing about mating."

Rhydian nods slowly.

"We can't expect her to wake up and fall into our arms," I go on. "We're going to have to earn her. Her trust. Her affection. We have to give her a reason to want us that has nothing to do with her heat or our scent or whatever her body is telling her to do."

"And if she doesn't want us?" Rhydian asks.

The question sits there in the room like something heavy.

That's the thought that terrifies me more than wolves or armies or assassins. That we've waited all this time, and she might look at the three of us and say no.

"Then she doesn't," I say. "I'd rather live with that than take her choice away from her."

My father didn't care about choices. He found his mate and took her, and he spent the rest of her life making sure she never forgot she belonged to him. I watched what that did to her.

I will never be him. Not even for this. Not even for her.

Kaelen stops pacing. He stares at the fire for a long time.

"Fine," he says at last.

Rhydian nods. "Fine."

Things calm a little after that. Or as much as they can for three men with the scent of their mate in heat filling every corner of the cabin.

Rhydian picks up her boots from where we dropped them and turns them over in his hands. Then her cloak. Then her bag, which is barely larger than a loaf of bread.

"Look at this," he says. "Look at her things."

I already have. Her boots are good leather, but they've been resoled more than once. Her cloak is plain wool, mended at the shoulder with careful stitches. There's nothing in the bag but some food, spare stockings, and a dagger sheath.

"She's a commoner," Rhydian says. "She has to be."

"That doesn't make sense," Kaelen says.

He's right. It doesn't.

Dragon royalty mates with royalty. With the old noble bloodlines. That's how it's always been. We've spent centuries searching through every court in every kingdom. Princesses. Duchesses. Noble daughters paraded in front of us by ambitious fathers. Our dragons barely lifted their heads.

And now here's a woman who looks like she walked straight out of a mountain village, and all three of our beasts are absolutely certain she's the one.

"She must have royal blood somewhere," Rhydian says. "Way back. A lost line, maybe. Someone who hid it."

"Maybe."

I find I don't particularly care. She could be a princess. She could be a seamstress. My dragon would want her exactly the same, and so would I.

What does bother me is how young she looks.

She can't have more than a few decades behind her. To us, that's nothing. A blink. I've likely been ruling my kingdom since before her great grandparents were born. All three of us have.

"Young," I say. "She's so young."

"She's a grown woman. Not even a teen," Rhydian points out.

"She is. But think about how we'll look to her. Our wealth. Our power. Everything we've seen." I shake my head. "We could overwhelm her without even trying. Especially if she's never been near a court in her life."