“Ignore his manners, Esme. He’s all bark, no bite where family is concerned,” Anees cuts in with a wry smile, attempting to defuse the crackling tension. He gestures to the young man who had snorted, a dragon who looks years younger than the others, his features still holding a trace of youthful petulance. “And this is Arrynth, our baby brother.”
“I haven’t been a baby in a very long time,” the youngest dragon says, his voice holding a defiant edge.
Unlike Byzu’s calculated charm, Arrynth strikes me as less restrained. His eyes glow with a raw, eager interest as he looks at me, almost unafraid of what Dayn’s reaction might be. I can’t tell ifit’s genuine interest or merely the desire to piss his older brother off, but either way I make a note: avoid.
Ironically, being closest to the devil I know feels like the safest option at this table, at the moment.
“Now that the introductions have been made,” Lord Bemmar cuts in, his voice like grinding stone. His contemptuous gaze settles on Dayn. “I’d love to hear how you ended up consorting with a darkblood, my son. And a Salem, at that.”
Right. Because the Salems don’t have the prettiest history where dragons are concerned. The Blood Wars. The Great Purge. The near-extinction of their kind, with my ancestors leading the charge. We weren’t saints, but we had reasons.
Every pair of golden eyes at this table is now fixed on me, heavy with the memory of centuries-old hatred. And Dayn’s hand is still on mine, a brand marking me as his problem.
“Esme is the reason I was able to return,” Dayn says, his voice low. “I already told you that.”
Lord Bemmar slams his fist on the table, making the silver platters jump. “No! I need the details. I need to understand why her blood is in your veins. You reek. The future king of Draethys reeks of darkblood.”
My breath catches.Her blood is in your veins.The ritual. The exchange. I gave him mine, he gave me his. It was a two-way street I’d almost forgotten in the chaos.
Arrynth subtly inhales, head tilted slightly. “Father is right. There is something… peculiar about her.”
“It was part of the ritual for my release,” Dayn reminds them sharply. “We’ve been over this. There is no cause for concern. It will wear off, eventually.”
Why don’t I believe him? Because nothing Dayn ever says is the full, naked truth. There’s always a “but” or an “unless” that twists the context away from any scenario that might be beneficial to me.
I steal another glance at Nyssa, if only for a smidge of comfort. She’s still by the door, watching quietly but with renewed interest.
Arrynth rises suddenly, drifting toward me with predatory grace. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply near my neck. “Wait. There'ssomething else beneath the surface...” His golden eyes widen. “Gods above.”
“What?” Byzu abandons his seat and circles me like a shark scenting blood. He leans in, his breath hot against my scalp. “Impossible.”
Anees stretches across the table, pupils dilating as he draws in my scent. His face transforms from curiosity to horror in an instant. “Daynthazar,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Tell me you didn't?—”
Lord Bemmar's massive frame goes utterly still. When his gaze locks on mine, something ancient and terrible passes behind his eyes. The silence that follows weighs more than stone.
“Enough.” Dayn's voice cuts through the room like a blade. “Back to your places. Now.” His brothers retreat as if physically pushed. “She consumed my blood. That's all.”
They had no idea. Dayn kept it a secret, it seems. I wonder why, but something tells me their reaction should be the only answer I need. It must be taboo in dragon society. Or maybe there are worse repercussions from the exchange.Repercussions that Dayn may have failed to mention before I agreed to do it.
Lord Bemmar rises from his throne-like chair, his movements slow and deliberate, each one radiating a fury so potent it feels like a physical heat. “That is not ‘all,’ Daynthazar. That is an abomination. You let a Salem… a darkblood… drink from you?”
“I had to,” Dayn insists, his own voice tight with a control that feels close to snapping. “There was no other way.”
I clear my throat. “If we're discussing the blood ritual, I can probably echo what your son has told you.” My voice sounds small in this cavernous room, where the air itself seems to press against my skin with the weight of their collective disdain. I straighten my spine. “Neither of us exactly had a wealth of options. Our survival was paramount in those circumstances.”
“A Salem’s survival is the last thing that should be paramount in any circumstance,” Lord Bemmar snaps.
“That’s just hurtful,” I mockingly retort, unable to hold it in anymore. It’s bad enough I’m hooked on a certain dragon’s blood and that my literal survival depends on staying close to the guywhen all I want to do is rip his head off. There’s only so much gratuitous vitriol that I can take on top of that.
“Well, it’s done!” Dayn raises his voice, the sound cracking through the chamber like a whip. “It was either that or I’d still be stuck in Heathborne while the clearbloods syphoned my essence for their weapons against the darkbloods.”
The table shudders as Lord Bemmar's fist crashes down again. My breath catches in my throat, heart slamming against my ribs. Around us, the brothers freeze mid-motion while servants retreat into shadows.
“Blood bonding with a Salem?” Lord Bemmar's voice drops to a venomous whisper, golden eyes narrowed to slits. “Have you lost your mind, Daynthazar?”
Dayn's jaw tightens. “I understood the consequences. There was no alternative.”
“What consequences?” The words slip from my lips, barely audible.
