My mind empties completely. The carefully constructed words Nyssa drilled into me vanish like smoke. “Shit,” I breathe. “I, uh... one second.”
“By all means,” Dayn replies dryly.
I can hear Byzu and Arrynth snickering around us.
“Blessed by sun fire,” Nyssa hisses somewhere behind me.
Right.
“Blessed by sun fire, I welcome you into my body and my heart,” I tell Dayn, fighting a gag reflex with every syllable. “I take you as my husband, my partner, my warrior of light. I vow loyalty, love, and everlasting companionship. As fire consumes all, melting and destroying, so will I defend our union. May my womb bear fruit. May my heart remain true. May our love transcend earth and sky: the fire that never dies.”
“The fire that never dies,” Dayn echoes, sliding a delicate gold band onto my index finger.
His hand covers mine, skin glowing with internal heat. Pain lances through my finger as the metal softens, flowing like liquid around my skin. When he finally pulls away, I stare at what remains.
The ring hasn't just been placed—it's been melded into me, dragon magic and spellwork fusing gold with flesh.
“What the hell,”I hiss. Of course dragons would never settle for simple wedding bands. No, they need stylish mutilation.
“Blessed by sun fire, I take you in my body and my soul,” Dayn intones, his masculine version of the vow resonating through the chamber. “I claim your heart and your flesh, sworn to loyalty, love, and everlasting companionship. I am your guardian, your mate, your protector. While my wings extend, you shall dwell in light and bliss. If you fall, I will catch you. If you falter, I will stand beside you. United, our strength multiplies. We become one. We become eternal. Together, we embody the fire that never dies.”
“The fire that never dies,” I echo hoarsely.
I gingerly slide the gold band onto his finger and Nyssa helps me complete the ritual. Dayn inhales but maintains his composure, eyes narrowed fractionally while the gold liquefies around his finger, flowing into the very lines of his flesh until metal and man become one.
My finger still throbs where my ring has fused with my skin.What other ancient dragon magic have I just unwittingly bound myself to? What if these rings are more than decorative mutilation? What if they're, like, tracking devices, or worse?
“By all gods, ancient and new,” King Bemmar proclaims, words slicing through my racing thoughts, “I pronounce you husband and wife. May light fill your days and hatchlings your home. May sunlight dance in your eyes and clear skies guide your path.”
The irony of that last part escapes no one in the ceremony hall. But at least the vow part is over. Now we just need to survive the feast and its parade of insincere well-wishers.
“You may kiss your bride,” Bemmar adds.
My stomach drops. This part had somehow slipped my mind.
“I'd rather not,” I blurt out.
Dayn's arms encircle my waist before I can step back. The world freezes around us. My muscles go slack. Some traitorous part of me doesn't want to resist.Just another performance in this charade,I tell myself.Meaningless. Necessary.
His eyes capture mine: molten gold ringed with fire.
My skin prickles with heat that radiates from where his fingertips press into my lower back. Then his mouth finds mine, fierce and claiming, and a wildfire ignites between us. My heart hammers like it’s trying to break free. The taste of his tongue is sunlight and sin, too alive, too much. Something molten pools low in my belly. His teeth graze my bottom lip, and I have to stifle the embarrassing sound threatening to escape my throat. It feels right when it shouldn’t—and I can’t fight it. I can’t step back. My body won’t let me.
My fingers find their way to his chest, then slide up to his neck of their own accord, my nails digging into his skin.
I need this to last forever. This snippet. This fleeting moment when the entire world has disappeared. There are no darkbloods and clearbloods, no dragons, no wars and no bloodlust. There is only me and him, stripped of our titles and our histories. Pure. Burning.
“Long live Daynthazar and Esme of House Draxion!” Anees declares.
Dayn pulls back, and the savage roar of reality slams into me as all the dragons in the ceremony hall rise with applause and moderate cheers. But his eyes give him away. The hesitation. The hunger. The pulse of something he’s fighting to bury. A faint sheen of sweat glistens at his temple, and he drags in a sharp breath that feels too human for him.
“Find an escape route, Dayn,” I manage to breathe. “This will not end in hatchlings.”
“Already on it,” he replies.
He said that before I found myself in a wedding gown. His words might as well be smoke.
Colonel Rogon approaches us, his grimace barely pretending to be a smile. “Never imagined I'd witness such a spectacle.”
