I don’t give anyone time to question my decision and start walking toward the upper launch field. Lily and Thorne are already circling overhead, their smaller forms dark against thebright sky. Orpheus’s mate is in a holding pattern with my sisters, the three dragons flying in formation.
Reaching the upper field, I shift without warning. My enormous skull dragoness explodes into existence with a sound like thunder, and the ground trembles beneath my massive weight. None of the dragons in my flight are even close to my size—some even scatter in alarm seeing me in my full glory for the first time. The white, bone-like coloring of my face must be shocking up close.
The minute my mates are settled securely on my back—Hemlocke, Keir, and Finlay finding their positions behind my horn ridge—I launch into the air with powerful beats of my massive wings. I roar, summoning all of my flight that wish to attend the gathering.
The sound splits the sky, primal and commanding. Forty dragons answer my call, including Corvus in his silver dragon form. They fall into formation behind me, creating an impressive aerial procession.
It’s only eight leagues to my birth flight, but it feels like it’s going to take forever. Each wing beat carries us closer to potential conflict, and my muscles are tense with anticipation.
By the looks of it, my parents widened the landing field significantly to accommodate the increased numbers for this year. The massive expanse of cleared ground speaks to how many dragons they’re expecting.
When we’re close enough, I roar to announce my flight’s arrival. I deepen the tone and hold it longer than usual—a formal greeting that carries respect and warning in equal measure.
The answering bellow of my dad’s skull dragon nearly makes me smile despite my nerves. The sound resonates in my chest, familiar and comforting. I roar back at him again in acknowledgment and glide until I land on the mountain ledge beside him.
We bump the flat bone plates on our heads against each other in a traditional greeting. The contact sounds like boulders colliding—a deep, resonating crack that echoes across the mountainside.
Dad launches first, and I follow him down to the landing field. We circle twice in synchronized flight before coming in for landing. I can feel the moment Keir blinks off my back with my other two mates—that distinctive pop of displaced air.
I spot three of my mates off to the side as I stand shoulder to shoulder with my father, Thauglor, presenting a united front. I am almost an exact copy of him, except my curved horns are similar to silver ram’s horns, where his are the same shape but black as night. I search the assembled crowd, still not seeing where Corvus is.
“She’s almost her father’s size,” I hear Klauth say as he looks up at me with obvious pride. I turn my massive head to look at him, and he’s right—I’m almost eye level with Dad now. It still irks me that Klauth can’t publicly claim me as his birth daughter because chimeras shouldn’t exist according to dragon law.
“Which one is the heir apparent?” King Magnus sounds concerned as he looks between me and Thauglor, clearly unable to tell us apart at this size.
“The one with the large red scale on her foreleg,” Mom says in a tone that makes it abundantly clear she thinks he’s an idiot. “Shift back, Raven. Corvus has already been challenged.”
No sooner do the words leave Mom’s lips than I shift back to human form and move immediately to Keir and Hemlocke. They help me gear up with practiced efficiency—buckling straps, checking blade placements, securing armor plates. There is absolutely no way I am letting Corvus fight dozens of males on my behalf alone.
“Why is she in battle leathers?” I hear Magnus ask with obvious disapproval.
“We don’t raise defenseless females in our territory,” Dad says firmly as he moves closer to adjust the straps near my wings with experienced hands. He gives me a pat on my shoulder—solid and reassuring—and I take off running toward steel hitting steel.
When I reach the fighting ring, there are at least three dozen males standing around watching Corvus fight. My heart sinks thinking about what my mate is enduring for my sake. Balor and Ziggy are overseeing the fights; their presence ensures fairness.
“He’s on fight number four already,” Balor says before kissing my temple with paternal affection.
“Are they all here for me?” I ask as Ziggy steps behind me and starts braiding my hair back with quick, efficient movements—keeping it out of my face for potential combat.
“Yeah. North, West, and Southern continents have all offered males for you,” Balor confirms as Corvus disarms another male with a brilliant feint, ending the fight. “He’s not slowing yet, so I’d let him fight as long as he’s able. It’s the lead drake’s right to battle to protect its nest. I’m just glad that Klauth ruled against dragon versus dragon combat—otherwise, this would be a bloodbath.”
I nod, listening as Corvus walks to the edge of the ring to grab a bite of food and a quick sip of water. Sweat gleams on his skin, and there are already bruises forming on his ribs.
My heart hurts seeing him having to fight like this—proving his worth, defending his position, protecting me.
“Raven, you have a phoenix feather in your hair,” Ziggy whispers to me with obvious surprise.
“I know. Fin gave it to me.” I smile, reaching up to touch the feather gently, feeling the warmth still radiating from it.
Then I turn back to watch the battles, counting how many males are still waiting their turn and calculating how long Corvus can realistically hold out before exhaustion becomes dangerous.
By late afternoon—almosttwenty grueling fights later—Corvus is showing undeniable signs of fatigue. His movements are slower, less precise. Sweat drips from his silver hair, and I can see him favoring his left side where someone landed a solid hit to his ribs.
“As heir apparent and dominant dragoness, I claim the right of Dominium,” I announce, my voice ringing clearly across the assembled crowd.
Everyone falls silent and stares at me. The shock is palpable—you could hear a pin drop in the sudden quiet. The kings from the other three continents look at Klauth with obvious concern, wondering if he will actually allow this unprecedented move.
“The ancient right of Dominium states that the head of the household—” Klauth motions to me deliberately, making it clear he acknowledges my authority “—has the right to defend family or property as an extension of oneself.” His crimson-flecked amber eyes meet mine with serious intent. “You understand that by invoking the right of Dominium, you are taking the burden of fighting all the remaining suitors yourself?”
