Because really, what else could he say? That he’d accidentally manifested his romantic fantasy into reality? That the universe had looked at his unpublished novels about fated mates and said, “Here, have three dragon shifters who courted you with gold bars, far too many pastries, and gardens?”
He glanced up. Rux had somehow convinced the others that “Queen B” might reference historical British royalty, and Mabon was now listing every queen whose name started with B.
“There was Queen Beatrice of…”
“Wrong country entirely.”
“What about Queen Boudicca?”
Pat appeared beside their table, arms crossed. “You boys planning to turn in an answer before last call?”
“We’re deliberating,” Urien said with dignity.
“You’ve been deliberating for ten minutes.” Pat’s mustache twitched. “It’s Beyoncé, by the way.”
“We knew that,” all three dragons said in unison.
Sam didn’t bother hiding his laugh this time. Pat winked at him before moving to the next table, where Mrs. Channing and her book club were debating a question about reality television with equal intensity.
Mabon scribbled “Beyoncé” on their answer sheet. “We would have gotten there.”
“Eventually,” Sam agreed, soft enough that only the dragons heard.
Rux’s hand found Sam’s knee under the table, warm and grounding. On Sam’s other side, Mabon shiftedcloser until their shoulders pressed together. Across the booth, Urien caught Sam’s eye and smiled - the private one that made Sam’s chest feel too small for everything he carried there.
Sam’s fingers drifted to the pendant resting against his collarbone. Urien had given it to him the week before - a heart-shaped stone no bigger than his thumbnail, threaded on a delicate gold chain. Not a heart stone like the ones blazing in the dragons’ chests - those couldn’t be removed. But it was close enough.
A dragon tradition, Urien had explained, his voice deep with emotion. For marking Treasures who hadn’t bonded yet but were claimed all the same.
Yet.The word carried weight. Sam wasn’t ready for forever quite yet - but he was ready for the path toward it.
Sam wore it everywhere, including to trivia night at Pat’s Pub, where his three mates were now arguing about whether the next question referred to “that Kardashian woman” or “the other Kardashian woman.”
“There are several,” Mabon said helplessly.
“I’m aware.”
“Then which…”
“I don’t know! You’re the one with flawless memory recall.”
“For things that matter.”
Sam’s phone buzzed again.
Maya:Bring them to karaoke next week. I need to see if they’re as bad at singing as they are at trivia
Sam typed back:They’ll probably try to harmonize in Gaelic or something
Maya:EVEN BETTER
Another buzz:Also did you finish that book? The vampire one? I want to read it
Sam hesitated, his thumb hovering. He’d told Maya he was writing it, but hadn’t told her he’d finished. He definitely hadn’t mentioned the self-publishing research spiral he’d fallen down recently.
Maybe soon, he typed back. Not a lie. Not quite a promise either.
He pocketed his phone and tuned back into the argument, which had somehow evolved into a debate about the cultural significance of reality television. Rux thought it represented modern tribal storytelling. Mabon insisted it was manufactured drama with no artistic merit. Urien just wanted to know if the Kardashians were related to the royal family.
