Page 127 of The Fifth Heir

I had seen hundreds of dragons shift. Camilla transformed during training demonstrations, and the academy grounds regularly filled with students moving between forms. The process was fast, but no two shifts looked exactly alike. Stone dragons seemed to expand from the ground upward. Fire dragons disappeared inside flame. Frost formed beneath the skin before the body changed.

Rafe became wind.

Air rotated around him, lifting his silver-gray shirt and tossing his dark hair across his forehead. His human form blurred inside the current.

Then it expanded.

The change occurred in one complete surge. Wings opened where his arms had been. His spine lengthened, shoulders widening as four clawed feet struck the garden floor. Gunmetal scales covered his body, darkening to charcoal along his back and tail. Silver markings crossed his sides like narrow streaks of lightning.

His wings were smoky gray, the membranes translucent enough for the garden lights to shine through.

They filled most of the clearing when he extended them. Gray deepened to charcoal along the bones, silver traced the outer edges, and the faint white pulse of Storm magic moved beneath the skin.

Rafe folded his wings carefully.

His dragon form was larger than I expected. Not as broad as a full-grown Stone dragon or as heavily muscled as most Fire dragons, but long and built for speed. Two swept-back horns framed his head. Smaller ridges ran from the base of his skull between his shoulders, forming natural handholds.

Silver eyes lowered to meet mine.

My body remembered fear before my mind could reason with it.

I stepped back.

Rafe lowered himself immediately.

His chest settled against the grass. He stretched his forelegs in front of him and turned his head away, making his body less imposing.

The fourth opportunity.

Torren came to stand beside me.

“You can change your mind.”

“I know.”

“No one here will think less of you.”

“Rafe might.”

The dragon released an irritated gust that bent the flowers around his head.

Torren’s mouth twitched. “He won’t.”

I looked at Rafe.

His dragon remained perfectly still. The only movement came from the slow rise and fall of his sides.

Allowing someone onto a dragon’s back was not casual.

Children rode their parents before their first shifts. Injured people were carried during rescues. Among adults, the act usually belonged to family, bonded partners, or people trusted so completely that the dragon accepted vulnerability without question.

There were stories of rulers carried into battle by their sworn protectors, but those bonds were formed over decades.

Rafe and I had known each other for days.

“Why did he offer?” I asked.

Torren looked toward the silver-eyed dragon.