Page 119 of Feralheart

“Rider Eradin is cleared to compete,” the man said with a sigh.

Outrage rolled through the stands like thunder. Nobles stomped their feet and shook their fists in the air.

The commons section had remained silent through the debate. At the announcement, scattered applause broke out, quickly hushed by those smart enough to know celebrating would be remembered later.

Reece gave me a nod.

Lyndie’s mouth quivered as if she was holding back another smile, maybe a real one this time.

Kerrel’s face turned an even darker shade of green.

Selira breathed out a puff of cinnamon-scented smoke that coiled around me before drifting off into the sky.

I’d just broken one of the supports the elite had built their power on, and I’d done it using their own rules.

The official gestured. “Mount your dragons.”

None of the riders moved, though their eyes followed me. They expected Selira to eat me, and frankly, I wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t decide she should. I bit down hard on my lower lip to hold myself together and turned toward her.

The crowd expected violence. Wild dragons decimated everything in their path. That’s what they’d been taught. What they believed in their souls. It was their justification for the hunts other than the slick glee they took from the sport.

Selira lowered herself to the sand, extending the wing on my side to make it easier for me to climb onto her back. A choice she was making, visible for everyone to see.

Satisfaction hummed through the bond. She was enjoying showing them what they’d convinced themselves couldn’t exist.

I placed my hand on her wing talon, and heat flooded through my palm, warm and welcome.

Mine. Ours. Let them watch.

No saddle or rune-marked reins. Just me and a wild dragon whose scales had never been polished for display.

I’d survived the first trials by being feral and lucky. I’d bonded with a wild dragon in a cave behind a waterfall. I’d broken their rules using paperwork. But now I had to fly in front of thousands, on a dragon I’d ridden exactly once, in private, where no one could see me fall.

The fear wasn’t that I’d die. The fear was that I’d fail—publicly, spectacularly—and prove them all right.

I touched the thumbnail-sized scale through my tunic. Still warm.

Selira’s certainty flooded back through our bond, a bone-deep knowledge that we’d chosen each other and that was enough.

My hands steadied.

I scrambled up her side. My boot slipped off her leg scales twice. Smooth, they offered almost nothing to grip. I had to hook my elbow over her wing joint, hanging ungracefully until I found footing.

I pressed my face against scales that smelled like mountain air.

Let them watch a commons who didn’t know what she was doing claim a wild dragon anyway.

Selira’s amusement rippled through the bond. She could’ve made this easier by shifting her weight or lowering her shoulder more, but she understood that I was showing them we chose this, mess and all.

When I finally settled on her spine, I risked a glance across the arena.

Fenian’s hands had gone white on his reins. He stared at me with a mix of horror and fascination.

I wasn’t sure if he was worried I’d fall or worried I wouldn’t.

The other riders mounted with stirrups and grace and years of practice while I’d fought my way onto Selira’s back.

Silence pressed down, everyone holding their breath, waiting for her to throw me. Burn me. Then ravage through those sitting on the lowest benches.