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Tears leaked from Peregrine’s closed eyes, and he pushed with everything he had, but it made no difference. The barrel was too heavy. There was nothing he could do. Bit by bit, the barrel slid back until it found level ground and came to a stop. Too exhausted to get it back into motion and too emotionally drained by the prospect of another day without a meal to dream of, Peregrine crumpled down onto the barrel and allowed himself to silently cry. It was unbecoming, but what did it matter? All the standards he was expected to live up to were pointless. He was the son of a Disgrace, and therefore regarded as a Disgrace as well. He would never be chosen by a dragon.
“There he is, Sebastian,” came a very familiar, very English voice, sealing Peregrine’s fate. A dragon had seen him at his worst, defeated and crying over herring, of all things. Peregrine did not know what happened to Pedigree omegas who disgraced their cloisters to such a severe degree, but whether his suffering was short or prolonged, he was sure he wouldn’t live to see his twentieth year. “Do you see him?” Alistair continued. “Tiny thing, isn’t he? Little more than skin and bones, if you ask me. Don’t you think?”
There was a grunt in reply.
“Do you think they’re starving their omegas? I can hardly believe it. We simply must tell Father.”
Another grunt. This one sounded closer.
“Sebastian?”
There was no grunt this time.
“Sebastian, what are you doing?”
Arms scooped Peregrine up from his resting place on the barrel and lifted him into the air. Peregrine gasped and opened his eyes, but the world was a blur—he was being turned around. When he came to a stop, he was face to face with a dark-eyed Amethyst dragon who made Peregrine’s heart stand still.
“Sebastian!” Alistair chided from a safe distance. “We do not touch the omegas!”
Sebastian stared deep into Peregrine’s eyes, and despite all of his training, Peregrine couldn’t look away. Sebastian was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen.
“Sebastian!”
“What is your name?” Sebastian demanded, paying no attention to the dragon behind him.
“Peregrine.”
“Who is your master?”
“I answer to Mistress Fokje of the Ljouwert cloister, my lord.”
Sebastian grunted, then shifted Peregrine so he was tucked beneath his right arm. With his left, he pushed the barrel up the hill, crouched so his hand was palm-up and flush with the street, then let the massive thing roll onto it. Once it had, he scooped it up like it was nothing and rested it on his shoulder. Peregrine stared up at it with wide eyes and said nothing. He’d known that dragons were strong, but Sebastian had to be the mightiest of them all.
Once the barrel was settled, Sebastian began to make his way up the hill.
“Come,” Sebastian demanded.
“Come?” Alistair squawked. “God’s teeth, Seb! To where?”
“The cloister.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
“What for?” With the way he was being carried, Peregrine couldn’t easily get a good look behind him, but he heard Alistair trailing after them helplessly. “Do not tell me that you’re about to start trouble. Father sent you with me for protection, not so you could go making enemies with other clans and throwing me into harm’s way!”
“I’m not looking to start trouble.”
“Then why are you going to the cloister?”
“Because I’ve found something that belongs to me,” Sebastian rumbled, stirring Peregrine in ways he’d never felt before, “and they need to know I’m taking it.”
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