Holy hellfires. How could he stand the cauldron of raw, biting emotion that boiled within him under the surface where none could see?
Except her. Now. In this moment when she’d pledged herself to another man.
In desperation, Meira focused on Gorgon. On his steady presence and his more muted emotions, hardly a whisper reaching out to her. Satisfaction and a kind sort of liking for her.
Interpreting her gasp as meant for him, Gorgon smiled. Shakily, she managed to smile back. She didn’t dare glance again at the man at the back of the room.
Your mate. Focus on your future with this good man.
What came next? Another dragon might choose this point in the ceremony to consummate their vows, both through sex and by pushing his fire into his mate, creating a made dragon for all to see, doing the deed right there in front of all and the gods to witness. Gorgon had chosen, instead, to take her to his private suite for that part. Thank heavens.
Meira hid a shadow of her fears for the next part behind a serene mask. At least, she hoped she appeared serene. Not the sex, but the possible results. When mating humans, the woman risked burning in the male dragon’s fire. However, when mating a phoenix, the dragon shifter was the one in danger if she didn’t choose him with all her heart.
Theirs was a political alignment. Hearts were secondary. She had chosen this path, this man, and she intended to put everything she had into that choice.
Gorgon must’ve caught her thoughts in her expression, because he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Time to find out if I survive you, little firebird.”
A snort of a laugh sounded in the back of the hall, no doubt one of the wolf shifters, who had better hearing than dragons, though not by much.
Meira anchored her own chaotic emotions to his steadiness. She was horribly aware of the expectations of the people watching, but she could project outward confidence when she wanted. Put on that mask, even if she found it exhausting. As a queen, she suspected she’d have to get used to wearing that mask often.
She managed to chuckle at the ironic tone in Gorgon’s voice. “Nervous?” She cocked her head playfully but answered in an equally low voice. “I didn’t expect that of you, my king.”
Gorgon’s gaze glittered as though he were pleased with her response. “I’ve been a king for almost a millennium and you are the only thing that has ever scared me.”
Feeling emboldened by his gentle teasing, Meira patted his hand. “Don’t worry. Maul will protect you.”
A few chuckles arose now from the dragon shifters seated closest.
“Not you?”
“I’ll probably be busy cowering.” She wasn’t kidding, but he laughed like she was.
“Then I guess I’ll have to do the protecting.” He pulled her hand through the crook of his arm to escort her. “Are you ready?”
Was she ready for cheers and knowing looks to follow them down the aisle as Gorgon led Meira to the chamber where they would complete the final binding act? Not really, but she pasted what she hoped was bridal pleasure onto her face. Very deliberately, she kept her gaze away from Samael.
While she and Gorgon took this final step, everyone else in attendance would gather in the training arena, which had been transformed into a glittering ballroom where a massive feast would be provided. Once they mated, Meira and Gorgon would change into second outfits, again matching, and join the revelries as a fully mated couple.
They took one step, then a fizzing sound, like a TV set on a station of snow, cut her off, filling the chamber, louder and louder until many of the shifters around her covered their more sensitive ears.
Then, as quickly as it started, the sound ceased, leaving the gaping hole of silence in its wake. In the same instant, tiny flames appeared in the reflection of every mirror in the room, a single flame in each. In her mirrors. The ones she controlled. Deep red in color, the flames flickered and danced, glowing red embers jumping out of the mirrors and drifting to the ground to bounce across the stone flooring.
Behind her, Maul growled, the sound so menacing the hairs on her arms stood up.
“This is your High King.” The words rang out clearly, as though the speaker were standing in the room before them.
Why does his voice sound like it’s in stereo?
The thought passed through her mind just as her gaze skittered to Samael, still standing at the massive double doors on the other side of the room. Emotions pummeled her from every corner—even Gorgon’s grim concern pressed into her, chaos in her head. All except Samael. A point of calm inside the room. Calm she reached for, clung to. An oasis.
Then he pointed to the mirrors and, looking back at her, made a slashing motion across his throat.
Of course, Pytheios was using her magic. With a gasp, Meira doused her flames, and the reflections from within the gold and black strongholds disappeared, leaving only the silvery refractive surfaces of the mirrors…but the flames remained.
All around the room, hushed whispers spread like wildfire, along with a stinging fear she couldn’t entirely block. She caught a few of the comments. Most wondering how Pytheios was doing this at all.
“He has a witch,” the whispers said.
“No witch is that powerful,” came some of the replies.
“Our queen killed his witch,” others within the Blue Clan insisted.
Suspicion filled the gazes of many turning toward Skylar, who had come back from the Red Clan’s stronghold
