Malachi froze. I did, too. My lips tingled with a kiss that had not happened. I hated that I wanted to know what he tasted like. Fire, probably. Bad decisions.
"Are you about to kiss me because you want me?" I asked softly. "Or because you think it proves I'm yours?"
His eyes searched mine. For once, the dragon lord had no answer. Then he said rough and honest, "I do not know."
Damn him. [clears throat] That was the first answer I actually believed.
I stepped back. The loss of his heat felt like walking out of sunlight. "Then not yet."
His hand dropped. The muscle in his jaw jumped once, but he did not touch me again. He looked furious. Not at me, at himself. Good. Maybe there was hope for the beast after all.
"How does a husband earn not yet?" he asked.
I blinked. Of all the things he could have said, that one almost knocked me sideways.
"You court me."
His expression went blank. Moses looked toward the ceiling like he was praying for strength. Derek muttered, "Lord help us."
Malachi frowned. "Explain courting."
I stared at him. "You're 37."
"I am older than that."
"Of course you are. Even worse."
"What does courting require?"
"Listening, asking, not threatening to remove lungs every 5 minutes, maybe dinner."
"I can provide dinner."
"Cooked dinner."
His brows drew together. "Obviously."
"I don't know what's obvious here anymore."
A knock struck the furnace door before Malachi could answer. Julius entered with a face like bad news in expensive robes. He bowed to Malachi, then to me.
"My lord, my queen."
"Please do not call me that when I'm sweating through my bra," I said.
Julius paused. "Noted."
Malachi turned. "Speak."
"The council has received a petition from six houses," Julius said. "Sheba leads it."
The furnace seemed to tighten around us. I already knew I wasn't going to like this.
"What kind of petition?" I asked.
Julius looked at Malachi first.
I snapped my fingers. "No, term five. Truth."
[snorts] Malachi's gaze came back to mine. For a second, he looked like he wanted to argue. Then he gave Julius one sharp nod.
Julius exhaled. "They are demanding your presentation before the clans. A formal test of worth before the final oath."
Derek cursed. Moses went still. Malachi's eyes lit white at the edges.
"Denied."
"No," I said.
Every man in the room looked at me. I was tired, terrified, hungry. My hand still ached from magical jewelry, and my life had turned into a dragon political hostage situation before I'd had breakfast. But I knew one thing. If people were already deciding whether I was worthy, hiding would only make them louder.
"No more decisions over my head," I said. "If they want to see me, they can see me."
Malachi's voice dropped. "They will try to break you."
I looked at the ring on my finger, then at the furnace behind me.
"Then Moses keeps teaching me. My bakery gets protected. My people stay safe. And you—" [snorts] I pointed at Malachi "—you start learning how to court a woman who didn't ask for any of this."
His gaze held mine. Long, hot, dangerous. Then he bowed his head. Not to the room, to me.
"Agreed."
The ring pulsed once, bright and warm. Julius watched it with sudden sharp interest, I noticed. So did Malachi.
"What?" I asked.
Julius's mouth tightened. "The ring," he said slowly, "It should not have answered that vow."
Sheba's point of view
The flowers were the first insult. They choked the eastern hall of Malrek's aerie in vulgar abundance, spilling over black stone, crowding the gold-veined floor, hanging from balconies like some desperate human mating display. Roses, orchids, sunflowers, soft little mortal things cut at the stem and arranged to die beautifully.
For her, for the baker.
I stepped through them with six houses behind me and did not let my face move. That was the first lesson of court. Rage belonged behind the teeth. The second was simpler. If you must bleed, make someone else do it first.
Malrek stood at the center of the floral mess, tall and severe. His long dark hair loose around his shoulders, gold eyes lit with warning. Beside him stood Belinda. Dark skin, long braids, black sweater, human spine held straight as a spear. And in her hand was a dragon steel dagger.
My gaze caught on it before I could stop myself. A courtship gift, a weapon from his own armory balanced for her hand. He had not merely hidden the human in a locked room. He had armed her. Interesting. Infuriating. Dangerous.
Belinda looked at me like she was tired and underfed and very close to saying something rude. She did not bow. She did not lower her eyes. She stood near Malrek as if proximity to him did not terrify her. As if she had not tripped into a crown by accepting a coin she did not understand. The ring on her finger glowed softly.
My stomach tightened.
For seven years the court had known where I belonged. Not because Malrek had promised. Malrek did not promise. He conquered, commanded, burned, and endured ceremonies with the expression of a man considering murder, but power had its own language, and I had spoken it fluently. Ember House was old, rich, necessary. Our fire line stretched back before the first human cities learned to stack stone.
My father had given Malric soldiers when Red Throat rebelled. I had hosted emissaries when Malric refused to flatter them. I had stood near his chair at council, accepted the whispers, endured the measuring looks from elders who weighed my womb like a treaty.