This time she did smile, small, tired, devastating.
Later in my chambers, she stood at the threshold and looked at the carved black bed, the white fire hearth, the weapons mounted along one wall.
"Of course your bedroom looks like a war room had sex with a castle," she said.
"It is comfortable."
"It looks like people confess crimes in here."
"Some have."
She turned slowly toward me. "Do I want to know?"
"No."
"Great."
I ordered servants to bring a wide cushioned lounge near the hearth. Belinda watched them pile it with blankets, then claimed it with the stubborn dignity of a queen claiming land after battle. I remained near the door, giving her space. The distance felt like punishment. It also felt necessary.
A knock came before either of us could speak again. Julius entered with a scroll in hand and irritation in every line of his face.
"My lord," he said, "the council has confirmed tomorrow night's formal clan dinner."
Belinda groaned from the lounge. "Of course they have."
Julius glanced at her. "All major houses will attend, including Ember house."
Sheba. My fire stirred.
Belinda sat up, blankets gathered around her shoulders. "Tell me something, Julius. Does dragon dinner require me to bring a casserole or a weapon?"
Julius looked at me. I looked at Belinda.
"Both," I said.
Her eyes narrowed. "I hate that you're serious."
Outside my windows, the aerie shifted under moonlight and distant wings. Inside my room, Belinda held her dagger closer.
Belinda's point of view
Dragon dinner, I quickly learned, was not dinner. Dinner was food, chairs, maybe one auntie asking why you were still single. This was political warfare with roasted meat.
Malachi's formal dining hall was carved into the side of the mountain, all black stone, gold veins, and open fire pits burning without smoke. Long tables curved around the room like claws. Every clan had its place. Every chair apparently meant something. Every cup looked expensive enough to pay my bakery rent for 6 months.
I walked in beside Malachi with a dagger strapped to my thigh and my stomach trying to exit my body. Sheba was already there. Of course she was. She stood near Malachi's chair like she had grown from the shadow of it, dressed in deep red silk, her dark skin glowing under the firelight, gold rings stacked on every finger. People leaned toward her when she spoke. Lords greeted her first. Ladies touched her arm like they were receiving blessings. This was not some jealous woman throwing a tantrum. This was power in a dress.
And she wanted me gone.
Malrek's hand hovered near my lower back, not touching until I gave him a look. He dropped it. Progress. Small, cranky progress.
Julius appeared at my side and murmured, "Do not accept blood from anyone. Do not swear on flame. If someone asks to see your ring, do not remove it."
I stared at him. Was I going to do any of that?
"You are human. I prepare for disaster."
"Comforting."
Malrek pulled out my chair. The entire hall watched. I sat because my knees had no business being dramatic in public.
The first course arrived. It was meat. I mean, technically. It was a whole roasted animal with too many legs and a face I wished had been removed before presentation. Beside it sat smaller plates of raw red slices arranged like flower petals.
An elderly dragon woman pushed one toward me. "For strength."
I looked at the raw meat, then at her. "Thank you, but if I eat that, the strength I gain will mostly be food poisoning."
A few dragons stared. Derek, sitting farther down with Cindy and Melon under heavy guard, coughed into his napkin. Malrek's mouth twitched.
The questions began with the second course.
"How large is your hoard?" asked a copper wing elder with blue-black scales at his temples.
I wiped my mouth. "Currently, three unpaid invoices and a stand mixer."
Silence. Then one dragon laughed, then another. Sheba did not. Her smile stayed sharp enough to cut fruit.
"And your bloodline?" another asked. "What great house claims you?"
"My mother's people are from Louisiana," I said. "My daddy's side will fight you over spades and potato salad. Does that count?"
More laughter. Malric leaned back in his chair, gold eyes fixed on me with something I did not want to name. Pride, maybe. Possession, definitely. Hunger, unfortunately.
A broad dragon lord with smoke-colored eyes pushed a ceremonial dagger across the table. "A bride should have steel for the oath knights."
"I already have one," I said. "Have another. Do y'all show affection with weapons often?"
"Yes," Malric said.
I took the dagger. "Good to know."
Then the tone shifted. It happened so smoothly, I almost missed it. The laughter faded. Cups lowered. Questions sharpened.
"Do you understand dragon duty?" "Can you bear clan scrutiny?" "Will you abandon your mortal shop?" "Can a woman who needs bread stand beside a lord who burns armies?"
I answered the best I could. No, I did not understand all their duties yet. Yes, I could learn. No, I was not abandoning Sweet Mercy. And bread, for the record, required patience, heat, timing, and strength. Armies were probably easier because nobody cried if a battlefield didn't rise.
That got another laugh. Sheba's eyes narrowed.
Then an Ash Veil lord leaned toward me. His smile was too friendly. His teeth were too sharp.
"One more question, little queen." I hated that nickname immediately. "Can you manage a dragon's heat?"
My fork paused. "What do you mean?"
He leaned closer, voice dropping into a whisper meant only for me and the fear under my ribs. "I mean Lord Malric's dick."
My fingers tightened around the fork. The lord's smile widened.