Word had spread.
I saw it in the way they looked at me—the guards, the courtiers, the flameborn elders. Some watched with veiled awe. Others, with suspicion. A few with open hatred.
None dared speak against me.
Not while Vaerion stood at my side.
He had not left me since the claiming. And when we entered the Flame Hall together—hand in hand, my mark visible like a brand of living gold—he made no effort to conceal what I had become.
Not consort.
Not plaything.
Not servant.
Mate.
Equal.
And the court was already shifting.
---
The Flame Hall had always intimidated me. Its high obsidian arches, the endless stained glass murals of dragon kings past, and the inferno throne itself—carved from blackstone and burning ceaselessly—had once seemed like symbols of unreachable power.
Now, I was seated beside it.
Not on the same level. Not yet.
But not far below.
Sereth stood behind me, silent and watchful. Vaerion sat on his throne like a storm barely restrained. And before us, the highborns of the Flame Court gathered in nervous silence.
"Speak," Vaerion commanded.
A noble stepped forward—a tall, gaunt male with silver cuffs and hollow eyes. Lord Aeridan, Master of Trade.
He bowed low. Too low.
"My king. Your… mate," he said carefully, "is most unexpected. The council—"
"Is not owed an explanation," Vaerion said coldly. "She is mine. That is all they need know."
I felt his power pulse beside me. But I also saw the strain.
This wasn't about me, not truly. It was about power. Succession. Bloodlines.
"I was a servant," I said softly, drawing every eye.
"My birth was no one's interest. I had no name, no rank, no coin."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
I stood, slowly. Felt Vaerion still beside me.
"But now I carry the mark of the Heartflame. I wield dragonfire. And the king—" I looked down at him, heart trembling, "—has made me his."
I turned to the room.
"You can pretend I'm nothing. You can speak of 'suitability' and 'tradition.' But when you do, ask yourselves what scares you more: that I was nothing…"
I raised my hand. Flames curled in my palm like a blooming rose.
"Or that I'm no longer yours to command."
Silence.
Then—
A slow, low clap.
From the back.
A woman stepped forward—robes crimson, her eyes a molten bronze. Lady Velastra. Vaerion had told me little about her, only that she ruled the eastern keeps and had once been considered a match for him.
She looked at me like she wanted to flay me with her smile.
"Well spoken," she purred. "Fiery and bold. The court will enjoy watching your rise."
There was no warmth in her tone. Only challenge.
Vaerion stood then.
And the room changed.
His wings spread. Not wide—but enough. Enough to cast me in shadow. Enough to make every courtier take a step back without realizing.
"She is not here to entertain you," he said, voice like lava. "She is the fire beneath my throne. Insult her again, and you insult me."
Velastra dipped her head, not bowing.
But not smiling either.
She would be a problem.
Later.
---
When the court was dismissed, I expected Vaerion to rage.
He didn't.
He pulled me close—right there on the steps of the throne—and pressed a kiss to my hair.
"You were perfect," he murmured. "And terrifying."
I blinked up at him. "Terrifying?"
His mouth curved. "They don't fear your fire yet. But they will. They should."
I leaned against him. "I didn't mean to make a scene."
"You didn't," he said. "You made a statement. That you belong at my side. And that I won't be the only one they kneel for."
---
That night, he showed me the royal library.
I hadn't even known dragons had one.
"I thought you might want to learn what comes next," he said, pushing open ancient bronze doors. "They'll test you with more than words. You need to see the web before it tightens."
The library was carved into volcanic stone, filled with tomes bound in scales and inked in ash. Maps. Laws. Lineages.
I touched a scroll gently. "You trust me with this?"
He stepped behind me, arms wrapping around my waist.
"I trust you with me," he said.
"I don't know how to play politics."
"You know how to survive. The rest is instinct and fire."
I laughed softly. "That's easy for a dragon king to say."
He growled into my neck. "You think I rose by power alone? No. I burned their lies. You'll learn."
---
That night, we didn't touch.
Not in the way we had before.
We lay curled together by the open balcony, watching the stars, cloaked in blankets and the scent of old parchment and smoke. I asked about the other dragon clans. The trade laws. The border tensions.
He answered every question with patience. Pride.
And when I finally drifted to sleep beside him, I realized something terrifying:
This wasn't just love.
It was partnership.
And it would shake the mountain before it was done.