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“I really never thought about wanting it, or not wanting it. I knew it was my duty, and I intended to do my duty. Always.”

“Including taking a human mate and breeding with her?”

“Yes,” he says. “But I did have a choice in that, and I do not regret it, so do not try to paint this in a light in which you are an obligation. You are not. You are a choice. A lively, terrible, badly behaved choice. Now, please, rest. You will need your strength for the next time you try to do something you physically cannot.”

CHAPTER 12

Melissa

“What’s wrong with your wings?”

“What’s wrong with your legs?”

“Why do you have chicken feathers?”

“Where’s your scales?”

“Why are you so soft?”

“What’s your name?”

I am at the flight range where the dragonkin learn to fly. I am surrounded by young dragons who are all incredibly curious about me. I am not that much taller than most of them. Dragonkin are massive creatures, and even when they are young, they are massively tall.

We are all wearing harnesses around our chests, and there are long chains attached from the harness to tie points in the ground. We can walk around a bit, but we can’t go upward.

“Do we have to be chained like dogs?” I complain. I know I’m supposed to be fitting in, but how can I? They are all dragons, and I am a human with some kind of bird wings.

“Not like dogs,” the instructor says, his voice cold as the Arctic wind. “Like whelps at risk of snapping their necks in an unplanned flight. You might be the king’s mate, but here I am the ruler. Do you understand?”

“The king’s mate?”

“How old are you?”

“Humans age differently. They die at a hundred.”

“My little sister is a hundred and one,” one of the others says. “That’s so sad.”

Now they’re looking at me with pity.

“I’m going to live for a really long time,” I say.

“Enough chitchat. You are here to learn to fly, not to talk about little sisters and dead humans. My name is Instructor Wraith. You may call me Instructor, Sir, or whatever garbled series of pained sounds emerges for failing to call me Instructor or Sir.”

That’s a hell of an introduction, designed to intimidate. It works. Everybody falls silent as our new instructor walks along the length of us as we all stand in a row.

Instructor Wraith is a tall, lean dragonkin with the sort of demeanor that strongly suggests he should not be fucked with. It’s giving ‘high school principal who everybody likes, but nobody wants to cross’ vibes. He shimmers blue and green, cold colors that no doubt match his soul.

“Flying takes, strength, skill, and subtlety,” he says. “At full speed, the merest flick of a wingtip can send you into a barrel roll. You have all seen trick fliers. You know what we are capable of. But we are not capable of any of it if we are not willing to master ourselves. Our impulses. Our feelings. An uncontrolled emotion can cause terrible turbulence and rip an airborne dragon apart.”

He looks at us all severely, as if we’ve disappointed him before we’ve even started. This is really activating all my authority issues all at once. Never thought I’d have to go back to school after leaving college. Never thought I’d do it in bondage.

“You will each step forward, extend your wings, and move them very slightly. You will not flap. You will not, under any circumstances, take off from the ground. Anybody who flies without permission will be grounded for the next lesson.”

I put up my hand, something I haven’t done in years. He looks at me, instantly irritated. I’d think his annoyance was because I am human and therefore an annoyance to most of the dragons, but I think he’s genuinely mad at everybody here already.

“Yes, human?”

I wonder when I’m going to get some respect. Not today, obviously. Dragon society doesn’t bestow honor on mates the way humans do. There is no first lady here. Everybody stands or falls on their own merits. So when Wraith looks at me, there’s no extra anything. No deference.