Page 27 of Davoren (Dragon Master Daddies #1)
The moment we fully emerged from the path, the nearest dancers stopped mid-spin. Then the next ring of celebrants noticed, and the next, silence spreading outward from our position like ripples in reverse, pulling all sound back to its source until the entire plaza held its breath.
They knew him, of course. Even those who'd never seen Davoren in person recognized the Dragon Lord by the way reality seemed to reorganize itself around him, by the heat that radiated from his skin, by the ancient power that hung around him like a cloak made of inevitability.
He wore formal robes tonight—black silk that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, embroidered with thread that looked like captured flame.
But if they knew him, they didn't know what to make of me.
I'd dressed with deliberate intent, following Davoren's suggestions that had seemed like commands.
The dress was architectural in its simplicity—a sheath of deep red silk that looked like liquid fire in the torchlight.
The fabric was sheer enough that the golden lines tracing my skin were visible beneath, glowing with their own soft light that marked me as transformed, claimed, other.
The neckline had been cut specifically to frame my collar, that deep blue dragon-scale that declared my status more clearly than any announcement could.
My hair was loose except for a few braids woven with silver thread, and I'd lined my eyes with kohl that Scarlet had provided, made from volcanic ash mixed with oils that made my eyes appear to hold flecks of fire.
Every choice had been calculated to send a message: I am his, and I am not apologetic about it.
Davoren's hand settled on the small of my back, and the possessiveness in that simple touch radiated through the bond with enough force to make my knees weak.
His pride was a living thing, prowling through our connection with the satisfaction of a predator displaying its finest kill.
But underneath that ran something else—a protective fury that promised destruction to anyone who so much as looked at me wrong.
"My subjects," he said, and his voice carried despite speaking at normal volume, the words somehow reaching every ear in the plaza. "I present Lady Kara Lyris, my bonded mate, sealed by Caretaker Pact and Ancient Law."
The crowd's reaction was immediate and visceral.
Some dropped to their knees in instinctive submission.
Others pressed back, creating more space around us as if proximity to a mated dragon pair might burn.
But most simply stared, their faces cycling through expressions of awe, fear, and something that looked like religious experience.
A Dragon Lord taking a mate was mythology made real, a story their grandparents might have whispered but none believed they'd witness.
We moved through the plaza, and the crowd parted like water, maintaining a precise distance that spoke of centuries of learned behavior.
Close enough to show respect, far enough to avoid offense.
Davoren's hand never left my back, his touch a constant reminder of his presence, his claim, his protection.
Through the bond, I felt his attention split—part focused on me, part scanning for threats, part simply reveling in having his mate beside him in public view.
The festival tried to resume around us, musicians beginning tentative melodies that grew bolder as we didn't immediately incinerate anyone.
Vendors called their wares in voices that cracked when we passed.
Children peered around their parents' legs with the fearless curiosity of those too young to fully grasp what we were.
The city elders found us near the central fountain, a masterwork of engineering that channeled geothermal water through sculptures of dragons in flight.
They approached in formation, five of them in robes that marked their status, carrying a chest between them that I could smell contained gold and gemstones—tribute, though Davoren needed neither.
"Lord Davoren," the eldest began, his voice remarkably steady for someone whose hands shook. "The city rejoices at your presence. And we welcome your—" he paused, clearly unsure of the proper address, "—your lady to Ashfall."
Davoren accepted their tribute with the kind of gracious condescension that somehow made them stand taller, as if being condescended to by a Dragon Lord was itself an honor.
The formal words were exchanged, promises of protection renewed, loyalty reaffirmed.
I stood silent at his side, playing the role of ornamental mate while my enhanced hearing picked up every whispered conversation in fifty feet.
"Is she human?" someone whispered.
"Look at the marks on her skin. Nothing human about those."
"The collar—dragon-scale. He's marked her as his."
"She's beautiful."
"She's terrifying."
Both true, I thought, and felt Davoren's amusement through the bond as he clearly heard the same whispers.
The ritual with the elders continued, and that's when I saw it—a stall tucked between a spice vendor and a weapon smith, its wares catching the light in ways that made my transformed vision sing.
Crystallized lava jewelry, each piece a frozen moment of the mountain's fury transformed into wearable art.
But more than that, several pieces looked almost identical to the solidified dragon flame of our claiming nest, and the recognition hit me with enough force to make me sway slightly.
The vendor was a young woman, maybe twenty-five, with burn scars on her arms that spoke of dedication to her craft despite the dangers. She was arranging her pieces with the focus of someone trying very hard not to stare at the Dragon Lord and his mate conducting business merely thirty feet away.
I touched Davoren's arm lightly, and he glanced down at me, one eyebrow rising in question.
"The jewelry stall," I murmured, quiet enough that only he could hear. "May I?"
His eyes tracked to where I indicated, and through the bond I felt his assessment—distance from us, potential threats, escape routes. Then he nodded, his hand sliding from my back with obvious reluctance.
"Stay where I can see you," he said, the words carrying enough command that my body responded with a yes before my mind could form opinions.
I moved through the crowd toward the stall, feeling Davoren's attention on me like a physical weight even as he continued the formal exchange with the elders.
The vendor looked up as I approached, and her eyes went impossibly wide as she took in the collar, the marks, the obvious wealth of my dress.
"My lady," she stammered, immediately beginning to bow.
"Please don't," I said quickly, embarrassed by the deference. "Your work is beautiful. Is this truly crystallized lava?"
The temperature dropped like a stone through water, so sudden and wrong that my transformed body recoiled before my mind could process the threat.
One moment I was admiring a pendant of crystallized lava that looked like frozen flame, the next hands seized my arms with grip strength that spoke of training and purpose.
The vendor's eyes went wide with terror, but not at me—at something behind me that made her stumble backward into her display, sending jewelry cascading across volcanic stone.
They moved with military precision, three men who materialized from the crowd like shadows given substance.
Before I could scream, before I could even think to scream, they were dragging me backward into an alley I hadn't noticed, one of those narrow spaces between buildings where the festival light didn't reach.
The alley was barely six feet wide, walls of smooth volcanic glass rising up toward a slice of night sky.
Festival sounds became muffled, distant, as if the space itself had been designed to swallow sound.
My captors' faces were obscured by deep hoods, but I caught glimpses—pale skin that seemed to gleam with its own inner frost, eyes so light blue they looked almost white, breath that misted in air that should have been warm from the mountain's heat.
Then one of them pressed something against my throat, right beside my collar, and my world exploded into ice.
Not cold—I'd felt cold before, even in my transformed state.
This was something else entirely, something that shouldn't exist in a volcanic city at the base of a fire mountain.
It was ice given malevolent intent, frost magic concentrated into a shard no bigger than my thumb that sent frozen lightning through every nerve.
The sensation was so alien to my fire-transformed body that for a moment I couldn't even process it as pain—it was wrongness made physical, an violation of everything I'd become.
But worse than the cold was what it did to the bond.
The connection to Davoren didn't sever—that would have killed us both—but it muffled, like someone had wrapped it in layers of frozen wool.
I could still feel him there, could sense his presence, but when I reached for him through our link it was like screaming underwater.
Distorted. Diminished. The panic that had been building erupted into full terror as I realized he might not even know I was in danger.
"Hold her steady," one of the attackers said, his accent carrying the clipped consonants of the northern territories. "The artifact won't last long in this heat."
The one holding the ice shard pressed it harder against my throat, and I felt my golden marks dim in response, their light fighting against the invasive cold.
My enhanced body was trying to burn through the interference, to generate enough heat to destroy the artifact, but it was like trying to light a fire while submerged in arctic water.
"Our master will be pleased," another said, and I could hear the smile in his voice even though his hood hid his features. "The Fire Lord's new pet, delivered as requested."