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“They were an Ashen male, like yourself. Yasen.” Mezerath bent his fingers, drawing his nails across the smooth stone. It did nothing to dull their sharp tips. In fact, if he’d pressed any harder, he would leave furrows in the stone.

“And he passed when I was born?”

“The third week of spring, the day after the planting festivals, twenty years prior. In 271 of the thirteenth empire.”

Asha frowned. “That was my name-day. I think. We never celebrated much.”

“Well, it will be far more special in a few days.” Rath drew Asha’s attention and brushed his fingertips over the newly pointed ear. “Jeron said your name-day may not be a source of pleasant memories for you, so I set our date out by a few days since the date was close.”

“That was very sweet. At the same time, I feel I should be angry for waiting longer to take you into bed. Feels so strange for this to be normal.” Asha strode around the plinth and hopped onto it, sitting with his legs crossed. “And one day we will sleep here forever?”

“One day when our children are grown. When we’re no longer needed.

There’s a paradise in dreams we’ll live in.

” Rath did not take a seat on his side of the plinth.

He stared at Asha longingly. Enough so that he rolled onto his hands and knees, tail straightening behind him.

The unfamiliar bulk and weight of it somehow balanced him enough that he could lean forward to press his forehead against Rath’s.

Their horns clacked, but neither moved for a kiss.

It didn’t feel right in that holy place.

“Children. You plan for this, don’t you?” Asha pressed a hand to his belly and closed his eyes tightly, imagining what it would feel like to be round with chil—egg. “Like it’s such a sure thing.”

“Usually is. I don’t see the gods disallowing it.

I see you bearing us many.” Rath said so with no perverse joy in his face or fondness, nor distaste, as mere fact.

“But if it doesn’t happen or you wish it not to be so—we can wait or never at all.

The gods will make sure a proper heir seats in time.

Slath may yet find a dragon that would be worth the effort of courtship for him. ”

“Would he not get an Ashen?” Asha sat on his knees and leaned away, staring down at Rath.

“I don’t know. He’s never thirsted for a bedservant, and I’ve never seen him take a lover.

He’s never found a dragon worthwhile. So, perhaps he’s celibate and happy to be so.

” Rath reached for Asha once more and lifted him with ease from the plinth to set upon the floor. “But that is his future to bear.”

Asha nodded and glanced about, following as Rath led him to a plinth where a dark-skinned male sat, eyes closed, hair a familiar jet black, not a day’s age different than when Asha had seen him once before. Indigenous Saurian, and the half-caste boy with him…

“It’s you.” Asha reached for Rath’s face, soaking in those painfully glowing eyes. “Show me your most human self. You have yet to do so.”

Asha bit his lower lip and leaned forward excitedly as Rath reluctantly complied.

In a shiver, he drew his eyes closed and wished his horns away with a shake of his head.

His face softened and scales receded. Fangs and nails trailed away as the soft, brown skin of a half-caste male of Saurian and Ramolian heritage stared him down.

He bore the gold and crispness in his features like fire of Ramolia. The indigenous Saurians lent their hues and aggressive features. “What is it you wish to see in me, Asha?”

“You.” Asha blinked as his eyes stung. “As a young boy, your father brought you to Monsmount to the markets before the war was in full swing.”

Rath frowned. “I was the only of my brothers that could hide my face the best. Of course, Father took me often.”

“Did you have this blue cloak embroidered with black thread…a pattern, I believe?” Asha held out hope for but a moment before Rath nodded slowly.

“Mother embroidered many cloaks and tunics for me—all of us, really. She tatted, too. The only woman in Sauria that could weave gold and magic into lace itself.”

“When I was young, I saw you! I saw you and your father in town, and you were negotiating for whitestone. Your father haggled for ages with the stonemason’s guild, and they tried to give you cuts with a terrible vein after.” Asha laughed and Rath frowned, nose wrinkling.

“I do not recall you.”

“I didn’t speak. I hid and watched. I couldn’t turn my head away. It was this glorious moment where I realized that I really didn’t like girls.” Asha laughed, and Rath’s face twisted in amazement.

“But you didn’t recognize me until you—”

“You look so different. Your father doesn’t.

He’s got black scales that really don’t take away from his skin like the blue distracts from yours.

” Asha glanced from Rath’s father to him several times, and in the span of glancing from one to the other, he went from human to his more draconian state.

“I can only imagine what your dragon looks like.”

“Do you not like me as I am?” Rath frowned, his expression fading to one of sorrow.

“I think if I’d seen you as you are all those years ago, it would have scared me.” Asha couldn’t help the smile that stretched his face.

“But not now? What was the first thing that crossed your mind when you saw me?” Rath pulled away a bare inch and held his breath, the warm breeze absent in the space between them for too long of a moment.

“At first, it took me a moment to realize what you were, because I’d never seen a dragon in your resting form before.

When I realized, I could only think of how magnificent you were and how forbidden it was for me to look.

” Whatever Asha had just said had been the right thing, as Rath drew him back in for a tight embrace, resting his chin atop his head, nestling between the pearl tines of his antlers.

“You favor the darkness of your father, but I see the sweetness of your mother in you, too.”

Asha’s gaze swept over the woman beside his father.

She was no slight woman, no slender and waifish girl.

She had a solidness to her, hair as fiery red as Jeron’s.

Even in her sleep, her cheeks shone pink.

And at her temples were the start of scales that traversed her temples and down her neck, dusting the tops of prominent collarbones.

She was the definition of feminine strength, and it was hard to imagine such a woman being fragile.

The rosiness of her cheeks transitioned into blush scales, imbedded with a golden shimmer. “She’s so strong looking.”

The statement must have caught Rath off guard as he burst out with a single laugh, one that cracked in his throat huskily. “She was made to love dragons, Father would say.”

“She certainly was.” Asha’s cheeks burned with what probably was a fierce blush. “But they look so peaceful there. Do you think she’ll be better when she wakes?”

Rath stared at the two for a moment before glancing back at Asha. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I pray that she is.” Asha took Rath’s hand, squeezing tight. “Tell me about them?”

A wash of relief came over Rath’s face as the tortured expression he bore turned into a soft smile and he spoke.

Inessa, as she was named, though Rath warned Asha to call her Mother—it would thrill her to no end, was a kind sort, creative and focused on small things.

She loved her embroidery and reading. Nothing complicated and had an unending amount of patience and laughter.

With seven boisterous boys, she never shouted.

His father, Kineer, was the fire to her balm, quick to anger, but equally quick to forgive and understand.

He had the proper temperament of a dragon—and in that, he shared much of Rath.

Slath took more of his personality from her, even in his artistic endeavors. She taught him how to paint.

Asha walked with Rath back through the catacombs and through the winding halls. There, he lost track of the castle and halted when Rath stopped outside what would soon be their bedroom. “Would you like to come in?”

Asha felt silly inviting Rath into his own room. It seemed natural they go in, though, as they’d taken to having dessert together so often.

“Of course.” Rath slipped in behind Asha, that same stern look on his face. A multitude of questions and placations waiting to be said.

“I think it’s a little romantic, you know?

Two lovers entering a perfect dream, only to wake when the world needs them again.

It’s poetic.” Asha’s cheeks burned. Death didn’t scare him, nor did falling or the dark.

What scared him more than anything was being alone.

For a male who loved flowers in a land of Baltheir’s blessings… he feared daily.

Something in Rath’s face cracked, the questions gone, the anxiety passing. His eyes glistened for a moment before he leaned in and kissed Asha hard with an unrelenting tongue and a possessive grasp.

“Mmf! Rath. Hey. We made promises—ones I regret—but please…” Asha pulled away, wiping at his mouth only to be swept up again, not with a kiss but a nuzzle into his neck, their horns clicking and chains rattling. “What’s that for?”

“So many Ashen ones fear the dream… You will sleep with me always.” Rath choked and didn’t let go. “The sooner we wed, the better. I need you.”

Asha needed him, too. And too easily did they find their mouths locked, kiss deepening. Rath pawed at Asha’s backside, pushing him into a wall as their fronts ground together. “Rath,” he panted between harsh kisses.

“What was my promise, Asha? What were the words?” Rath pressed firmly into Asha’s body, hot breath trailing his cheek with a slight shudder on every exhalation. Each breath held a flicker of heat far beyond that of a normal body—fire. Asha wanted to swallow that fire.

“No intercourse until—” Asha hissed and curled his toes, body involuntarily shuddering as Rath ground their groins together.