Chapter 5
Sequoia
There are many things people do not understand about dragons.
They understand the obvious things. The fire, wings, wealth, and legends. But what they rarely understand is that dragons are, at our core, creatures of instinct.
And instincts are not always convenient. Especially mine. My instinct tonight is to flee. To run to the balcony and leap, flying anywhere my wings will take me. But unfortunately, my family has spent the last twenty-one years making sure I am very good at doing things I don’t want to do.
“Sequoia.”
I hear my mother’s voice before I see her. That alone tells me I have been caught.
There is a particular tone mothers develop when they have found their child doing something they knew their child would do.
A tone that says I love you and you are absolutely not escaping this conversation.
I turn, plastering an innocent smile on my face.
Mother stands beside Father, both wearing the expressions of people who are far too pleased with themselves. That is never a good sign.
“Hello,” I say cautiously.
Mother smiles, making me immediately suspicious. “You look beautiful, poppet,” she says, the lilt of the isles still discernible.
“Thank you.” Not as if I really had a choice.
“And you came,” she beams, her eyes tracing every inch of my dress, narrowing critically when they reach the black ballet flats I chose over the towering heels she always insists I wear.
There it is. The real reason for the smile.
I sigh softly. “Of course I came.”
My father steps closer, his expression gentler. “We know this evening is not easy for you.”
I look away, and that is somehow worse. Because he’s right. Father always knows when I am struggling.
“You have spent years thinking this moment would change everything,” he continues.
“Hasn’t it?”
He smiles. “No.”
I blink, confused.
He gestures around us. “Tonight does not make you different.”
Mother steps forward, taking my hand. “You have always been our daughter.”
Not our heir, not our responsibility. Our daughter. My shoulders loosen slightly, and I’m ashamed of the harsh thoughts I’d had about them today. Because that is the one thing I have always trusted, even when I struggle with everything else.
Their love.
“We’re proud of you, Sequoia. You have become everything we hoped for you,” Mother says. “You have a future ahead of you unlike anyone before you.”
I know what she means, but I also know what she isn’t saying.
The future everyone expects, where I represent the family and strengthen alliances. Where I become a symbol and everyone watches.
As if summoned by the thought, a group approaches. I recognize them immediately.
The first is older. Powerful. A respected businessman whose family has controlled several international companies for generations.
The second is younger, closer to my age. From his swagger, he believes himself to be charming and beautiful.
The third is somewhere between them in both age and attitude, but completely nondescript.
All three bow politely, and I see Mother and Father exchange a knowing look.
Oh no.
“Sequoia,” Father says, placing his hand gently on the small of my back, a silent command that I understand far too well to ignore. “We’re going to speak with some guests. You stay and socialize.”
I stare at him, then Mother. “You’re leaving me?” I whisper, a hint of panic rising in my chest.
Mother smiles. “You are more than capable, poppet,” she says quietly, looping her arm through my father’s and leading him away.
I watch my traitorous parents saunter away, leaving me to dispatch the three dragons. My father may have ordered me to stay here, but he said nothing about entertaining a future bond with anyone. And while my breeding may prevent me from verbal evisceration, a little humiliation never hurt anyone.
“Lady Sequoia,” the eldest coos, bowing at the waist, his salt-and-pepper hair nearly touching the floor before he straightens, staring intently at me.
I already dislike the title. “Please. Sequoia is fine,” I say, sending up a silent prayer to the goddess that it doesn’t get any more cringe with the others.
The youngest smiles, nodding. “Sequoia, then.” He says it like he has discovered something precious, but he’s too intense. “I must say, it is an honor to finally meet you.”
“Thank you,” I say flatly, pretending I don’t see him holding his hand out for mine. However, if his ravenous eyes are anything to go by, he’s more likely to devour it than kiss the back of it and release me. No thank you.
“I have heard much about you,” he continues, finally dropping his hand back to his side with a quiet scoff.
Oh, look. I’ve struck a nerve.
“Have you?”
“Of course.” The older one steps forward. “Your intelligence is impressive. But they undersold your beauty.”
There it is. The reason they approached. It’s a struggle, but I manage to hide my sigh. “I appreciate the compliments, gentlemen,” I reply, wishing Cinder would make a scene, pushing these men back into the crowd while I slip quietly away.
“We would like the opportunity to know you better.”
I tilt my head. “Know me?”
The younger one smiles. “To court you.”
Ah. The conversation my parents were hoping I would have. The one that every dragon family eventually has.
Courtship.
The polite word for everyone deciding my future sounds better if they add flowers and poetry. Some of the older families offer properties and yachts to sweeten a courtship offer.
“I appreciate the offer,” I say slowly, glancing between all three, seeing their hopeful expressions. “I decline.”
Silence. A beautiful, uncomfortable silence. For them.
The younger dragon blinks. “You decline?”
“Yes.”
The middle one laughs softly. “Perhaps we were unclear.”
“No,” I smile politely. “You were very clear.”
The older dragon studies me. “You do not wish to consider any of us, my dear?”
“No.”
“May I ask why?”
Because I do not want to. It should be that simple. A question asked, and an answer received. I shouldn’t have to qualify my vision of the future to these men or any others, but the reasons flood my mind regardless.
Because my life is already full of expectations. Because I do not want to choose a person because they look appropriate standing beside me.
Because I refuse to become a beautiful piece on a family chessboard.
Instead, I say, “I am not interested.” It is the kindest answer I can give.
They don’t like it, but they accept it. Eventually.
I escape the moment they turn away. I don’t run. That would be undignified. But I walk quickly and with purpose, Cinder following closely. My protective ember lynx has never allowed me to suffer alone. Unfortunately, he also believes that suffering builds character.
“Don’t start,” I whisper, giving him a quick reproachful look.
Cinder flicks his tail, but I swear I see him roll his eyes.
The buffet table becomes my destination, because, while I’m not hungry, hiding in a quiet corner with a plate of food is perfectly reasonable.
The table is overflowing with decadent foods, but my eyes land on the exotic fruits from every corner of the world. Dragon delicacies and human favorites spill out of bowls in every shade on the spectrum.
Farther down, desserts that probably required entire teams of chefs are piled high on gilded scaffolds.
I take a small plate, slowly adding things as I follow the long table before veering off toward a secluded alcove.
Cinder watches my plate as we walk.
“You are not getting any,” I say quietly, narrowing my eyes at the expectation in his.
He stares.
“No,” I say again, more firmly this time.
A low rumble comes from him, but he looks away, breaking the battle of wills happening between us.
We near our destination, and our steps slow. It was one of my favorite hiding spots as a child, and it’s rarely occupied during parties. No one comes to a dragon party to hide away. Everyone comes wishing to be seen.
Cinder stops, the onyx tips on his golden ears pointing forward. He has found something. Or someone.
His tail sways, and I groan, because I know that look.
“Cinder,” I say cautiously, trying to gain his attention, but he ignores me.
“Cinder.”
He walks away. I follow, because despite being a magnificent magical creature with enough attitude to challenge a dragon, he is still my familiar, and I am responsible for him.
We reach a quiet alcove to find three men standing there. The same three men I noticed earlier from across the room.
The humans. They caught my attention because humans are rare at events like this. They are not unwelcome, but most are intimidated. These seem reluctant, disinterested, maybe, but not afraid.
One has dark shaggy hair and a beard. His silver eyes immediately narrow at Cinder.
The second has golden-blond hair pulled into a man bun and dark turquoise eyes the color of the deep sea at midday. Instead of fear, excitement radiates from him in waves.
The third has ice-blue eyes made even more dramatic by long black hair tucked behind his ears. He appears calm. Observant.
Cinder chooses that moment to make an entrance. He walks directly toward them, circling the blond one first.
The man freezes, and I almost laugh, knowing Cinder loves to terrorize unsuspecting people. His enjoyment is multiplied when he can startle unsuspecting humans.
“What the hell is that thing?” he hisses, glancing between Cinder and me. His worry is obvious as he tries to step around Cinder, avoiding the golden sparks that flicker from his paws against the marble floor.
“He’s my familiar,” I say, stepping forward and quirking an eyebrow, daring him to argue.
The man looks at me. “Yeah, but what is it?”
I blink. He genuinely does not know.
“Cinder is an ember lynx.”
“Oh.” He nods slowly, the expression on his face telling me he understands absolutely nothing.
I have to fight a smile.
He watches Cinder carefully, respectfully.
Ember lynxes look harmless, but they are not. He looks like a normal lynx in size and shape. But instead of silver fur, his is shimmering gold and glinting black. Amber flames dance in his eyes.
Cinder yawns, tilting his head side to side, allowing all three men to see his sharp, pearly white teeth.
Then he stretches, his large paws spread wide, his dagger-like claws extending just far enough to kiss the shiny leather of the man’s boots.
I bite my bottom lip as I see him shudder, but he remains still, waiting to see what the maniacal beast will do next.
I want to call him back, but I know that he is absolutely enjoying this. Especially when he looks back at me, I see a devious spark in his expression.
“Cinder,” I say quietly when I see the blond man’s lip quiver.
The lynx immediately walks to me, pleased with himself. He presses against my hand, purring so loudly the sound echoes through the quiet alcove.
I run my fingers through his fur. “Are you finished terrifying people?” I ask sweetly, scratching under his chin in just the right spot.
Cinder closes his eyes, a satisfied rumble answering me, telling me that he’s nowhere close to done with them.
Suddenly remembering we’re not alone, I look up and find the three men watching me. Not with expectation or calculation the way the dragons were. But with curiosity.
It catches me off guard.
The blond one looks like he has a hundred questions.
The shaggy-haired man looks suspicious, though I can’t fault him after Cinder’s little show.
The long-haired one looks like he’s familiar with hiding. And for some reason that bothers me. Because I recognize it. The need to stand at the edge of a room. Watching instead of participating. Feeling alone while surrounded by a crowd.
Cinder curls around my legs, pleased with himself as I study the men and the heavy silence between us. An uncomfortable truth flickers to life, burning through me as I glance from one guarded gaze to another.
The night I was trying to escape has apparently found me anyway.