Chapter 1 #2
Then came Garruk, and the floor trembled. Not enough to topple anything, but enough to feel it in your bones—this deep, grinding reminder that the earth itself bent to his will. He moved like a mountain deciding to walk, deliberate and unstoppable.
But then—
Everything stopped.
I didn't understand how I knew he'd arrived before I saw him. Maybe it was the way the temperature dropped, just a degree or two. Maybe it was how every other Dragon Lord turned to look, even Davoren with all his fury.
Sereis entered alone.
No retinue. No display of power. He wore simple white robes that moved like water, his black hair cropped short enough to see the elegant line of his neck.
Where other Dragon Lords claimed space with their presence, he seemed to create stillness around him, a pocket of absolute quiet in Caelus's chaos.
His eyes were pale as winter dawn. Not cold, exactly, but .
. . distant. Like he was looking at everything from very far away, or maybe from very deep inside.
When he took his designated platform—just the single space meant for him, while others had claimed three or four for their attendants—he settled into perfect stillness.
I couldn't stop staring.
There was something about the way he held himself, spine straight but not rigid, hands folded but not clenched. Like he'd found some secret center of gravity the rest of us had lost. While Caelus whirled and Davoren burned and Zephyron crackled, Sereis simply . . . was.
My hands had gone still on the goblet I was supposed to be positioning. Through the transparent wall, those pale eyes moved across the preparation space, taking in the scrambling servants, the repositioned cushions, the chaos that Caelus created simply by existing.
Then his gaze found me.
I should have looked away. Should have remembered I was nothing, less than nothing, a collared servant who wasn't supposed to exist except when pouring wine.
But something in his expression held me—not command, not desire, but .
. . recognition? As if he saw something familiar in the girl standing frozen with a lightning-charged goblet in her hands.
"Wake up, little mouse!"
Caelus's clap came inches from my face, loud as thunder. I jerked back, nearly dropping the goblet, my cheeks burning with sudden heat.
"The Introduction Ceremony begins in minutes!" He peered at me with those storm-gray eyes that never quite focused on any one thing. "Where's my ceremonial cape? The one that changes color with my mood!"
"In your dressing chamber, my lord," I managed, voice steady despite my racing heart.
"No, no, I've changed my mind." He whirled away, hair floating. "Bring the one that generates static instead! It makes such delightful crackling sounds when I move. Actually—" He spun back. "Bring both! I'll decide when I see them!"
I bobbed the required curtsy and fled toward his chambers, grateful for the excuse to escape. But even as I ran through the servant passages, even as I gathered both ridiculous capes with their competing enchantments, I couldn't shake the image of Sereis's stillness.
Or the way those pale eyes had looked at me—really looked—like I was something more than furniture that poured wine.
Caelus chose the static cape, of course. It crackled with every movement as he swept into the main Conclave, and I followed three steps behind, carrying the ceremonial wine pitcher that weighed so much I kept swaying and stuttering.
The Introduction Ceremony had rules older than the volcano that formed this island.
Each Dragon Lord must acknowledge the others in order of age—starting with Garruk who was almost as old as the stars—so people say—and ending with Zephyron, the youngest at a mere four centuries.
The process would take hours, and I would pour for each acknowledgment, a witness to words that shaped the world.
"Remember," Tam whispered as we took our positions, "pour from the left for the elder, right for the younger. And whatever you do, don't spill on Davoren."
As if I needed the warning.
Davoren's fury was a living thing in the hall, controlled only by Kara's steady presence. She stood beside his throne—not behind it like a proper mate, but beside, her hand resting on his where it gripped the armrest. Those golden marks on her skin pulsed in rhythm with his breathing.
Garruk began, his voice like grinding stone: "Lord Morgrith, I acknowledge your presence and your shadow."
The formula was ancient, each word weighted with meaning. Presence meant you recognized their physical form. The second part—shadow, flame, storm, frost—acknowledged their essential nature.
I moved forward, pitcher steady despite the tremor in my hands. Pour from the left for Garruk, the elder. The wine—deep purple, almost black—fell in a perfect arc. Seventeen different ways to pour, and this was the simplest, yet it carried the most weight.
Morgrith responded in his echo-touched voice: "Lord Garruk, I acknowledge your presence and your stone."
Pour from the right. My feet knew the pattern, twelve steps between each throne, careful not to let my shadow fall across any Dragon Lord's space.
The ceremony continued. Presence and storm for Zephyron. Presence and wind for Caelus, who couldn't sit still even for this ancient ritual, his cape crackling with nervous energy. Each acknowledgment, each pour, brought me closer to Sereis's austere corner.
My hands started trembling when I was still three thrones away.
He hadn't moved once since taking his position. Hadn't shifted, hadn't gestured, hadn't even blinked that I could see. While other Dragon Lords fidgeted or whispered to their attendants or—in Caelus's case—rearranged their cape twelve different ways, Sereis remained perfectly, impossibly still.
"Lord Sereis," Morgrith intoned, "I acknowledge your presence and your frost."
Twelve steps. My boots silent on the obsidian floor. The pitcher suddenly felt like it weighed as much as the mountain itself.
Pour from the left. I raised the pitcher, and that's when those pale eyes fixed on me.
Not on my hands. Not on the wine. On me.
The look wasn't what I expected from a Dragon Lord. Wasn't dismissive or hungry or cruel. It was . . . curious. Intent. Like I was a book written in a language he'd forgotten he knew how to read.
The wine poured in a perfect arc—muscle memory saving me when my mind went blank. It filled his goblet precisely to the ritual level, not a drop spilled, not a tremor shown.
He wouldn't drink it. Everyone knew Sereis never touched the ceremonial wine, or any food offered at these types of gatherings. But his eyes held mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and in that moment, I forgot how to breathe.
"Lord Morgrith," he said, his voice like distant avalanches, "I acknowledge your presence and your shadow."
I fled to the next position, but I could feel his attention follow me. Not oppressive, not demanding, just . . . there. A cool pressure against my back like standing in front of an open window in winter.
The ceremony continued. Presence and flame for Davoren—and when I poured his wine, the liquid actually steamed.
Garruk acknowledging Caelus. Caelus acknowledging Zephyron, though he got distracted halfway through and started talking about revolutionary changes to the acknowledgment formula before Morgrith cleared his throat.
Then came the moment everyone had been dreading.
"Lord Sereis." Davoren's voice could have melted steel. The temperature dropped ten degrees the instant he spoke, and I saw actual frost creeping across the obsidian floor from Sereis's platform.
The two Dragon Lords stared at each other across the vast space. Fire and ice. Rage and stillness. Davoren's golden marks blazed so bright that Kara winced, though she didn't let go of his hand.
"I acknowledge your presence and your frost." Each word came out like Davoren was spitting poison.
The frost spread further. My breath misted in the suddenly arctic air. Some of the servants started shivering, but I couldn't move, couldn't look away from what was happening between these two ancient powers.
Sereis finally moved—just his head, tilting slightly as if considering something. When he spoke, his voice carried harmonics I hadn't heard before, layers of meaning that made my bones ache.
"Lord Davoren." A pause that stretched like centuries. "I acknowledge your presence and your flame. And I acknowledge the presence of your mate, the Lady Kara, who bears your mark with such . . . fascinating grace."
The hall went silent. Not quiet—silent. Even Caelus stopped fidgeting.
You didn't mention mates in the acknowledgment. It wasn't done. The ceremony was about the Dragon Lords alone, their eternal dance of power and territory. To include Kara was . . .
I didn't know what it was, but judging by the way several Dragon Lords shifted uneasily, it meant something. Something significant.
Kara herself straightened, those golden marks flaring brighter. She met Sereis's gaze without flinching, and something passed between them—not hostility exactly, but . . . recognition? Like two people realizing they were playing the same game.
"How kind of you to notice," she said, her voice carrying despite speaking softly. "Lord Sereis."
Another violation of protocol. Mates weren’t meant to speak during the acknowledgments. But this was the first time in history that a Dragon Lord had found his mate. And Davoren's hand covered hers, his marks pulsing with what looked almost like pride.
Sereis inclined his head—the most movement I'd seen from him yet. "Kindness has little to do with it, Lady Kara. Merely observation."
The frost retreated as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving only damp spots on the obsidian. The temperature returned to normal, but the tension remained, crackling between the platforms like Caelus's cape.