Chapter 21
The Feast
DELILAH
The setting sun’s glow bathed the mountains in a blanket of gilded radiance.
The castle’s expansive balcony was constructed entirely of obsidian stone, stretching nearly the width of the fortress.
Numerous torches, lanterns, candles, and small bonfires surrounded by lavish sitting furniture—illuminated the outdoor living space with a romantic flare.
At the center of it all, a large crescent-shaped table draped in crimson silk and adorned with hundreds of candles faced the cliff’s edge.
Chairs were thoughtfully positioned on one side of the table, ensuring every guest had an unobstructed view of the SkyGuard demonstration.
In an open circular area, a string quartet and a small dance floor became a focal point, outlined in hundreds more candles.
Tiny individual flames pierced the darkening atmosphere like thousands of fireflies.
At the arc of the crescent table, Titus sat, centered by his guests.
Unfamiliar faces occupied most of the chairs, but among them I recognized a few. On the High Lord’s left sat Cercies, three captains, four nobles and their mates, as well as Prisca and Rexius. On his right sat seven crimson-robed males, and at the very end, one open seat remained.
A fire sprite zipped by. I managed to stop her and asked if she could add a chair next to mine.
In a matter of seconds, four fire sprites added an additional chair and place setting.
The rapid movement of their embers caught the attention of the guests, heads turning as Calpurnia and I gracefully joined the party—arms linked, wearing cheerful faces.
Cercies’ eyes lit up when he saw her, putting the moon to shame.
He stood immediately—though I don’t think he meant to.
He didn’t seem to have much control of his body in her presence.
His impulsive reaction made my friend blush; she turned into me to hide her beaming smile as she giggled.
Her sequined gown refracted the retiring sun’s glow, creating a small aura of sparkles that danced with her every movement.
I didn’t miss the burning glare Titus threw me as we found our seats.
I didn’t care that I wasn’t seated next to him, but I did find it odd.
As his future mate, I had always been positioned close to him.
However, after his stunt this afternoon with Cercies, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be near him ever again.
He shouted down the table in his most pompous voice. “Tell me, mortal—Is it customary where you come from for a guest to bring a guest?”
A dull roar of chuckles rolled down the table and stopped at Cercies. The General’s face was stone-still, fixated on his mate. He clearly didn’t find any humor in Titus’s jab.
Mortal? Really?
I don’t know why the word irked me. Maybe because I’d assumed after the lounge, we were past that.
For whatever reason, he seemed to enjoy putting me down and pushing me away in front of his guests and nobles.
Did he regret what happened? Fine by me—I was upset with him anyway for losing his temper and nearly killing my friend’s mate.
What was all of that, anyway? His behavior ever since I tried to escape had been all over the place.
I sensed a spike in Calpurnia’s heart rate and saw the worry in her eyes. I hated that Titus made her feel uncomfortable.
I opened my mouth to tell him off, but before I could, Cercies cut in.
“SHE STAYS!” the General announced, his tone a touch too aggressive, never once breaking his gaze from his mate.
Sparks began to flicker on Titus’s shoulders. His knuckles turned white around his wine goblet. Realizing how disrespectful he’d been to his High Lord in front of noble guests, Cercies immediately rephrased and bowed his head. “I request that she stay, My Lord.”
The two friends locked eyes for several heated moments.
Then Titus’s flames dissipated. His grip loosened.
To my surprise, a muscle ticked in the High Lord’s jaw, and a flicker of remorse flashed across his expression—so briefly I was sure no one else caught it. But I did.
I didn’t think the High Lord was capable of such feelings. I knew what that look was for. He felt guilty about earlier—about almost killing his friend.
Titus nodded to the General in silent approval. The tension dissipated, replaced by trivial conversations among the guests.
The crimson-robed males didn’t smile. They measured. And I wondered if maybe they were the audience Titus was performing for.
Calpurnia and I kept to ourselves as we enjoyed an array of appetizers. I reached for the gold goblet set out for each guest, excited for Faerie wine, and quickly took a sip.
Fucking water.
Calpurnia had wine. Everyone had Faerie wine except for me.
I threw a glare at Titus. He was obviously waiting for my reaction.
He raised his glass in a mocking “cheers,” his expression smug.
I narrowed my eyes and took another sip.
That was the only interaction I had with him.
Throughout dinner he mostly ignored me, didn’t look my way once, like I didn’t matter at all.
But I didn’t let that stop me from enjoying Calpurnia’s company. We were in our own little world at the end of the crescent table. She explained who the nobles were, what they did, and who slept with whose mate—on and on. She was the gossip queen and seemed to know everyone’s secrets.
I tried my best to stay engaged, but I started to get swallowed by a sudden emptiness. I hated that Titus could make me feel this way, so insignificant, so worthless.
The show began with a single, piercing trumpet call.
Thousands cheered from the city below. From the massive mountain hangars, a legion of dragons, scales the color of polished obsidian and molten lava, surged into the air.
The sound of a hundred leathery wings beating the atmosphere into submission was a thunderous roar that every observer could feel in their chest.
In tight V-shaped formations, the dragons and their riders climbed, catching the strong upper currents.
Suddenly, the lead dragons—at a silent command from their riders—peeled off, initiating a synchronized display of impossible aerial maneuvers.
They wove through the sky in a complex, flowing dance, their movements mirroring a seasoned troupe, yet executed at terrifying speeds.
And from a close formation, a sole dragon and rider gallantly emerged.
Zephyros—the only dragon with blue and green hues, flew straight up, past the clouds, until she was no longer visible.
Then the Master of Dragons and Zephyros burst through the cloud line, free-falling, nose-diving back to earth and sending the crowd into panicked gasps as they plummeted closer and closer to the ground.
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. Time seemed to stand still. I could hardly watch.
But at the last possible second, she spread her wings, catching air and avoiding impact.
The entire city roared with cheers for Aurelius, chanting his name proudly.
The guests at the feast applauded in amazement.
Zephyros climbed back into the sky until they were only slightly above us in elevation.
Then she barrel-rolled toward the balcony and swooped overhead, upside down.
A ripple of startled gasps moved through the guests as Zephyros passed in breathtaking proximity, the downdraft from her powerful wings tugging at hair and hems. In one seamless arc Aurelius hung from his saddle and let a single red rose fall from his hand, right above me.
I reached for it, just grazing the tips of his fingers with mine as I clasped the thornless stem.
His silver hair fell around us like a curtain for a flash-second of privacy.
The display was elegant. Controlled. And entirely intentional.
A public claim wrapped in dragon authority. And Titus saw every second of it.
Then Zephyros turned on a dime and flew away from the castle in seconds.
The guests erupted with cheers and awe for the unexpected stunt. Titus sat unamused, sipping from his goblet.
This was Aurelius’s night. He probably didn’t have many opportunities to outshine the High Lord, and tonight he was nothing short of amazing.
The show concluded with Draxxinar filling the night sky with a wall of fire and the entire dragon army flying out of the flames.
Thousands of mounted dragons pierced the blazing curtain, then dove toward the ground to land—simulating a waterfall of flying dragons.
Calpurnia gushed over Aurelius’s romantic stunt, and I noticed Cercies studying her closely. I twirled the rose between my fingertips, admiring it, when I caught Prisca’s rageful eyes fixated on me.
My heart stopped. I felt as if I’d swallowed my tongue.
Two orbs of molten hate seared my soul and sent a burning chill of fear down my spine. The gold goblet in her hand turned bright orange; the wine bubbled and steamed. She slammed her cup on the table, excused herself, and stormed off.
Thank God she left.
I exhaled, tension easing from my chest. I’d always been cautious of Prisca, but never terrified. Her demeanor was usually that of a whiny princess throwing tantrums and bickering with her brother. But after that look, I realized I might have misjudged how much darkness she truly held inside.
After overhearing her and Aurelius’s conversation that day, I’d put together they had some kind of history.
I didn’t know if he’d ever reciprocated her feelings, but it was obvious she still held a candle for the Master of Dragons.
If she was jealous, she didn’t need to be.
I would be leaving soon—back to my realm, to my husband—no matter how much I enjoyed the friends I’d made here.