POV: Ravenna
The investigation began at dawn.
Father had assembled a panel of five dragon experts—scholars from different kingdoms who specialized in bond mechanics, dragon behavior, and magical interference. All impartial. All highly respected.
All about to scrutinize my dragon like she was a criminal.
I stood in the courtyard with Solace, Master Veyron beside me, while the experts circled us slowly. Studying. Evaluating. Taking notes.
Like we were specimens.
I hated every second of it.
Solace was calmer than I was. She lay sprawled across the stones, radiating bored annoyance. Letting them look. Letting them examine her scales, her eyes, the way her wings folded.
Tolerating the indignity with more grace than I could manage.
One of the experts—a thin woman with grey hair from Aetherwyn—approached carefully. "Princess Ravenna. May I ask Solace some questions?"
"She's a dragon, not a witness," I muttered.
Veyron elbowed me. "Be cooperative."
I gritted my teeth. "Fine. Ask."
The woman knelt near Solace's head. "Can you sense your dragon's will? Her thoughts?"
"Yes." I kept my voice neutral. Professional.
"Is she under any external influence? Any compulsion to behave in ways contrary to her nature?"
"No."
"During the Dragon's Choosing, when she rejected Lucien—was that rejection voluntary?"
"VERY voluntary." I couldn't keep the edge out of my voice. "Solace saw something in Lucien that repulsed her. She rejected him violently because she MEANT it violently."
The woman made notes. "And when she chose Theron?"
"She recognized him." I softened despite myself. "Recognized Havoc. Knew immediately they were compatible. That's why she chose him."
More notes. More questions. More SCRUTINY.
They examined Solace for hours. Looked for signs of magical tampering—residue, aura distortions, behavioral inconsistencies. Checked her health, her mental state, her bond with me.
Found nothing.
Because there was nothing to find.
By midday, Solace was radiating active irritation. She'd been patient but her patience was wearing thin.
Enough, she sent me. This is insulting.
I know, love. I'm sorry. Just a little longer.
If they touch me one more time, I'm biting someone.
Please don't bite the dragon experts. That would make this worse.
She grumbled but subsided.
Finally—FINALLY—the head expert, an elderly man from Skyreach named Torvald, straightened up.
"The dragon is healthy," he announced. "No signs of illness, injury, or magical interference. Her will is entirely her own. Her bond with Princess Ravenna is strong and uncompromised."
Relief flooded through me. "So we're done?"
"With the physical examination, yes." Torvald's expression was kind. "But we still need to review the Dragon's Choosing ceremony itself. Interview witnesses. Compile a complete report."
Of course. Because one humiliation wasn't enough.
"How long will that take?" I asked tightly.
"Three days, perhaps four." Torvald bowed slightly. "Thank you for your cooperation, Princess."
They left. All five of them. Taking their notes and observations and professional skepticism with them.
I sagged against Solace's side.
"That was miserable," I told her.
Indignity, she agreed. Treat us like evidence.
"I know. I'm sorry you had to endure that."
Worth it. She nuzzled my shoulder. Proves we chose correctly. Nothing to hide.
She was right. But it didn't make the process less awful.
***
The next three days were a special kind of torture.
The experts reviewed footage of the Dragon's Choosing ceremony—yes, apparently Father had it RECORDED because of course he did. They interviewed Master Veyron, Hadrian, Morgana, even Saren. Anyone who'd witnessed the ceremony or interacted with Solace afterward.
And I had to attend formal court sessions where nobles DEBATED my dragon's choices like Solace was property to be evaluated.
"Perhaps the princess's emotional state influenced her dragon..."
"The violent rejection of Lord Lucien does seem excessive..."
"Common-born warriors aren't typical consort material..."
I sat on my throne beside Father, hands clenched in my lap, and listened to them dissect my life. My choices. My BOND.
Theron stood behind my throne—his official position as future consort—silent and steady. But I could feel his tension through the bond. Feel his barely-controlled rage at hearing himself discussed like he was unsuitable.
During breaks, Lucien moved through the palace like he still belonged there. Charming nobles. Spreading careful doubts.
He never accused anyone directly. Never said anything actionable. Just—implied. Suggested. Planted seeds.
"Such a shame about the Dragon's Choosing..."
"One wonders if perhaps Princess Ravenna felt pressured..."
"Common-born warriors have such different... perspectives..."
It was masterful, really. Subtle enough to avoid consequences. Effective enough to make people QUESTION.
I wanted to throttle him.
"Ignore him," Theron said quietly during one particularly awful session. We'd retreated to an alcove, away from the crowd. "He's trying to provoke you."
"It's working," I muttered.
"I know." He touched my hand briefly. "But rising to it gives him power. Better to let the investigation conclude. Let the experts confirm what we already know."
"And if people still doubt afterward?"
"Then they're idiots." His voice was matter-of-fact. "And we ignore idiots."
Despite everything, I smiled. "When did you get so wise?"
"When I bonded with you. Your competence is rubbing off."
"My competence?"
"Your ability to navigate court politics without murdering anyone." He paused. "Well. Mostly without murdering anyone."
I laughed. Couldn't help it.
He smiled—small and private and just for me. "There she is."
"Who?"
"The woman I'm falling for. The one with fire in her eyes and murder in her heart." His voice dropped. "The one who's surviving this nightmare with grace she doesn't think she has."
My throat felt tight. "Theron—"
"Your Highness!" A servant appeared, bowing. "The panel requests your presence. They have questions."
Of course they did.
I squeezed Theron's hand once and followed the servant.
The panel had set up in Father's smaller council room. All five experts sat at a long table, papers spread before them. They looked professional. Impartial.
I hated them anyway.
"Princess Ravenna." Torvald gestured to a chair. "Please, sit."
I sat. Folded my hands. Waited.
"We've reviewed all available evidence," Torvald began. "Examined your dragon. Interviewed witnesses. And we have some questions about the ceremony itself."
"Ask."
"During the Dragon's Choosing, when Solace approached Lucien—what did you feel through your bond with her?"
I thought carefully. "Immediate revulsion. Like she'd sensed something fundamentally wrong in him. Not just incompatibility. Active repulsion."
"And you didn't influence that response?"
"No." I met his eyes. "I wasn't even sure what she was sensing. I just felt her reaction—violent rejection—and trusted her judgment."
More notes.
"When Solace chose Theron," the Aetherwyn expert asked, "did you feel any hesitation from her? Any uncertainty?"
"None." The answer came easy. "She knew immediately. Recognized Havoc. Knew they were compatible without question or doubt."
"And you accepted that choice?"
"I did." I lifted my chin. "Because Solace has never been wrong about people. She saw past Lucien's charm to the emptiness beneath. She saw past Theron's scars to the strength underneath." I paused. "I trust my dragon's judgment completely."
They asked more questions. About timing, about my emotional state, about whether I'd ever discussed the candidates with Solace beforehand.
I answered everything honestly. Because I had nothing to hide.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Torvald nodded. "Thank you, Princess. That will be all for now."
"When will you have results?"
"Two days." His expression was kind. "We're thorough, but we're also fair. The truth will be clear soon."
I left the council room feeling wrung out.
Theron was waiting in the corridor. He fell into step beside me without a word.
"They asked if I influenced Solace's decision," I said flatly.
"And?"
"I told them the truth. That I trusted her judgment. That she knew what she was doing."
"Good." He took my hand. "Two more days. Then this ends."
"You sound sure."
"I am sure." His voice was absolute. "The experts will find nothing because there's nothing to find. Cassian's protest will be dismissed. And we can move forward."
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that this would be simple.
But as we walked through the palace, I saw nobles watching us. Whispering. Judging.
And I knew that even when the investigation cleared us, the doubts would linger.
Some people would always question why Solace chose a common-born warrior over noble blood.
But those people didn't matter.
What mattered was Theron's hand in mine. Solace's certainty. The bond humming steady between us.
Two more days.
Then we'd prove everyone wrong.
Together.