POV: Ravenna
Day seven.
The investigation concludes today. Either I'm cleared or I'm—actually, I don't know what happens if I'm not cleared. Does Father nullify the Dragon's Choosing? Force me to choose again? Execute me for treason?
Okay, probably not that last one. Probably.
The formal presentation is held in the throne room. Because apparently everything terrible in my life happens in the throne room. It's like the universe decided this specific room is where all my joy goes to die.
Father sits on his throne looking every inch the king—stern, regal, untouchable. I stand to his right, spine straight, chin lifted, trying to look like I'm not absolutely TERRIFIED. Theron stands to my left, silent and still as stone. Hadrian is behind him. Saren is behind me.
And across the room, Cassian Lucien watches with cold calculation.
Master Veyron stands at the center with a stack of documents. The investigation panel is assembled—three dragon experts, two legal scholars, a healer. All looking very serious and official.
My heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.
"We are gathered," Father says formally, "to hear the findings of the investigation into the Dragon's Choosing ceremony. Master Veyron, present your conclusions."
Veyron steps forward. His gruff voice carries through the silent room.
"After seven days of thorough investigation, interviewing witnesses, consulting experts, and examining all evidence—" he pauses, looks directly at me "—the panel has found no evidence of magical interference, coercion, or illness affecting Princess Ravenna's dragon."
I don't breathe. Can't breathe.
"All experts agree that Solace made genuine autonomous choices based on natural dragon recognition instincts." Veyron's eyes move to Theron. "Lucien was rejected because Solace found him incompatible on a fundamental soul level. Theron was chosen because Havoc and Solace recognized a true bond."
Oh gods. Oh gods, I'm cleared. We're cleared.
"The investigation is formally closed," Veyron concludes. "The Dragon's Choosing results are valid and binding."
The relief hits me so hard I actually sway. Theron's hand comes out to steady my elbow—just for a second, proper and respectful—but I feel the tremor in his fingers. He was scared too.
"King Aldric," Veyron continues, "the panel recommends that you formally rule on this matter so it may be put to rest."
Father stands. His voice is absolute. "I have heard the investigation findings. Based on the evidence and expert testimony, I formally rule that the Dragon's Choosing results stand without question. Princess Ravenna did not interfere. Solace made her choice freely and according to natural dragon law." He looks directly at Cassian. "House Ashford must accept this ruling."
The room is dead silent.
Then Cassian steps forward.
His face is white with rage. Actually white. Like all the blood drained out of it. But his voice is perfectly controlled. Calm. Pleasant.
Which is somehow more terrifying.
"House Ashford," he says quietly, "accepts the ruling."
Father nods. "Good. Then this matter is—"
"However." Cassian's voice cuts through. "We reserve the right to address this matter through traditional challenge law."
The room explodes into murmurs. Father's eyes narrow.
"Explain yourself," Father says coldly.
"Ancient law," Cassian says, still in that pleasant deadly tone, "allows a rejected candidate to challenge the chosen candidate to trial by combat if he believes the choice was unjust. Even if no interference is proven." He meets Father's stare without flinching. "The law exists to ensure that the chosen mate is truly worthy in all ways—not just through dragon recognition, but through strength, skill, and courage."
No. No no no—
"The law you speak of," Father says slowly, "has not been invoked in over a century."
"But it still exists." Cassian looks at Veyron. "Does it not?"
Veyron's jaw tightens. He looks deeply unhappy. "It does exist, yes. Trial by combat to contest a dragon choosing. It's in the old codes."
"Then we invoke it," Cassian says simply.
Father looks at the legal scholars. They're flipping through books, whispering urgently. Finally, one of them nods reluctantly.
"The law is... technically valid, Your Majesty," the scholar says. "Though rarely used. The last recorded instance was one hundred thirty-seven years ago."
"What are the terms?" Father asks. His voice is dangerously quiet.
"Dragon combat," Cassian says before the scholar can answer. "To the death or surrender. If my brother wins, he will have proven himself the worthier candidate and the Dragon's Choosing must be reconsidered. If the common warrior wins—" the contempt in his voice is sharp "—all challenges are permanently settled."
I want to scream. Want to protest. Want to set something on fire.
But I can't. Because anything I say will make this worse. Will give them ammunition.
Father looks at Theron. "Do you understand what is being asked of you?"
"Yes," Theron says simply.
"Do you accept this challenge?"
There's a pause. The entire room holds its breath.
If he refuses, House Ashford will claim cowardice. Will say he's unworthy. Will use it as leverage to contest the choosing through other means.
If he accepts, he has to fight Lucien. Who is skilled. Well-trained. Desperate.
To the death.
"Yes," Theron says. His voice is steady. "I accept."
Something in my chest tears open.
Father looks troubled but nods. "Very well. The challenge is formally accepted. Combat will take place—" he glances at Veyron.
"Three days hence," Veyron says. "Standard preparation time. Traditional dragon combat rules. Both combatants shift to dragon form. Both fight. First to surrender or die loses."
"Three days," Father confirms. "At dawn. In the combat arena." His eyes sweep the room. "This matter will be settled permanently. One way or another."
Cassian bows. Perfectly respectful. "Thank you, Your Majesty. House Ashford looks forward to proving the truth."
Then he looks at Theron. And smiles.
It's the coldest thing I've ever seen. Pure malice wrapped in politeness.
"I look forward to proving who is truly worthy," Cassian says softly. "Brother will enjoy this. He's been... eager to face you properly."
Theron doesn't respond. Doesn't react. Just stands there like stone.
But I feel it. Through the bond. The weight of this. The knowledge that in three days, he has to fight for his life.
For us.
The formal proceedings end. People file out, whispering. Cassian leaves with a final cold nod.
And I'm left standing there, numb with horror, as Hadrian immediately starts talking to Theron about preparation and strategy and training.
I pull Theron aside the moment I can. Away from the others. Into a side corridor.
"Can you win?" The question comes out too sharp. Too desperate.
He looks at me with those steady amber eyes. "Lucien is skilled. Well-trained. His family has resources for the best combat instructors."
"That's not what I asked."
"I've survived worse," he says quietly. "Five rejections. Wars. Battles that should have killed me. I will do everything possible to win."
"But CAN you?"
His jaw tightens. "I don't know. But I will fight like my life depends on it. Because it does."
Because it does.
Oh gods.
"I don't—" My voice cracks. "I don't want to lose you. We just—we just got the choosing validated and now—"
"Ravenna." He says my name like a prayer. Like a promise. "I am not going to die in three days. I've survived too much to die now."
"You can't promise that."
"No," he admits. "But I can promise I'll fight for this. For us. With everything I have."
I look up at his scarred face. At the determination there. The quiet steel.
And I realize something terrifying.
I don't just accept this bond anymore. I don't just respect him.
I need him to survive. Need him with a desperation that scares me.
"Don't die," I whisper. "Please don't die."
"I won't," he says. And for the first time since we met, he touches my face deliberately. Just his fingertips against my cheek. Gentle. Reverent. "I promise I will do everything I can to come back to you."
Then he leaves to train with Hadrian.
And I'm left alone in the corridor, touching my cheek where his fingers were, and trying not to think about what happens if he breaks that promise.
If he dies.
If the bond shatters.
If I lose him before I ever really had him.
Three days.
Gods help us.
Three days.