"Lili, little mouse—inside! Don't hover like a stranger."Bang! The doors slam behind me, the sound booming like a cave-in.
I'd never manage those towering double doors on my own. Respectable dragon households close to the Emperor keep staff for a reason—a footman swings them wide, and I step into the dining hall.
I stop dead. My husband's gaze is ice.What happened? Did the talks go sideways?
My chest tightens. I hate how much I worry for him. My love works himself raw and is almost never home.
For months now, I've hardly seen him. Ever since the new Dragon Emperor took the throne, Inar has lived at his side, easing him into power. I can't even remember the last night my husband slept next to me. Even the taste of our stolen morning kisses is starting to fade.
That's my beloved's job in a nutshell. Inar DelVera—now Minister of Foreign Affairs—has been ordered to seal fresh treaties with our neighbors, the nagas: silk, rare resources, the works.
"Inar, are you okay?" I ask, stepping in close enough to catch his scent—the real dragon kind. He smells like rain-washed air.
Those eyes, too—green like nothing I ever saw in my other life. But this isn't Earth. This is Asgarn, where the beautiful higher kind are dragons…and the lower kind are humans.
I can't stop looking at him. How do you get used to a man like this? He's my favorite poison. My secret worship. A dream I still can't quite touch. I'm stupidly happy that in that forest—right after I fell into Asgarn—he found me and named me his. Strong as bedrock, he carried me out of the killing cold.
I steal another breath; warmth blooms through me. He's my sunrise. But I'm not blind—his whole body is strung tight. Is he…nervous?
"Lil, I want you to meet someone," he says at last, flicking a look toward the double doors—toward the wooden giant behind me.
I wait. He doesn't continue. The silence keeps building. He feels…off today.
"Inar, don't be a statue," I tease softly, skirting the table in an arc. "Sit. Tell me everything. We haven't seen each other in a week. And I have a surprise for you…" The words spill—and then stop dead, because my rightful seat at the head of the table is already occupied.
My eyes go wide—wider. I don't understand. I dip my head, mouth opening then clicking shut.
Shock.
A pink puff of a girl meets my stare. Grey eyes under a fringe of soft lashes beam kindness—or so I choose to believe—and something else I can't name. I study the scene like a painting titled Well, This Is Awkward.
At the head of the table lounges a long-haired, fragile beauty, her hair the color of ripe quince, gleaming like holiday tinsel. She's not dressed for a dragon court: a slip of a dress with thin straps skims her body, the airy pink fabric turning her into a picture of childlike innocence.
Her breasts are small but distractingly perfect—perky without a bra. Lovely, I catch myself thinking. With my little pears, envy is my only accessory. And who, exactly, invited her?
We're meant to live together in a cottage at the forest's edge. In practice, it's mostly me. With all the "misunderstandings" with the naga next door, Inar is gone more often than he's home.
The table is laid for two. Interesting. Who won't be eating?
"Celia, up you get, sweetheart," Inar says softly to the pink cloud—and I can feel him watching for my reaction.
She floats toward us—rosy glow, easy smile. She looks at me; the smile stretches wider. Then, like it's the most natural thing in the world, her hand lands on my dragon's chest.
I don't blink. Can't. Who is she? Why is she draped over my husband? And why is my dragon kissing her like he has every right?
"Lili, meet my wife—Celia DelVer," Inar says, eyes warm on the pink cloud.
A grenade detonates behind my eyes. Pressure, static. Wife? I misheard. I had to.
"Then what am I?" I ask, barely breathing.
I can't look away from the scene playing out in my own house. My dragon's arms are full—and it isn't me. Maybe none of this is.
I wasn't this stunned the day I fell into this world. My legs won't move; my hand won't rise to slap the man who swore to guard me and love me till the end of days.
"You're mine as well," Inar says, cool as ice, easing the blonde miracle from his arms. "Celia is my official wife. You'll run the house. You're the first. You'll return once there's a child. Yes, sweetheart?" He steps close and taps a kiss to my forehead.
"Inar, this isn't remotely funny." I force a laugh; my cheeks burn with the effort. "Darling, tell me the truth—who is she? Your sister?"
I pack the question with everything hope has left.
He has to tell the truth. Or—lie to me. I don't know which would hurt less. Maybe she is his sister. A cousin? Never mind that she looks nothing like him.
Questions pile up, brick on brick, building the wall that cleaves my life into before and after. I hold the line and look at the man I love.
How could you?
Inar says nothing—like he's granting me time to absorb the blow. He doesn't rush to take a single word back.
I'm shaking. I hug myself for warmth. Inar DelVer doesn't reach for me—doesn't even try. His hand is busy petting the pink cloud's arm.
I look away from her…and catch on the flash of white gold: a bracelet with a black diamond. How do I know that stone? Because I have the same bracelet. Only she has the set—earrings, ring, the whole crown. Me? Just the bracelet. Inar told me it was a marriage piece. So why is she wearing the rest?
"Kitty, mrrr," she coos.
The cloud purrs, kisses Inar's throat, and actually smacks those soft, dumpling lips. She's kissing my husband.
Rage surges, cold and blinding, from somewhere deep. What are you doing, you smug little cat?
"I think our poor dear should dine in her bedroom," the "kitty" trills. "Can't you see how shocked she is?"
Inar gives me a long, weighing look—and nods to her rhythm.
And I thought she was sweet. Oh no. This fluffy snake has fangs.
A toxic cocktail floods my veins, and I fold in half. Laughter rips out of me—so sudden it takes a beat to realize it's mine.
I laugh like a villain. Tears streak my face, and still I can't stop. The shock shakes loose everything—pain spilling out with every breath. I don't know how long it lasts. I just know I can't straighten up.
It happens in a blink. Fingers wrench my hair, jerking me upright. Pain snaps through my spine; the room tilts. A hard grip drags my curls back. Tears sting—denied.
I don't fight. I bare my teeth, a hiss on my tongue, laughter still spilling in ugly, broken bursts. The nightmare keeps going.
The slap lands—clean, vicious—and it doesn't just burn my cheek. It scorches straight through to the soul. My laugh cuts off. The silence hums. I forget how to breathe.
Of course Inar trains every day. He doesn't need a weapon to end a threat. Maybe that's what I am—a threat—if one hit almost drops me. If he hadn't kept his fist in my hair, my nose would be broken.
No one has ever laid a hand on me. Not once. Not even at the orphanage, where I was the sunny "curly girl." Now I'm nobody's—an alien in an alien world. In a house that isn't mine. With a husband who isn't, either.
Thoughts spin. My skull feels split. Then the dark pours in.
"Thank you," I breathe.
I need a timeout. Too much, too fast. My mind pulls the plug—and I go under. I faint. Mortifying.