What has to be every wolf from Lukos island is currently gathered below, and the invite must have been some kind of specific. They’re all dressed to impress in floor-length dresses and summer suits. There are even a few people in evening dresses and tuxes.
But one group of men gathered at the far edge of the enormous space catches my eye. They’re all extremely tall, standing heads and in some cases a full two feet above every other man in the ballroom. And they’re dressed in…I guess you could call what they’re wearing suits. But it’s more like formal wear from every part of the planet. Some of them wear tailcoats like Damianos, but I also see African robes, layered kimono jackets, and quite a few heavily embroidered tunics.
With so many wolves in my nose, there’s no way for me to scent them from this far away. But even without my nose as backup, I know in an instant what they are.
Dragons. Just like Damianos.
But worse somehow.
Varying in shell appearance from the darkest black African to the fairest white, they only have two things in common. Their larger than usual height and their glowing eyes. Glowing eyes that are all staring up at me, cold and sinister.
“That international basketball team standing in the far corner. They’re dragons, right? Just like you,” I push into Damianos head.
“Yes.” The answer comes back immediately.
I remember what Other Him said about my chances of being welcomed by the rest of the dragons. “So I assume they’re staring at me because they hate me.”
He crooks his head to inform me. “I do not care one way or the other whether they like you or not.”
“So you don’t care what they think?” I ask because that’s, like, the opposite of everything Uncle Kyle taught me during my apprenticeship.
“No,” Damianos answers. The one word hard and flat. “Their feelings do not matter. Only our power.”
I open my mouth to point out all the problems with that policy, but I’m interrupted by the fanfare of horns.
Yes, seriously, two dudes appear out of nowhere to blow cornets with velvet banners hanging off of them before yelling out, “Presenting the King and Queen of Lukos along with their son Prince Basileios!”
The wolves in the crowd below jump, then turn to look up at us. I give them a wince that hopefully says, “Yeah, sorry, fam, the horns caught me by surprise too. Our bad.”
There’s a moment of answering silence, then every wolf in the room drops down in what I can only describe as an ancient curtsy or bow.
The dragons don’t bow, I notice. And they appear even larger looming over the kneeling wolves.
But when the wolves rise, they along with the dragons in back look up at me expectantly.
Whoa… “So I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to say a few words?” I say to Damianos.
“Yes,” he answers. Still appearing bored. Like seriously, how does he do that? I wish I could look that unbothered all the time.
I clear my throat. Not going to lie, this shit is a lot more formal than my little coronation back in North Dakota. And a whole lot more intimidating.
I swallow audibly before taking a step forward with Bazzi still in my arms.
“Thank you for welcoming us to Lukos. I um…”
I search my brain for the right words. C’mon, what would Uncle Kyle say? He’s great at being stuffy and formal. Even if he did call my public speaking training “a work in progress” after I failed to craft a formal speech for my North Dakota coronation—remember how that one went?
“I’m honored to be here!” I call out, seizing upon the words.
Then I swallow again. Because that’s pretty much all the formal I have in me.
But everyone’s still waiting for me to say something else.
“I’ve never felt like such a proper queen in my life,” I tell them, attempting a little curtsy of my own.
Aw, who am I kidding? “But the thing is there ain’t nothing proper about me,” I confess straightening back up. “So, you know what? Let’s forget all the formalities and light this shit up!”
They all stare up at me, the silence heavy and thunderous. They either don’t understand my super colloquial English or they’re just plain offended.
I glance at Damianos, wishing not for the first time that he would stop suppressing his side of our mate bond already.
But then someone cries out, “Long live Queen Drákon!”
And the crowd erupts in cheers.
Then right on cue, “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons starts blasting from the speakers of a DJ stand I hadn’t clocked when I first walked in—what with all the overwhelming glitz and glamour in the way.
“How did you know this is my favorite song?” I ask Damianos, as we walk down the stairs to the roaring crowd.
A smile floats to his lips. “It’s my favorite song too,” he answers as the lead singer welcomes us and all the wolves waiting to meet us to the new age.