Page 67 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
"We're friends," I said quickly, trying to salvage what remained of Marcus's dignity. "Humans form different types of bonds. Not all close relationships are... sexual."
Sirrax's golden eyes blinked slowly, processing this information. "But Tarshi and the one called Septimus touch frequently at night. How is this different?"
I glanced over at the two men in question, who were sitting close together on the other side of the fire. Septimus had his hand resting casually on Tarshi's knee, while Tarshi leaned slightly into his shoulder. It was such a natural, unconscious display of intimacy that I hadn't really noticed it before Sirrax pointed it out.
"That's different," Marcus said, his embarrassment forgotten as he tried to explain. "They're... well, they love each other. Romantically. What Antonius and I have is friendship, brotherhood. Just as strong, but not the same thing."
"Ah," Sirrax said with sudden understanding. "Mating bonds versus pack bonds. I remember now - human children form both types, though the mating urges come later."
There was something oddly poignant about that statement, reminding us all that despite his massive draconic form, Sirrax had once been human himself. Trapped in dragon shape for three decades, but still carrying memories of what it meant to be a child among people.
"Exactly," Septimus said with a grin, squeezing Tarshi's knee. "Though Marcus and Antonius do make a pretty good married couple. Always finishing each other's sentences, working together like they've been doing it for years..."
"We do not!" Marcus protested, which only made Septimus's grin wider.
"You organized his pack this morning without him asking," Tarshi observed mildly. "And he automatically saved you the last of the dried meat at breakfast."
"That's just... practical efficiency," I said, feeling heat rise in my cheeks.
"Sure it is," Jalend said unexpectedly, and there was something almost wistful in his voice rather than mocking. "Must be nice, having someone who just... gets how you think."
The comment caught me off guard. There was a loneliness in it that I hadn't expected from our former commander, a hint that his increasingly sharp behaviour might be driven by isolation rather than simple arrogance.
"Dragons choose mates for life but do not complicate it with these... categories," Sirrax said thoughtfully. "Bonds are bonds. Strength is strength. Though I recall human partnerships being more varied in their expressions."
"Yeah, well, humans complicate everything," Marcus said with a rueful smile. "It's what we do best."
"This I have observed," Sirrax replied solemnly. "Your species creates elaborate rituals around the simplest biological functions."
"Like what?" Jalend asked, seeming genuinely curious for the first time in days.
"Eating requires specific implements and arrangements of food. Mating requires lengthy negotiations and ceremonial exchanges. Even elimination must be performed in designated locations with privacy protocols."
"When you put it like that, we do sound pretty ridiculous," Septimus laughed.
"Survival for dragons is more... direct," Sirrax continued. "Hunt when hungry. Mate when the urge strikes. Establish territory through combat. Sleep when tired."
"Sounds peaceful," Jalend said quietly, and again I heard that note of longing. "No politics, no regulations, no trying to figure out what everyone expects from you."
The comment hung in the air, more revealing than I think Jalend had intended. Marcus and I exchanged a glance, and I saw my own surprise reflected in his eyes. Perhaps our former commander wasn't quite the rigid martinets we had taken him for.
"Politics exist even among dragons," Sirrax said with what might have been sympathy. "Dominance hierarchies, territorial disputes, alliance formations. But they are... cleaner. More honest."
"No hidden agendas," Tarshi agreed. "No wondering if someone's friendship is real or if they're just positioning themselves for advantage."
"Exactly." Jalend said. "In the nobility, you never know who you can trust, who's reporting to whom, who's going to throw you under the chariot wheels the moment something goes wrong, who actually likes you for just being you, or for who your parents are..."
He trailed off, perhaps realizing he had revealed more than he intended. But instead of the awkward silence I expected, Marcus leaned forward with interest.
"Is that what it's like?" he asked, his voice losing its hard edge. "All backstabbing and whispers?"
Jalend’s jaw tightened. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me," Marcus challenged, his gaze steady. "I understand what it's like to have your choices made for you. To have a collar around your neck, whether it's made of steel or gold."
Jalend looked up, surprised by the genuine curiosity in Marcus’s tone. He gave a short, humourless laugh. "That's the polite version. It's a game where the prize is survival and the board is reset every morning. You make alliances you know will be broken. You smile at men you'd happily see dead. You learn to value loyalty as a commodity, because genuine friendship is too expensive a risk."
His words painted a picture of a gilded cage, a loneliness as profound as any of ours, just better furnished. I thought of the gladiator barracks, where betrayal was a blade in the dark, not a poisoned word at court. At least in the arena, you knew who your enemies were. They stood on the sand opposite you.
