Page 105 of Beneath Scales and Shadows
Both identities existed simultaneously within her—not conflicting, but complementary. Something she’d accepted—and was officially comfortable with.
Through their bond, she felt Ignis’s fierce approval of her self-acceptance, his joy at her embracing all aspects of herself. His hand found hers, scaled fingers interlacing with her own. “Are you ready to face our clan?”
She nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yes. It’s time they met their queen.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY
IGNIS
Ignis adjusted the drape of Sora’s formal gown with possessive precision, allowing his clawed fingers to linger over the strategic cutouts that revealed her silver scales. The midnight-blue silk cascaded from her shoulders in a waterfall of starlit elegance, its silver embroidery catching the light exactly as he’d intended—complementing yet never outshining her natural beauty.
What captivated him most were the ruby scales now interspersed among her silver ones—his claim manifested in her flesh, a physical testament to their bond. The scales formed a delicate pathway from the ruby disk embedded in her side up to his claim mark at her throat, visible through the carefully crafted openings in the gown.
His chest swelled with fierce, near-overwhelming pride.
“You look...” Words failed him as she turned, sapphire eyes meeting his with quiet confidence that hadn’t existed before her heat.
He flooded her with everything words couldn’t hold—adoration, reverence, possessive pride, and beneath it all, a depth of gratitude that rooted him to her beyond reason.
“Like a queen?” she suggested, a teasing smile playing at her lips as she smoothed her hands over the silk. Her golden hair had been partially braided, the rest falling in loose waves past her shoulders.
“Likemyqueen,” he corrected, the rumble in his voice betraying the hunger that still simmered beneath his control, even days after her heat had subsided. If she was willing, he would gladly take her again to show how much he craved her. “Born to rule at my side.”
She tilted her head, a flicker of amusement slipping into the connection between them, warm and unspoken. “Five days locked in our chambers and suddenly I’m royalty.”
“You were royalty the moment you stepped between me and that poisoned blade… perhaps even that arrow, since you’d already ensnared me then.” He captured her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “The heat merely confirmed what was already written in the stars.”
He caught the quiet acceptance in her, no resistance, no bristling at the mention of fate or prophecy—only a steady, silent surrender that wrapped around him like scale oil, smoothing over fractures he hadn’t realized were there. Her confidence had solidified during their mating, turning into something uniquely powerful.
“The council awaits.” He offered his arm, wings shifting to create a partial canopy over her—an extension of his protective instinct, perhaps even possessiveness that he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—shake. “Are you ready?”
Her chin tipped up, one brow arched, though a teasing smirk tugged at her lips. “Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”
They emerged from their chambers into corridors of polished stone and glowing crystals that seemed to pulse brighter in their presence.
The whispers began immediately—dragons in various forms pausing in their duties, eyes widening at the sight of their king and his newly claimed queen. Ignis felt their awe ripple through the mountain, overwhelming him with pride. Heads bowed as they passed, but gazes lingered on Sora’s blended scales.
He caught the flicker of her discomfort—felt it thrumming beneath her calm exterior—but she never let it show. He sent reassurance back to her, silent pride threading through their connection.
“They’re not staring at you,” he murmured, bending his head closer to hers. “They’re witnessing something none living have seen, scale-sharing between mates.”
The guards at the council chamber bowed deeply, wings sweeping the floor in formal deference rarely displayed even to him. The doors swung open, revealing the gathered council within—not seated at their usual positions around the table, but standing in a loose semicircle, waiting.
Ignis guided Sora inside, gratified by the awed silence that greeted them.
His gaze swept the chamber, cataloging each reaction with practiced precision. Blaze and Enixa stood together, eyes widening at the visible markers of Sora’s transformation. Asher bowed his head respectfully, a healer’s satisfaction evident in his posture. Cinderfell’s ancient eyes glistened with what might have been tears if dragon’s could cry—unprecedented for the stoic advisor.
Zalaya’s feathers rustled with approval, her harpy form dropping into a deep curtsy that spoke of ancient rituals remembered. But it was the sight of Coal and Ember that seized Ignis’s attention most forcefully.
The spy sat in a chair, his dragoon form still weakened by the tortures endured at Celestorian hands. Patches of skin remained scaleless and raw, though healing had clearly begun. Ember hovered beside him, her scarred face softened by devotion as she fussed with a bandage on his forearm.
The sight of his oldest friends together, alive and healing, sent a wave of relief through Ignis so powerful it momentarily crossed their bond to Sora, who’d given him a small smile.
“My king. My queen.” Coal’s voice emerged stronger than his appearance suggested, pride evident despite the physical toll of his ordeal. “Forgive me for not rising.”
Sora moved forward before Ignis could respond, closing the distance to Coal’s chair. She knelt gracefully, taking the spy’s damaged hand between her own—the gesture so natural and queenly it might have been instinctive.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said, her voice clear and steady in the hushed chamber. “We owe you our gratitude, not the other way around.”
