Page 695 of Love Bites

The throne room itself was a large ballroom in a mansion in the hills above Los Angeles. A dais raised two softly upholstered wingback chairs above the milling crowd, so at the moment, the space had been designated as the throne room, though the Queen and King had not entered yet.

The crowd spilled through the receiving rooms, onto the terrace, and over the lawn. A few people had wandered down the stone steps outside that led to the sea.

Over five hundred people, Math estimated, had shown up on short notice.

The monarchs had called this reception on an urgent basis and short notice. Math’s cell phone had first rung with the announcement, then with texts and group chats from his friends, extended family, and most of the New Wales Dragon Clan dissecting every word of the terse announcement.

Royal Council meeting scheduled for Wednesday at two o’clock PDT.

Reception to follow in the Throne Room of the Royal Residence.

All clan members invited.

Mandatory for nobility.

Dragonbook had nearly exploded from excitement.

Twitwyrm had become a flaming madhouse, espousing ever-more-insane conspiracy theories.

Instadrake showed pictures of coffee, lunches, and cats, though the hashtag#whatroyalreceptiontrended for three hours.

Wednesday had finally arrived, and thus, Math had also presented himself at the royal residence, though he had to go back to his office after he dropped his stifling gold-and-velvet robe back at his own mansion.

Later in the summer when the mating season officially started, the room would transition into a party space because dragons are notoriously solitary and somewhat infertile creatures, many living their two centuries alone and going to solitary graves. Thus, birth rates had become a royal priority several generations before. The room was also used for wedding receptions and office parties for Dragons Den, Inc., one of the more successful ventures of the dragon clan.

Like many of his rather young generation, Mathonwy Draco had been hired by the den’s corporation after university. Competition for jobs in the clan business was fierce, with noble status counting for absolutely nothing. Some noble families thought that was unfair because aristocrats had traditionally held the highest positions, but Dragons Den, Inc. had become a highly successful venture and brought so much new capital into the den’s hoard,er,bank accounts, that no one grumbled too loudly.

Mathonwy was also busy with several boards and organizations within the New Haven Dragon Clan. He had an MBA and was good at organizing things and people, so of course, they had tapped him. His contact list on his phone grew with every committee meeting, and every one of the names in his phone had shown up here and were competing with each other to grab his shoulder and shake his hand. He’d managed to wiggle and finagle his way near to the podium and over to the side, standing in the shadow of the flowing curtains as he surveyed the crowd.

“Math!”a man’s voice called through the crowd. “Mathonwy Draco, get your head out of your scaly butt and look over here!”

Math paused for a moment because he knew exactly who that was, and one should not allow one’s best friends to become too confident in their ability to order you around.

“Math, I know you can hear me!”

Probably time to do something about that.

Math raised his head like he had just noticed something and looked over the heads of the crowd around himself. “Arawn, Arawn Tiamat? Is that you? I could barely hear your reedy little voice—”

Another tall man, nearly as tall as Math himself, was swimming overhand through the crowd toward him. Arawn’s golden hair outshone the afternoon sunlight that beamed in the wide windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean outside. His voice was sonorous and deep, a voice and chiseled face made for theatre, a vocation Math knew Arawn had never considered in the slightest. Arawn was the least sentimental among the three dragon friends, the most practical and pragmatic, and had sarcastically been voted “Most Likely to Snap and Fry a City” in high school. At the awards ceremony, Arawn had rolled his blue eyes slightly upward and accepted the award without comment and with every bit of stoicism that the occasion warranted.

Arawn asked, “Can you believe this crowd? They must think we’re wolf shifters or something, packing us all in here like this. I can’t believe no one’s freaked out and gone reptilian.”

“The roof is going to be a madhouse with people trying to take off,” Math said, grimacing. They should have organized it better, perhaps bringing the temporary landing pads out onto the tennis courts. “Have you seen Cai?”

“Not yet,” Arawn said, looking around the crowd. “He texted that he’s coming in, though.”

“Always has to make an entrance.” Math craned his neck to look, even though his shoulders stuck out of the crowd. Arawn craned his neck too, as he was only four inches over six feet tall, the poor, little shrimp. “Is that him, over by the doors?”

A low buzz rattled Math’s arm where Arawn stood. “He just texted again. That’s him.”

Cai Wyvern waved to them and maneuvered through the tightly packed crowd, sidling between dragons manifested in human form and their dragonmates, always a dangerous move. Dragons are territorial creatures, and they’re downright possessive about their mates. Cai breezed through, laughing with dragons and flirting with their mates, who found themselves flirting back because no one could resist Cai. He whipped his head to the side, flipping his dark hair out of his eyes as he said something to Morgan that made the old dragon rear back in laughter. When Silveretti, a dragonmated fae woman with more drop-dead gorgeous looks than common sense, accosted him right in front of her mate Eurig, Cai showed them something on his phone that made both their eyes widen. Eurig clapped Cai on the back and laughed, and Cai said something else with a wink.

Same old Cai.

He finally reached the spot where Math and Arawn were waiting.

Trumpets played a flourish to announce the entrance of the Dragon Queen and Dragon King.

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