Page 33 of The Dragon's Promise

“It’s fine. She was kind to you. For that, I won’t mind being in her debt—too much.”

I managed a smile at Seryu. We were still friends.

Seryu didn’t smile back, but he didn’t frown, either. Neither of us had discussed how abruptly the rites had ended, how we’d almost been forced to marry each other. It made for a tense air of awkwardness between us, one Seryu knew just how to break.

“You must be starving,” he said. “Come, let’s get you something to eat.”

* * *

The glowing orbs that drifted along the ceilings were starting to remind me of onions, and the gilded triangles etched on the walls began to look like carrots. I kept sniffing for food, the sharp emptiness in my belly sorely dejected, when Seryu ushered me into what looked like Elang’s study.

There were books everywhere, stacked high atop an oblong slab of marble that served as a table. Paintings too slathered the walls, each encased in a protective bubble that my mischievous fingers would have itched to try popping were I not so hungry. In the corner, a blue fire blazed over a sandy hearth—but no pot brewed over the flames.

“I thought you were taking me to the kitchen,” I said.

“There is no kitchen in a dragon’s castle.”

“Don’t you all have to eat?”

In response, Seryu swept the table clear of its books and scrolls. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he clapped.

A small feast appeared: a steaming clay pot of crisped rice with cabbage and mushrooms, a pot of fish stew with carrots and glass noodles, and a bowl of fruits.

Salivating, I planted myself in front of the stew and started shoveling bites into my mouth, eating so desperately and quickly that stray grains of rice flew at Kiki. The stew was a comfort, reminding me of my own fish soup—a special dish I’d make for my brothers, Takkan, and myself when we weren’t feeling our best.

A few courses in, I stopped. “Seryu, you aren’t eating.”

“I’m spectating for now.” A small grin. “The Shiori I knew would consider this only the first round.”

I laughed. I’d forgotten how much I missed him, our easy banter, our mutual love for food. I started at my plate again.

“Not so fast, Princess.” A teapot had materialized on the table, and Seryu poured its contents into a cup. “Here, drink some tea. It helps with indigestion.”

He poured another cup for himself and took a sip.

“Dragons get indigestion?” I asked.

“No, but Elang hoards the best brews in Ai’long. He’s the only one who travels back and forth from land to sea often enough to keep up with what you mortals are drinking.”

“You travel too.”

“Not as often as him.” Seryu drank deeply from his cup. “It isn’t encouraged to visit the mortal realm. But I was bored—and curious about your world, thanks to him. All Elang did was complain about you humans, but…I liked the food he brought back.”

That I agreed with heartily. “You’re friends.”

“We were. Before his father died and he became High Lord of the Westerly Seas.” A pause. “Then Elang stopped seeing anyone, even me.”

“Because your mother sent assassins after him?”

“That has a little to do with it.”

I set down my spoon. “Why does she want him dead?”

Seryu took a long moment to respond, making me think he was condensing a lengthy story into a short one. At last he said, “His title is a coveted one.”

“But your mother already has her own title.”

“Dragons like my mother and grandfather see Elang’s very existence as a threat. All children born to companions are either dragon—or not. There are no half dragons except for Elang and the Wraith. They’re…aberrations.”

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