The ceremony was supposed to take ten minutes. Dexmon had overseen hundreds.
This was not that.
By the halfway point, he would be scent-triggered, drenched in sweat, and Gavriel Sterling would ask him, in front of his father, if he was constipated.
It started as every ceremony would, with Hyran Thornfell at the basin, pretending like he wasn't at all enjoying this.
"Blood remembers. And blood binds." He paused, letting the silence stretch for three full seconds like a weapon until Serena and Elara both leaned forward.
Dexmon and Gavriel found each other's eyes at the exact same moment, faces saying the same thing: here we go.
"Do you," Hyran intoned, "before King and altar, swear to uphold this pack, to guard its lives, keep its secrets, and renounce all will against your own, binding yourself in blood and bone until death or the Alpha's command?"
Hale's lips moved along with the oath. Gavriel caught it and nearly lost his composure.
"I do."
"Step forward and let the ancestors decide."
They moved to stand around the crystal basin with King Tiberon at the head.
He unsheathed a ceremonial dagger and cut his palm, letting the blood drip into the flame. The fire surged, recognizing him.
Dexmon went next, and the fire gave an identical reaction. Hale was third, Gavriel fourth, and Hyran last.
Hyran handed the dagger to Elara. "One at a time."
Elara cut her palm without flinching, squeezing her blood into the basin.
"Place your hand into the flame. The fire will speak its judgement."
When Elara put her hand in the fire, it immediately changed to silver.
Hale's eyes widened and he made a sound that could only be described as a man's brain rebooting.
King Tiberon glanced his way. He'd commanded armies, faced assassination attempts, and survived thirty years of marriage to Bellatrix. Nothing had prepared him for watching his Beta malfunction over a woman's fire color.
The fire returned to its original state.
"The ancestors have spoken. Your oath was accepted," Hyran announced, as if the fire turning silver was perfectly normal.
Serena cut her palm next, revealing gold blood. When the first drop hit, the flame roared gold.
She looked at Hyran, waiting for the next instruction, but he gave her nothing. His eyes were transfixed on the fire, locked somewhere between scholar and statue.
On his other side, Dexmon went so rigid that a vein pulsed in his neck. The scent of her blood caught him entirely off guard, slamming into him like a charging bull.
A sudden, primal urge to mate roared through his veins, right there on the ceremonial floor. The instinct was consuming and terrifying in its intensity.
Aegon: I am fighting the urge to mark her. Do you feel that?
Dexmon: Yes. Control yourself.
Out of habit, Dexmon took a steadying breath to ground himself. Only to breathe in her scent again, and instantly regret it.
Aegon: I don't care anymore.
Dexmon: Absolutely the fuck not.
Aegon: Mate her. Mate her again. Mark her. In that order.
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple; his fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. It was taking every ounce of his control to hold back.
Gavriel, who had zero context for Dexmon's internal crisis, leaned over. "You look constipated. Are you okay?"
Dexmon turned his head slowly.
"Is it about her blood being gold? Because that was objectively terrifying and also kind of hot."
"Shut up, Gavriel," Dexmon said through gritted teeth.
No one moved or spoke for another twenty seconds. By which point, Serena was running out of ways to stand there and pretend this was normal.
Hyran gestured towards the basin. "Place your hand within the flame. Let the fire speak its judgement."
Serena didn't need to be told twice, moving her hand immediately. The fact that it was a literal fire hadn't crossed her mind. What unsettled her was the pause before he'd told her to do it. Too long.
Was her blood going to be a problem? Her heart sank at the thought of her blood being the reason she couldn't become a pack member. A warming sensation stopped her mid-spiral, drawing her eyes to her hand. The flame was soothing in a way she hadn't expected, easing the tightness in her chest. Almost as if it were telling her not to worry.
King Tiberon exchanged a glance with Hyran. Usually after a few seconds, the fire returned to its natural state, signaling the judgement was complete.
But the fire remained gold, unchanging.
He watched Serena, who met his gaze with steady composure. He gave a curt nod that meant she could withdraw.
The second he nodded the fire went out completely. It had burned since the inception of Drakenfell, surviving thousands of years without ever flickering.
Hyran squinted at it. Like his eyes were wrong.
Relieved that the ritual was over, Serena began to pull her arm back.
She was mistaken.
Right as she lifted her hand, something grabbed her wrist and yanked her back in.
Before she had time to process that, a cylinder of golden fire roared fifty feet into the sky with a shockwave that knocked everyone else to the ground.
Gold light flowed from the flame into her body, and whispers brushed the edge of her awareness.
She didn't know who they were, only that they mattered. Reverence settled deep in her chest, instinctive and unquestioned. They had chosen her.
She didn't know for what. She didn't know how she knew. Only that she did.
Gratitude swelled and with it a quiet vow: She would not fail them.
Then the flame dropped back into the basin, returning to its normal, flickering state as if the cataclysmic pillar of fire had never existed.
Serena yanked her hand out with entirely too much force, unaware that she was still glowing gold until Elara shot her a warning look. She glanced down at her hands and sighed. She had no idea how to stop it.
Hyran seemed to have found his voice after watching this interaction. "The ancestors have spoken. Your oath was accepted."
A wave of lightheadedness washed over her that instant. She had a running tally of how many times she'd nearly lost consciousness in Drakenfell and the last thing she wanted to do was pass out again. So she focused on keeping her breathing even.
"This ceremony is adjourned. Welcome to the Drakenfell pack." Hyran's focus was locked onto Serena, like a scholar with big plans.
Hale tripped forward, a mountain of muscle moving like a toddler who'd just discovered legs. He barreled toward Elara with all the coordination of a drunk moose on ice.
Hyran watched the trajectory, did the math, and stepped neatly to the left. He was not about to be taken out by a lovesick Beta with depth perception issues.
Hale caught a stone with his boot—because of course he did—and lunged forward with a startled, "Elara—!"
Serena, unfortunately positioned between them, reacted on pure instinct. He fell flat onto her and she managed to catch him mid-fall. For half a glorious second, she managed to stay upright, longer than physics should have allowed.
Then gravity remembered it was undefeated and she vanished beneath Hale's full weight like a napkin under a boulder.
Gavriel let out a strangled noise that might have been a laugh or a wheeze.
Dexmon stepped forward and pulled Hale up, trying to get to Serena. But before he could, Hale, with all the subtlety of a troll, scooped her up by the waist like she weighed nothing. Instead of putting her on her feet, he threw her over his shoulder. A high-pitched squeal slipped from Serena's mouth before she could stop it, echoing off the stones.
"Hale Ironholt. Beta of Drakenfell and High General of the Draken Forces," he declared proudly, turning towards Elara with one hand extended in a courtly gesture—while Serena dangled upside-down over his shoulder.
Elara blinked once. "Elara Vaelor."
"This is either madness or brilliance," Hyran muttered, watching the scene unfold like one might observe a horse loose in a cathedral.
King Tiberon pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is my Beta."
"Care to walk with me?" Hale asked, entirely unaware he still had Serena slung over his shoulder.
"Hale, could you put me down?" Serena's voice carried the particular calm of a woman who had decided that if she lost her composure now, she would never recover it. So she would wait. Politely. While upside down.
He didn't seem to hear. Instead, he took Elara's hand and kissed it, utterly focused. "Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful hair and eyes? Because you do. And you smell good too."
"Is this real?" Gavriel asked, rubbing his eyes.
"Hale," Dexmon said, voice clipped. "You have Serena over your shoulder."
He felt a flicker of irritation—yes—but also reluctant amusement. Her squeaky scream had been adorable. And the fact she'd tried to catch Hale—easily triple her size—was either noble or completely insane.
Hale blinked for the first time in a minute, glancing at Dexmon. Then at Elara. Then slowly, over his shoulder, where a pair of green eyes stared back at him with the patience of a saint who had been tested one too many times.
"Oh. Right," he said, as if this were new information and not something everyone had been screaming about for the last thirty seconds.
He gently set Serena back on her feet with all the reverence of putting a favorite mug back on the shelf.
His brain was still running exclusively on Elara, and he heard a thank you that never happened.
He gave her an earnest nod. "You're welcome."
Then he turned back to Elara and offered his arm. "Shall we?"
The courtyard emptied.
Dexmon watched the archway long after Serena vanished, her quiet composure striking him as so deeply sad that he felt a sudden, strange urge to pick her up and make her laugh.
He shook his head at the ridiculous thought. He didn't even know her that well.
Aegon: Your other princess wore green today.
Dexmon: Shut up.
Aegon: You can't break a matebond if she doesn't feel it on her end. So you're going to be stuck like this for months if you plan on doing it.
Dexmon's stomach dropped at those words. Actually, it left the building.
Dexmon: I am not going to break the matebond with her. I just need to get things with Agnes handled first.
Aegon: Your Gamma likes her.
Dexmon: Gavriel likes women. Plural. He's not the settling type.
Across the courtyard, a servant appeared at the archway. "Your Highness. Princess Agnes requests your presence. She says it's urgent."
Dexmon closed his eyes. Of course she did.