ARAWN, the Duke of Tiamat, held his dragonmate Willow Tiamat’s hand as he ascended the steps to the dais and walked toward the Dragon Scepter.
Willow was nervous as she trailed him, and Arawn didn’t like being the center of attention, either. His job was the security of the dragon clan, in all the shades of gray that entailed. The crowd’s eyes felt like spies.
Over on the thrones, Queen Bronwyn and King Llywelyn smiled at him. Llywelyn had counseled Arawn many times during his life, but Bronwyn was the heart of the clan. Her leadership as the dragon in the mated pair of monarchs and the Dragon Queen had inspired him.
Willow was following Arawn, holding his hand. Her slow steps felt like she was supporting him, but that she was going somewhere she would rather not. He inched along their mating bond, feeling that hard-won, deep connection between them and the love that flowed through, until he found Willow.
She wasn’t frightened of the possibility of becoming the Dragon Queen, but she had steeled herself to accept it. The potions witch had the soul of a scholar, not a politician or a celebrity.
And Arawn, really, as he understood himself, was more similar to his dragonmate than he was different.
Yes, he would perform well as the Dragon King, if the scepter chose him, but Arawn was a general and not a politician. He could lead an army or plan the strategy for a war, but he would be wasted and unfulfilled with the extensive ceremonial duties of a king.
Arawn’s hand hesitated in the air above the Dragon Scepter.
Behind him, Willow whispered, “Go ahead. It is your duty, like you said.”
He could feel the scepter’s magic trickling up through the air to his hand, drawing him down, enticing him to take it. Magical sparks already flowed from the scepter’s ends in response to his presence.
But this was not his path.
Arawn lifted his hand away from the scepter and stepped back.
Willow asked, “Arawn?”
He announced, “The Dukedom of Tiamat will not stand for the monarchy at this time.”
When he glanced over at Bronwyn and Llywelyn, they were smiling at him. Llywelyn glanced at his mate, who lifted her silver eyebrows at him like she had been right about something.
Ah, so it was the right thing for him to do.
Well played, Bronwyn. Well played.
He shook hands with the monarchs and led Willow down the other side of the dais.
She hugged him, and he hugged her back, whispering, “If the scepter selects no one else, I need to fulfill my duty at the next selection event, in three months’ time.”
“I know,” she whispered, her sweet breath brushing his neck. “But maybe it will.”