Bastian's POV

  “Should we follow them onto the dance floor?” Peregrine asked, swirling the remainder of her sparkling wine instead of drinking it.

  Her other hand was still on Bastian’s arm. It was a comfort, grounding him and his frustrations. Henrietta was a friend, and her tireless efforts had earned her respect and consideration by adventurers and royals internationally.

  Seeing her treated that way got under his skin.

  “No.” Bastian replied, letting himself relax. “Henrietta can hold her own- it’s King Keith I’m worried about.”

  The pair looked on as the Dark Lord positively leaked out aura. His face was calm, impassive... and that only made it more concerning.

  “Is she really that strong?” Peregrine tilted her head, inspecting the dancing princess.

  “She can break my dragon scales with her bare hands.” Bastian explained. “And–”

  “Your what?” Peregrine turned on Bastian fast, her interest driving him back a step.

  “My scales… ah.” Bastain froze. Her curious stare said it all. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. “You don’t know.”

  His partner didn’t flinch, but the tips of her ears darkened with embarrassment. “I don’t.”

  “What did they tell you about me?”

  “Not much.”

  Any other time, and he would have accepted her shrug and calmly filled her in with everything she might need to know… but not this time. “Peregrine. What did they tell you?”

  “They handed me your portrait.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s it.” Peregrine shrugged. “They said Peldeep wants a marriage alliance and here he is, make it happen.”

  “And you agreed?!” Bastian turned to face her properly, releasing her arm and putting a small bit of space between them. He didn’t want to fight the surge of possessiveness that roiled in his chest. A feeling he shouldn't have let run loose as he had… it would be better if he weren’t touching her at all while he clarified her intentions.

  “No.” She met his eyes. “I was going to meet you first and then make my decision.”

  That made it slightly more bearable. He could work with that. “And now?”

  “Now,” She tilted her drink at him, “You still haven’t explained the dragon scales.”

  “I’m a drakin.”

  Peregrine’s eyes went wide as she looked him over, head to toe. “Really?”

  Her tone didn’t betray anything but curiosity.

  “Yes.” Thinking it was better to get it all out of the way, Bastian lifted his arm.

  He ignored the message, focusing on the feeling of scales rippling down his forearm and shifting his hand into a dragon claw.

  Peregrine stared at his arm.

  “Can I touch it?”

  He nodded, and her hand brushed against his.

  “It’s cold?” She inspected it closer. “Ice dragon? It would explain your colouring.”

  “From my father.” Bastian explained, holding very still. His scales were sharp.

  “Wow.”

  “Is it… going to be a problem?”

  “No,” She withdrew her hand and shook her head. “No, this works better actually.”

  Bastian shifted his arm back to normal. “How so?”

  “Sumbria is…” Peregrine paused, sighed, and then stated, “racist.”

  Bastian couldn’t help it; he snorted.

  She nodded, “And there are very few people the elves hold in as high regard as other elves– dragons being one of them.”

  “But I’m not a complete dragon yet.” He countered.

  “You’re close enough.”

  Something about their conversation didn’t sit right with him. “That just means Sumbria is fine with you marrying a drakin… but are you fine with marrying a drakin?”

  Their eyes met for a long second and then she nodded.

  “Phew,” Hermie said, startling the two. The hedgehog couple were standing only a few feet away. They were beside a half-elf wearing green, and all three were staring at Bastian and Peregrine.

  “Ah–” Peregrine’s ears darkened.

  “Charlie, Hermie,” Bastian stepped closer to Peregrine again and wrapping an arm around her.

  “Does that mean congratulations are in order?” Charlie asked, her eyes gleaming.

  “That’s–”

  “We haven’t–”

  Peregrine spoke first, so Bastian motioned for her to continue.

  “We’ll let you know,” Peregrine decided as her answer, “if everything works out. We haven’t had an official marriage talk yet.”

  “That looked pretty official to me,” The half-elf in green spoke for the first time, winking at the pair. “Apologies for intruding on your courtship, I am Markus Savis, of Servalt.”

  “Well met,” Bastian nodded. “I am Bastian of Peldeep and this is Countess Peregrine.”

  “Of Sumbria,” Peregrine added.

  “Markus has been a dear finding us a burrow manor in Heatherfeld,” Hermie explained. “We moved in three weeks back.”

  “In Servalt?” Bastain studied the man harder. Merchants of Servalt were notorious for two things; corruption or international crime.

  More often both. It was a pity, since the the royal court itself were good company. The crown and the prime minister were being run ragged right now, trying to deal with their merchant guilds.

  “Yes, I work exclusively in real estate." Markus had a pleasant and innocent smile. His voice turned into an obvious sales pitch. "If you’re looking for a summer home in Servalt - maybe something near the Sumbrian border? I have just the place for you.”

  He winked at the last part.

  “We’ll consider,” Bastian said, glancing down at Peregrine to note she had put on a polite and empty smile.

  If she wasn’t interested, then he wasn’t interested.

  “It was lovely to meet you,” Markus lifted his glass in greeting and took a sip. Bastian nodded, he didn’t have a glass, and Peregrine simply tilted her drink in reply. She wasn’t a fan of the beverage, so far as he could tell.

  “They've stopped dancing,” Peregrine drew all of our attention back to the dance floor, where Princess Henrietta and her supposed second fiancé were stopped.

  They were talking animatedly when the marquess lifted one hand as if to strike the girl. Bastian wondered if the he thought he could even touch the princess without breaking a hand against her defense. Bastian was almost disappointed when the marquess simply lowered his hand back down to his side without a care.

  And that was when Peregrine suddenly collapsed.