Page 24 of Bonded To The Arena Master

Silver dust pours between my fingers.

It strikes the polished black floor between us and spreads across Draxon's boots. Larger fragments catch the crimson light. One intact petal lands against the edge of the circular mark before curling inward.

The storm-court erupts into voices.

Several Volvath rise from their benches. A Trolvor woman opens her beaked mouth in a sharp cry. One Soz'garoth covers his amusement behind a ringed hand. The humans against the walls remain motionless, but more than one lifts their eyes toward me.

The Matron grips the arms of her throne and leans forward. Another bares her teeth. The eldest watches Draxon, measuring his response.

Zira descends one step.

Her staff strikes the platform hard enough to silence the nearest gallery.

"The gift has been accepted," she says.

"And improved," I answer.

A growl rises from somewhere among the Council guards.

Draxon moves half a step closer. He leaves a narrow space between us. His immense presence blocks the nearest guard's direct path while appearing to obey the ceremony's arrangement.

The court can call the movement possession.

I recognize protection because I remember resenting it.

That memory grants him nothing.

Zira's red eyes fix on the silver remains. "The legal bond stands. Destruction of its symbol does not alter the decree."

"I understood that when you forced it into my hand."

"Lord Obsidius will answer for order within his house."

I glance up at Draxon. "He may attempt it."

The galleries answer with fresh murmuring.

Draxon's silver gaze meets mine. This close, I can see a narrow scar cutting through the carapace beside his left eye. It was not there 10 years ago. Neither was the control now holding his mouth in a severe line.

"The Council has witnessed the bond," he says.

His voice carries across the chamber and stops the court more effectively than Zira's staff.

He neither rebukes me nor excuses me.

Zira studies him, then returns to her throne. "So it has. Remove your bonded human from the chamber. The remaining terms will be delivered to House Obsidius."

Bonded human.

Not wife. Not partner. Not even breeder now that the decree is secure.

Draxon turns toward the great doors.

I do not follow until I choose to move.

The distinction is invisible to everyone except me, but it is mine.

My empty hand is dusted silver. The ruined lolean lies behind us where the Council expected a symbol of acceptance.