Page 118 of Feralheart

I pulled the folded form from my pocket, the one I’d signed yesterday. The clerk’s stamp still glowing faintly with magic.

I held it out for him and everyone else to see.

The official’s face went through a journey of confusion to horror to a shade of panic that meant he’d found a circle he couldn’t close. He backed away, and the other officials swarmed him like carrion birds.

Lady Severine’s voice cut through the noise before they could speak. “This is an abomination.”

I could see the moment Fenian made a choice, his gaze flicking to me before he tightened his shoulders, a man about to walk into battle. His mother’s eyes remained on him as he left Aristus and strode across the arena.

What was he doing? He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

He needed to stop trying to save me.

Don’t, I thought. Don’t throw yourself in front of me again.

But he’d already done it, stopping near the officials. He didn’t clear his throat or ask for attention. He stood with them until they had no choice but to acknowledge him.

“What is taking so long?” he asked in the lull that followed. “Some of us want to get on with it.”

Two officials fluttered their hands. One swayed like she was about to swoon. The head of the group glared, though for only a moment. He must’ve realized who he was scowling at, because he smoothed his face and hefted the scroll to cover it.

“What rule has been broken?” Fenian asked, squinting around. “Because if there isn’t one, we will proceed.”

“This is highly unusual, Sire,” an official sputtered.

“I don’t see the problem. The rider in question provided both a dragon and the dragon’s name.”

The queen frowned at her son.

Lady Severine hurried over to join him. “Your Highness, surely⁠—”

“Unless the rules have changed?” He lifted one brow, his attention solely on the officials.

Whispers erupted from the crowd and more bets were called out.

The officials backed away and gathered together to study the scroll. Flipping pages. Conferring in harsh whispers.

The queen smiled, though it felt worse than if she’d raged.

She whispered to the robed man standing by her side. Whatever she said, his face paled.

The head official cleared his throat. “The rider’s registration is…” He paused, and his throat moved with his swallow. “Technically valid.”

“Finally,” Fenian drawled. He peered up at the sky. “The sun waits for no one.”

A feral sound ripped up my throat, a mix of relief and terror and something that tasted like triumph but burned like tears. I held it back, my hand finding Selira’s leg because if I didn’t hold onto something solid, I’d shake apart.

I’d done it. We’d done it.

A roar erupted from the crowd again.

The official raised his hand. “However, standard safety protocols⁠—”

“Are recommendations, not requirements,” Fenian said sharply.

Silence dropped in the arena.

The official glanced toward the queen, and she gave a nod.