Chapter 69: Noisy

And how seriously unfortunate that was when Riley had always loved the sea.

Yet here he was, standing in the middle of a dragon hall, suddenly convinced that someone had just spilled an entire bucket of fish brine into the air.

The others didn’t seem to notice, nor did they care. Even Kael, who Riley thought would be the first to grimace at the faint stink of “fish market chic,” didn’t so much as twitch.

Maybe the guy always smelled this way? Maybe they were used to it? Or maybe, Riley thought with deep suspicion, Chancellor Malrik Veyth just really liked the sea.

Wouldn’t surprise him if the man had a private saltwater pool somewhere, carved out by handmaids, complete with imported coral and a school of decorative fish swimming laps around his bathtub. Dragons had that kind of energy.

What really bothered Riley was that both Kael and Orien had already told him about this man back before they even came here. The Chancellor wasn’t someone people normally saw outside. He stayed mostly in the nest as its current head. Quiet. Distant. A name spoken in low tones, not a figure who actually showed up in person.

Which, in Riley’s mind, translated to: “super powerful dragon who hides in his cave and only comes out when the sky is on fire.”

So, naturally, he decided to make his debut on the same night Riley, one human, was being repeatedly and loudly called the mate of the Dragon Lord.

Normal? Absolutely not.

But then again, what even was normal anymore? Certainly not this hall, where one minute Riley was dodging political daggers and the next, some random dragon elder was trying to roast him alive with words.

After all, if Riley had to make a list of things that were not supposed to happen, tonight would already check off enough boxes to warrant a full-page report. Starting with:

A human standing where no human should be.

Then, said human being called “mate” to the Dragon Lord, who happened to be his boss.

Oh, and then the Chancellor, who doesn’t leave the nest, was suddenly present with another dragonling who shouldn’t have any business being outside.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, did he mention how the dragonling was berating him about a dragon tradition that she clearly didn’t know about?

Now, Riley wasn’t here to age-shame anyone, but let’s be honest: she was a baby. By dragon standards, anyway. Sure, she looked like a fully grown woman dressed in clothes that screamed, “I am an adult, respect me,” but Riley had already learned the truth about these so-called dragons.

Under one hundred? Baby. Even when numerically, they were far older than most human grandparents. But even then, after seeing Orien, Riley could only imagine babies. Which meant that no matter how hard she tried to glare daggers at him, Riley wasn’t about to feel rattled. After all, he’d been yelled at by actual professors, grave diggers, and once by a very angry golden goose. She didn’t even make the top ten.

The irony was that here she was, when the only dragonling that should be present today was nowhere to be found.

So yes. Nothing about tonight was “normal.” But Riley hadn’t come here for normal. He hadn’t risked his life, sanity, and dignity in small dessert containers just to experience ordinary.

Which was why, despite the uncomfortable itch on his nose, despite the hostile stares of dragons more than twice his size, despite the fact that Chancellor Fish-Market Smile was looking at him like a sermon in a robe, Riley couldn’t complain.

Not really.

Well. Except for that smile. That smile was creeping him out.

But he still had to answer with a deep bow; after all, he couldn’t possibly respond the same way he did with those people who showed open hostility.

While he couldn’t speak out of turn, he could still respond noncommittally like this.

The Chancellor, however, had no such restraints. His voice filled the chamber, smooth and warm like honey poured over steel.

“No need for formalities,” Malrik said, his smile never faltering, “especially since you’re in the middle of something important. Although, I must apologize for coming to ruin what was supposed to be a happy event.”

Riley’s toes curled inside his shoes.

Oh. Oh, OH! This was it.

This was probably what they were waiting for. The carefully timed explosion. The part where someone tells them about Orien’s disappearance!

But apparently, he wasn’t the only one on edge.

Seris had been bracing herself the entire time, practically vibrating in her seat like a kettle about to scream.

Because this—this right here—was the plan.

Step one: Announce the humiliating, utterly shameful disappearance of Orien, the precious dragonling who had most definitely escaped the nest.

Step two: While everyone was still reeling from that disgrace, slip in the reminder that there was something even more scandalous poisoning the Dravaryn name—the presence of a human being paraded around as the Dragon Lord’s prospective mate.

Because surely they hadn’t done the formal rites yet, right? Surely Kael wasn’t that unhinged? Right?

Right?!

Therefore, step three: Once the clan had worked itself into a froth, Chancellor Malrik would swoop in with a magnanimous solution. The human could be kept on as a concubine—because apparently he was too slippery to dispose of entirely—while Kael would be given the opportunity to restore dignity by choosing a proper dragon mate.

A foolproof plan. Elegant. Cruel. Efficient.

At least, that’s what Seris had been told.

She, of course, had her own thoughts. For one, the idea of tolerating the human as a concubine was laughable. Impossible. Insulting. After what he’d done to her pride, she would rather choke on her own flames than share air with him.

She’d apologize to Chancellor Malrik later, sure, but she had no intention of letting everything play out the way he intended.

Except—

Before anyone could even get to the first official line of this script, the door to the grand hall slammed open.

And in came wings.

Not one. Not two.

A whole flight of dragons.

No—worse.

A brood.

Everyone: “!!!”

The entire hall froze, jaws dropping, eyes bugging, scales twitching.

And then, as if the situation wasn’t already wobbling on the edge of a cliff, one of the newcomers bellowed:

“Dragon Lord! You cannot possibly take Seris as your mate!”

“???”

Seris: “!!!”

Riley: “???”

Kael: “…”

The sound of glass shattering would’ve been quieter than the silence that followed.

The entire hall was stunned. This wasn’t in the script. This wasn’t even on the rehearsal schedule.

Seris gawked, her brain short-circuiting. Her plan—her flawless, foolproof, beautifully manipulative plan—was being set on fire before it even began.

Riley almost choked on his own tongue. Excuse me?! Did that dragonling just say what he thought they had said?!

The elder dragons looked like they’d swallowed their own tails.

And Chancellor Malrik? The man looked like he was about to vomit right there on the marble floor. His carefully crafted scheme, his chessboard of strategy, was suddenly swarmed by screaming toddlers.

Because just what in the hell were all these dragonlings doing outside the nest?!

The silence cracked. Then it shattered.

Chaos erupted like a dam bursting.

Screams and shouts overlapped into a storm of noise.

“It should be me!” one dragonling wailed.

“She’s lying!” another shrieked.

“This is a set-up!” howled a third.

It was a cacophony of screeching wings and shrill protests, and Riley was convinced he had just died and been reincarnated into the world’s worst reality show.

And then—

All at once, the shouting brood twisted their heads in unison.

Toward him.

Riley froze. His brain screamed: No. Nope. Absolutely not. Stop looking at me.

But the eyes only grew sharper, brighter, more aware, as if a single horrifying realization had just struck them all at once.

Someone else already existed.

A human.

Riley.

The way their eyes dilated in disbelief, the way their wings trembled in outrage—it was like watching baby sharks smell blood for the first time.

This was it. The moment everything officially went south.

And Riley, poor fool that he was, actually thought he might still salvage this. He could talk his way out. He could reason with them. Maybe even lessen the backlash.

If only.

If not for the fact that Kael, with all the casualness of picking up a loose umbrella, suddenly reached down, plucked Riley right off the ground, tucked him under his arm like luggage, and said in a voice that dropped like an axe:

“Noisy.”

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