The evening air is filled with excitement and anticipation.
Faelyn already feels anxious about what is to come. For the past few days, she can already feel the energy radiating from unmated dragons as they brag to each other about the mates they intend to claim.
Tonight is the annual mating hunt where unmated males and females are permitted to go all out in search of a mate.
Faelyn recalls the last mating hunt—it had been horrid. She'd found it barbaric. Why did the people enjoy such a brutal, bloody ritual?
She sets down the bowl of mating paint with an exaggerated sigh. Not only does she hate the ritual, but as the King's mate, she's obligated to prepare for it too? It's too unfair.
"I don't want to do this," she mutters, glaring at the clay bowls arranged on the low table in her and Amendiel's chamber. "I can't believe this is really going to happen again."
