There are evenings that change a kingdom. If you had asked anyone at the Unity Gala halfway through the night, they would have told you this was one of them. Dragon fated mates were beyond rare, and they were witnessing history.
By morning, that would be the least eventful part of the evening.
One act of treason. One kill. A nursery rhyme from a dead man's throat. And two brothers claiming the same woman.
Maddox watched Guinevere's breathing pick up.
He thought about the glow from her earlier in the night. Before they danced, he saw it. How many times had his flame reached for her without him knowing? How many times had she felt it pull and said nothing this entire week?
She told no one because who would she tell? Him. She could have told him. He was right here. He had been right here for five days asking her to have a drink with him and she had been declining while quietly absorbing his flame in corridors.
