The valet opened Misha’s door, then hurried around to my side of the vehicle. I waited awkwardly. It felt strange, waiting for someone to do something I was entirely capable of doing myself, but would it be offensive if I didn’t wait? Misha was already out of the car, so it wasn’t like I could ask him discreetly. And then my door was open, and the valet bowed, hand out, waiting for my keys.
I knew it was the expected thing to do, but I was seized by the sudden fear that by handing over my keys, I was handing over our only escape. I sniffed the air surreptitiously. Ashes. Heat. And something deeper… something that told me it wasn’t just a campfire I was smelling. It was dragon.
So the valet was a dragon, at least, even if all of the Chens’ laypeople weren’t.
Even if everything went wrong and by some chance we managed to escape the dragons’ palatial fortress and reach my car, I was pretty sure they’d be able to crush or incinerate it within seconds.
That was a healthy thought.
I dropped the keys in the valet’s hand and circled the car to take Misha’s arm.
As another red-and black-clad man bowed silently and gestured up the stairs, I leaned close to Misha, trying to keep my voice low enough even dragon ears wouldn’t pick up on what I said. Which was hard to judge, given I had no idea how sensitive dragons were. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… let me do the talking. My father is my responsibility.”
“Ah, it’s the responsibility aspect, is it?” Misha reached across his body and patted the hand that held his arm, the gift bag crinkling as he accidentally squished it between his arm and body. “It’s not so much the worry that I might crack the wrong joke at the wrong time?”
I blushed. I couldn’t help it. I might be the literal black sheep among the family, with my dark hair and blue eyes standing apart from the normal red and green, but I’d certainly inherited the fair skin, and all that went with it.
“Of course not.” The protest sounded weak, even in my ears. That had definitely been one of my concerns. “I’m sure you know how to behave yourself when circumstances call for it.”
“I do, at that. The problem is that I think far fewer episodes call for behaving than most people do.”
We passed through the massive front doors, easily as tall as three of me. They were solid wood but insanely thick, so certainly could have hidden a sturdier core material, and covered in ornate carvings gilded with more gold. The servant’s silence continued until we were handed over to a sharply thin woman with gray streaks highlighting her otherwise black hair which was bound in a bun as well. Her pinched lips indicated she clearly thought meeting us was a waste of her time, and I recognized her voice the moment she spoke. That high-pitched but bored tone had denied my calls too many times today to forget it.
I lifted my chin, waiting for her to challenge my right to approach, even if it was just a look of frustration or disgust, but the lack of personality in her voice carried over to her physical features.
“You’re three minutes early.”
Yep. All the personality of a dial tone. I could tell Misha was itching to let loose some snarky comeback, but I dug my fingers into his arm, and he kept his mouth shut.
“Please step this way and wait to be scanned,” she said.
She led us to a gold circle inlay, three dragons chasing each other and what looked like a bunch of Chinese symbols I didn’t have a hope of interpreting. Misha protectively held the lavender-colored paper bag that held the orchid he’d insisted on stopping for. I waited for someone to bring a handheld metal detector, or hell, even wheel out a full-sized airport scanner, but Misha and I simply stood in the circle for about twenty seconds before she nodded.
“Clear. Please follow me.”
We stopped in front of another pair of giant wooden doors. These ones were only twice as tall as me, and slightly simpler than the first ones we’d passed through, though they still surpassed the detail and expense of any other door I’d encountered in my entire life. We Irish tended to go for simplicity and usefulness rather than intimidating displays.
I shivered as I eyed an exceptionally sharp-toothed carving of a dragon. I couldn’t deny that this particular attempt at intimidation certainly did its job.
The woman checked her wristwatch. “You have two minutes before your audience.”
Audience. As if we were meeting with a king. Or an emperor. I guessed it was a fair enough comparison. I was coming to ask a favor of a man with much more power than I had.
The two minutes of waiting were the longest, most uncomfortable minutes of my life. But they finally ended when the woman stepped to the side, as if by a silent command, and the large doors swung open in unison.
The woman gave us a half bow. “You may approach the throne.”
Oh man, yeah. These guys were operating on a level of formality and fealty I hadn’t thought possible in the modern age.
Misha took the first step, pulling me back into my body and the moment, and together we approached the dragons on their thrones.
Three chairs, just as oversized and ornate as everything else we’d encountered so far, sat on a dais at the end of a long room. Men and women sat on low benches that lined the wall, eyeing us and murmuring so quietly my shifter ears couldn’t pick up the details. Everyone wore their hair in buns here.
I turned my attention away from the onlookers and focused on the three men sitting in the thrones, wondering which one was Li Chen. The one on the left wore a robe of blue, edged with a lighter blue. His hair was mostly black, with a streak of white running back from his left temple that disappeared in the midst of his bun. He was the slenderest of the three. In the center sat a wide-shouldered man with a jawline so sharp you could probably open cans of Guinness with it. His hair was hidden underneath a small gold and red hat that matched his robe. The remaining man wore a robe of green, embroidered with brown or black—it was hard to tell from a distance. He was the largest, with a sturdy build and a little padding around his middle. His black and gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and he was one of the few to sport any kind of facial hair, which he wore as a neatly trimmed beard that was more gray than anything else.
Even with the gray hair, it was impossible to guess at an age for any of them with their smooth, unlined faces and ancient eyes.
I filed all of this into my brain in seconds, while wondering why there were three men on the dais. The alpha and his mate were two of them, I assumed. But which two? And who was the third? Their heir? If that was the case, I guessed that Strong Jaw and Beard were the omega and alpha, with their son sitting to their left. It seemed odd to me that in a culture that seemed so traditional and ritualistic, at least from what I’d seen of it, that the omega would take the center position rather than the alpha. But I recognized that just because that was the tradition I was familiar with, it didn’t necessarily mean it was their tradition. It could easily be that Beard and White Streak were the alpha and omega, and Strong Jaw was center, practicing for when he took control.
A man who did sport wrinkles and a little top hat banged a gong at the base of the dais. “Their Honored Presences, the Three Dragons of Chen.”
Behind us, fabric rustled and Misha and I turned to see those who had previously been sitting on the benches now on their knees, bowing all the way to the floor, their arms stretched out in front of them.