I wake to the sound of buzzing and slap at the monitor on my bedside table, thinking the noise is coming from my alarm. When the buzzing continues, I sit up in bed, asking my in-house AI what the noise is.

"You have guests at the front door," Em’asha’s friendly female voice informs me.

"Identify," I say.

"Visitors are from off world and not in my identification database," Em’asha tells me.

"It must be officials from the tournament. Let them in."

I climb out of bed, my hair a mess of white frizz around my head. I make my way to my washroom, wearing nothing but a slip. The details of my curves are nearly visible under the sheer fabric. I gaze in the mirror, noting dark blue circles under my eyes, marring my pale blue skin. The white scales that frame my face seem dull this morning, as if I didn't get enough sleep.

"Computer, what time is it?" I finally ask.

"It is five hours past midnight."

"No one told me anyone would be here this early," I say, shoving a toothwasher in my mouth.

"Helloooo," comes a voice from my living space. The animated word sends a jolt of irritation down my spine. "Joon D'fray, lady goddess of the day. There's the birthday girl," the man attached to the voice says as he finds me scrubbing my teeth in my washroom.

One look at him and I know that he is my stylist, sent by the tournament to prepare me. He has golden skin and gold hair that is quaffed to swoop back from his brow, over his head, and twist in a wide spiral that looks like a broken corkscrew. He slaps his hands together enthusiastically and his eyes bulge.

"By the Bones of the Gods, you are gorgeous," he says.

A second stylist enters the room, his skin a deep shade of fire red, wearing a black form fitting shirt and trousers. They nod to each other, conferring that I am indeed gorgeous.

"That's not an adjective I would use to describe myself," I object. "I spent most of my life in a laboratory, not a fashion school, thank you very much."

"Well, aren’t you a little sassy pants,” the golden one says. “I’m Ron and this is Jym.”

Ron is eyeing me up and down. From the distinct way he’s speaking, I know he’s not interested in me as a mate. The golden dragon is more likely dressing me with his eyes than undressing me with them. Since the plague, many male dragons have found comfort in each other’s arms and have chosen to never fight for a mate in the arena.

"At least show me what you’ve brought me to wear, " I say, spitting the toothwash from my mouth and into the washroom basin.

"First thing first, missy. You need a bath."

“Away team ready to board, we have our passenger,” Ron says, swiping the communication device on his wrist.

“We have a lock on the passenger, prepare for transport,” a clipped voice says through Ron’s com device.

“I’m not ready,” I protest. “I’m still in my night slip.”

“We have everything you need aboard the StarNova. Don’t worry about anything.”

In a matter of milliseconds, I’m dematerialized into a zillion tiny particles. My next conscious realization is of the transport bay of a luxury starship. I’ve spent most of my life in economy class. I bite my lip, looking around at the accommodations.

“Nice place,” I say.

“The preparation chamber is right this way,” Jym says, holding out his hand to direct me.

I move forward, followed by my stylists. The curved cream walls of the StarNova are dotted with soft yellow lights. The floor is made of a synthetic tile that is both hard and soft on the feet. After we turn down a hall into an open deck area, Ron slides his finger over a wall scanner. A door slides back, revealing a large washroom.

Inside, a deep, wide bath steams below an open window that views the expanse of space. The Draxos system stretches out before me. My soft blue and yellow moon, Arcadia, glimmers in the solar light of our sun. I leave Arcadia a few times a year, but no matter how many times I experience the view from space, it always takes my breath away.

“Take off that slip and get into the tub,” Ron says.

“You’re bossy for a beautician,” I mutter, sliding out of my night slip.

“I have a job to do. We need to get you ready for the tournament before we make it to the arena. Now get in the tub, missy.”

I test the water with the tip of my toe, standing at the edge of the tub. The star shine and planet glow from outside the window reflect on the surface. The temperature is warm, hot almost. Just how I like it. I place one foot in the steaming water and then the other. Three steps lead me to the depth of the pool where I can tread water comfortably.

“Hair too,” Ron insists, arranging bottles on a low table by the side of the bath.

I dunk into the water, feeling its warmth embrace my entire body. Jets pump streams from all sides, tingling over my skin. I emerge from the water to find Jym handing me one of the bottles from Ron’s collection.

“Wash your hair with this one,” Ron says.

I take the bottle and squirt the contents into my palm. The smell is intoxicating. Sharp like citrus and sweet like a merrow blossom. I rub it into my hair and it lathers in my hands.

“Rinse,” Ron says, pointing at the water.

I lean back, rinsing the soap from my hair.

“Now use this one to wash your body,” he says, as Jym hands me a second amber bottle, his knees damp from kneeling beside the pool.

I squirt the liquid into my hands. This soap has a thicker consistency. The scent is musky and deep floral. I begin to rub it all over my body under the water. The sensations of the jets and the soap rubbing on my body makes my sex clench uncomfortably. My arousal is deeply confusing in the presence of the beauticians.

“Don’t forget your nethers,” Ron say, pointing at his groin.

I slide a soapy hand between my legs and up the slick slit at my core. My body hungers for more. Ron makes a gesture with his finger, a crude way of indicating he wants me to wash deeper.

I slide my fingers inside my outer cover, and into the tender flesh of my sex. The pleasure buttons that circle the entrance of my channel are tight with desire, begging for release. I can’t stand it and quickly rinse the soap away. Heat rises in my cheeks. I cannot climax in a pool in front of two strangers, male lovers or not.

“Am I done?” I snap, my embarrassment rising with each tick of the clock.

“We can dry you off and start your moisturization,” Ron says.

I frown at my own discomfort. I’d expected my twenty-first birthday to be embarrassing and intrusive, but I hadn’t expected this. I step from the pool and Jym places a super-absorbent towel around my shoulders. It pulls the water from my skin in mere seconds.

“We’re going to moisturize you now. And girl, you need it. Just look at the dry skin around your scales.” Ron hands Jym a bottle of oil.

“Are you kidding me right now?” I protest as four hands begin rubbing oil all over my body.

They start rubbing around my waist and shoulders and are so strong there was no way I can protest. They run their hands all over me, not missing a single curve, nook, or cranny. I’m already in an aroused state. The addition of the sweet-smelling oil, applied by four male hands, just makes it that much worse.

“What are you doing to me?” I say with a deep breath, not understanding my own body’s reaction.

“The soaps and oils are designed to heighten your pheromone output. The side effects may be arousal and slight irritability.”

“Now you tell me!” I snap, stepping out of their grasp.

“I can see the irritability is kicking in,” Jym sniggers.

I glare at him, crossing the room to a large, sleek black armchair. I sit down, oiled and naked, gazing out into the vast view of space. I cross my legs, the heat of my desire pressing hard against my thighs.

“I’m not letting you two grope me anymore,” I say, not looking back at them.

“You still need to be powdered, dressed and made up, Joon. We don’t have time for sass.”

“Sass?” I counter, swiveling the chair to stare at them. “You had your hands on my sex, without warning or permission, five seconds ago. I think I have the right to be a full-on bitch right now.”

“I apologize, Joon. We are in a rush,” Ron says.

“This is my birthday,” I start, rising from the chair. “I want to enjoy it. Now, if you need to get handsy, I’d like fair warning.”

“Noted.”

Jym produces a bowl of white powder and presses a ball of fur inside. “We have to powder you now.”

Jym and Ron begin to press the powdered puffball all over me. The tingles of the powder meeting my oiled skin adds a new sensation to the already throbbing need between my legs. If I don’t get release somehow, I’ll be forced to lose my maidenhead to one of these male-loving dragons.

“Can we be done now?” I say as Ron presses the puff between my legs.

I bite my lip and he looks at me with knowing eyes.

“What you are experiencing is totally normal. Didn’t you know what to expect from the ritual?”

“Vaguely. I’ve been busy trying to save our race. In all honesty, I avoided thinking about this day as long as possible.”

“Why?” Jym asks.

“I don’t know if I want to be mated and lay eggs just yet. I have very important work to do.”

“Work shmirk. What could be more important than mating?” Ron asks dismissively.

My blood boils. He certainly doesn’t know how to handle irritable women. I’m about to explode with rage when I take a deep breath and let it out, remembering my anger is just a side effect of the preparation oils.

“I’m trying to save the Draxos race from extinction by finding a cure for the plague. I’m so close.”

“That does sound like important work,” Jym agrees.

“Thank you,” I say, glaring at Ron.

“Nevertheless, your mating day is also very important to the race, and you will make a beautiful bride. Let’s get you dressed and into hair and makeup before this discussion starts to get philosophical.”

“Okay, fine…” I mutter, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms.

Jym slides a robe over my shoulders, and they take me to a second chamber off the bathing room. It is brighter inside and a chair sits in front of a line of mirrors beside a table of makeup.

“Sit,” Ron says, pointing at the chair.

I sigh and sit before Jym begins to brush my long white hair with a silverbone comb. My light blue skin and white scales glow from the oils and powders. I already look better than normal. I can’t imagine what I’ll look like after they are done with hair, make-up, and clothes.

Jym uses a comb and a quantum laser device to style my hair up into an aristocratic up-do with spirals of white hair, curling down to my shoulders. They then begin to apply the expansive genetically coded beauty products to my face, lips and eyes. Each cream and powder is enhanced specifically for my body and skin. I never indulge in this high a quality of cosmetics. Even though labs on Arcadia were the first to develop it.

When the stylists are done with my hair and makeup, I gaze at my reflection. I look so good, it almost doesn’t seem like it’s me. There is a deep blush in my blue skin around my cheek bones. My lashes and brows are darkened. My lips glow with a pink glossy hue.

“Now you’re ready to see what I brought you to wear,” Ron says.

“Finally,” I grumble.

I’ve been eager to try on clothes since they arrived. As much as I disliked being probed and prodded, I do like to look at fine gowns. Only the Bones of the Gods know why. Ron stands in front of a terminal for a body scanner and points for me to take my position at the center of the circle on the floor.

“Can’t I look at the catalog first?” I protest.

“Drop the robe and let me scan you. We will be at the arena in less than a quarter hour.”

I do what I’m told, begrudgingly. Most high-fashion patterns are locked for public use. The high-end replicators required to make them are rare and expensive. Ron fiddles with the control panel. The lasers spin around me, recording every detail of my form onto the computer.

“Now this is the fun part. Stay where you are and get ready to see what I’ve got for you to try on.”

I gasp in preparation for the first gown to be projected onto my body. The projection takes the form of a red dress. It looks like the scales of a fire dragon, dripping in cascades of lace down my body. I giggle and twirl around, the hologram moving with me as I forget for a moment that I’m a level-headed scientist. I gaze at myself for a long moment before the hologram changes to the second gown.

It’s a gold beaded number, tight to my curves and falling just above the knee. It pushes my breasts up into hard curved half circles above the structured bodice. I turn halfway to look at my behind and notice it is just as pronounced as my bosom in this dress.

“And this one,” Ron says, flicking the controls.

I land in a hologram of a white dress that sparkles with silver-hued diamond beads. It fits around my curves to the knee, and then falls in a pool of silky waves to my feet. The silver white gown matches the color of my hair and brings out the deep blue of my eyes.

“This is the one,” I say in a hushed tone. I’ve never looked so beautiful.

“Perfect. That’s the one I would have chosen for you too,” Ron says.

“In that case,” I say, making a motion to walk away.

Jym sniggers in the corner, and Ron glares at him.

“I still want it,” I admit.

“Good. We’re coming into orbit around the arena.”

3

I look out the window at the space beyond. Before me hovers the arena, forever in orbit around the swirling red and yellow globe of Draxos Prime. The massive fortress that houses the fighting ring sits atop a jagged stone foundation that comes to a pyramid point below. The metallic walls of the colosseum block my view of the inside. I know it is already full of onlookers, ready and waiting to cheer for the blood and fangs of the males who seek to win me.

Only my fated will thrall today. Only he will be affected by the scent of my pheromones and my presence near the fighting ring. A Draxos male needs to thrall in battle to know his fated female, the one who will be the best genetic match for his young, the one who will fill his soul’s deepest need. A female dragon does not know her fated until he thralls.

When the thrall hits, both instantly know they are meant for each other. Our kind have been mating this way since the Gods came to this galaxy and settled Draxos Prime. That is the story that has survived until today. Who knows what is true? The old stories were in antiquity when the databases were destroyed. All that is left today is speculation and myth.

“Time to go, gorgeous Joon, queen of the day.” Ron waves toward the hallway.

We walk to the transport bay and stand on the sensors, ready to be beamed down to the surface of the arena. We land in a waiting area, not in the main entrance I’ve seen in holofilms and live feeds of the tournament.

“Good Birthday, Joon D’fray,” an air dragon in a black robe bows at me. “I am Game Judge Ge’ono Shin. It is my honor to welcome you to the games. How was your transport?”

“Eventful. To say the least,” I say, turning to eye Ron.

He gives me a toothy grin, showing his pointed teeth. His eyes sparkle.

“Miss Joon didn’t do her homework for her mating day. But she’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“You are breathtaking, Joon.”

“Now Jym and I must be going. We leave you in good hands, dear,” Ron says, leaning in give me an air kiss on both cheeks, a custom among creative dragons like stylists and air painters.

“Thank you for what you’ve done for me,” I tell him earnestly. I look more beautiful than I ever have before. I never would have seen it if not for Ron and Jym. I’m grateful to them for that, even if they did grope me without warning.

“Bye Joon,” Jym says before he and Ron dematerialize.

“Your parents will be so proud,” Judge Ge’ono says.

“They aren’t here. They are still on an academic expedition in the solar Sea of Flux.”

“What a shame,” Judge Ge’ono says, pressing his hand to his heart.

“They couldn’t get away. The asteroid tide is in and they are holed up in the research station at the center of the cluster. It couldn’t be helped. They’ll see a holofilm the next time they can receive communications, I’m sure.”

“Will your brothers be here?”

“Sysko won’t be here. He’s fighting the cyborgs at the edge of the galaxy. Silas and Bashard promised to come cheer me on. If you can call it that. And my mentor Taylon will also be here.”

“Very good. I’m glad you have that support today. Let me show you to the bride’s chamber. We do our best to make it as comfortable as possible for our females. You are the future of our race.”

I follow Ge’ono from the transport room into a large chamber, furnished in exquisite living space pieces. There is a wall of windows that views the vast tournament grounds below.

“When you are ready, we will open the windows and you will be presented to the crowd. The males who are participating in the battle are already in the fighter’s pen below the arena. They will take the ring to get their first impression of you. Then the tournament will begin. You will be on the holoscreen throughout the event. And your pheromones are being piped into the fighting ring.”

“Thrilling,” I say with a grin, trying to mask my anxiety.

“Would you like some refreshments before we begin?”

“I couldn’t eat,” I say, rubbing my stomach. It’s a gnawing pit and I can barely breathe.

“I will have light refreshments brought during the event. In the meantime, let me pour you a glass of spiced merrow wine. It might help your preparation agitation.”

“Thank you,” I say as he turns to a gold-leafed liquor cabinet.

He pours me a glass of deep red wine in an etched crystal glass. Dragons fly across a red sky on the glass as I gaze at the liquid offering. I take a sip, feeling the smooth liquor slide down my throat and settle in my stomach. The sweet spices soothe my angry belly, and my shoulders relax.

I look out the window, wondering if I can spot Silas or Bashard or even Taylon. I wish I didn’t feel so alone at this pinnacle moment. I don’t blame my mother and father for not being here to give me away. I know how important their work is.

I glance down at the control dashboard below the window. Flicking the holographic screen, I bring up the detection application viewfinder, input an image of my brothers from my communication device, and press enter.

The detection viewfinder searches the crowd and settles on my two ice dragon brothers. They are bigger and broader than me by far, like most male dragons. My six-foot height is dwarfed by their seven.

They wear smiles on their dark pink lips and hold cups of foaming wasp honey mead. Their eyes are trained on the holoscreen. Dancing holographic dragon girls play on repeat for the growing crowd. All curves, swaying to the gyrating music. The music throbs below. My heart races with the growing agitation in my chest and the wine settling into my empty stomach. I use the detection application to find Taylon. He sits calmly in a seat at the top of the stadium. I let out a long sigh, glad to have him here.

“Are you ready to begin?” Ge’ono asks.

“No,” I say with a laugh.

“We must get started, Joon,” Ge’ono says. “The crowd will grow restless.”

“I’m ready,” I say, throwing back the rest of my wine.

“Good,” he says, waving his hand. “Let us begin.”

He runs his fingers over the communication device he holds and the massive window before me disappears. A platform extends from the bridal chamber, reaching out over the crowd.

A window rail forms around the sides, and Ge’ono ushers me out onto the platform. I stand above the cheering crowd, close enough to see their faces. My heart races in anticipation. The males stare and cheer. I can see the lust and longing in their eyes, as well as their curiosity.

The warriors emerge from below, holding weapons above their heads. They are all naked as the day they were hatched. I gasp and gulp down my anxiety. The raw masculine power of the dozens of nude gladiators sets me into an unbearable agitation. During the fights, dragons shift too fast for even our highest quality nanotech clothing. The tournaments are always fought nude, but that doesn’t make it any less agitating.

“Welcome to the tournament birthday girl, Joon. You are truly a queen among our race,” Ge’ono says through an amplification that radiates into the crowd. “As Judge of these games, I have determined that because of your ice white hair and beautiful white dress, we will call you our White Queen for these games. What do you think, Joon?”

“That’s nice,” I say, awkwardly, not knowing how I really feel about it. It’s encouraging to be called a queen, though. My family aren’t royalty by any stretch of the imagination. My mother’s family is in the Draxos military and my father’s were all academics.

“What do you think, gentlemen?” Ge’ono says to the crowd.

They send up an uproarious cheer. My heart slams in my chest. I can barely hear through the sound of it throbbing in my ears.

The warriors below in the ring gaze up at me. Their bodies are aroused by my presence, thrall or not. It is impossible not to look at them standing below, in the buff, aroused and longing for only me. Arousal and embarrassment battle inside me and neither win. I’m weak in the knees and want to run and hide. Or touch myself. I still can’t decide.

I bite my lip, looking at each warrior in turn. There are at least a hundred of them. The multiple colors of their skin glisten with oil. I can’t decide which is the most alluring. I think I’d have to talk to them to know. It hits me that I have no choice over who fate will choose to be my mate.

I’ve known intellectually all along. It is our way and our custom to go to the arena for a mate. But looking at these males, knowing one of them will be randomly chosen for me, I feel repulsed by the idea. I don’t know these gladiators. I have nothing in common with them. How can I spend the rest of my life attached to someone I don’t know or get to choose?

“Is there anything you’d like to say, Joon?” Ge’ono asks me.

“Have a good game,” I manage to say in a confident voice.

“You heard her, gentlemen!” Ge’ono says to the roar of the crowd.

I turn on my heel and rush into the bridal chamber, Ge’ono quickly catching up to me. The platform retracts and the window is replaced as a railing, leaving me open to the air. I am still on the holoscreens, my every expression and movement broadcast for the crowd. I wave, faking a smile. All I want to do is hide.

The fighters in the ring take their positions around the perimeter to wait for their match. Each game is ten minutes long. If there is no thrall, the next match starts. Each pair is supposed to be evenly matched to avoid injuries. The dragons fight fair, but the battles can be brutal.

I gulp, holding my breath.

Images flit through my mind. I’m in the center of a hundred fighters. They all touch me. They all want me. My body clenches between my legs and I gasp, sucking in air and letting out the breath I was holding.

Two fighters take the field. I watch on bated breath as the games officially begin.