Dragon bathed and ate from the tray Lucio delivered to his antechamber. The delicious array of Solarian delicatessen his majordomo had chosen for his repast was devoured in the span of a minute, maybe less. He didn’t take the time to savor the food, but ate to stave off the hunger holding siege against his stomach. Not only had Dragon not eaten for more than a day, he also transformed twice to mend his wounded body, spending a considerable amount of energy.

Replenished and clean, Dragon dressed in the ceremonial uniform the majordomo had efficiently arranged on the sofa, sorted by layer, from the white shirt embroidered in silver, to the black jacket, and matching black kilt and burgundy sash on the bottom. His ceremonial dagger lay on a velvet pillow alongside the black leather holster that would hang low against his kilt. He was fastening a silver, clockwork broach in the shape of a miniature dragon to his sash when Lars and Valerian entered the antechamber.

They too sported the evening attire, wearing their black kilts with the silver sash denoting Dragon’s personal guards.

“Ready?” Lars asked.

Instead of answering, Dragon passed his palm flat against the fabric of his kilt, straightening the fringed edge to the side. “We don’t want to make the princesses wait.” He crossed the length of the antechamber, then paused at the door and gave his friends a pointed look, tilting his chin over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

During his return journey to Solaria, Dragon often thought about tonight’s inaugural ball, the first of several celebrations that would take place in the next three weeks and would culminate with the wedding ceremony, on Sol Day.

He had known his betrotheds for a few years, but never truly spent any quality time with them, because he was usually too busy to visit King’s Ridge for more than an hour or two every other month. Then, he stayed an entire year on Lupine, making even those scarce occasions an impossibility. At the ball, he would finally dance with his wives-to-be and get to know them better, or at least exchange more than the customary pleasantries.

Tonight, he could sample Lauren’s plump lips or make Gilda flush if he so wanted. It might have been exhaustion from the day’s events, but Dragon didn’t feel any excitement at stealing a moment or two with the two women he would soon wed. Not so long ago, the prospect of a premarital taste of the princesses had stirred his blood and sent him seeking the warm embrace of a courtesan.

Valerian gave himself one last glance at the Chevalier mirror in the corner before strolling toward the exit, followed by Lars a step behind.

“Nervous?” Valerian asked Dragon, his lips turned up in one of his mischievous smiles. “You know you can always count on me if you can’t handle the princesses.”

It was his lieutenant’s long-standing joke that he would gladly help Dragon out if the conjugal duty proved too strenuous a feat for him. The thought made Dragon think of Gabriel Martelli, his vampire friend, who had kindly made the same offer.

Dragon slapped Valerian’s shoulder with enough strength to shove his lieutenant forward, even though he had most assuredly expected Dragon’s reaction and braced his legs.

Lars shook his head at Valerian. “One of these days, your mouth will finally get you in trouble.”

“Until then—” Valerian shrugged, then waved his hand with nonchalance. “There’s so much fun to be had at our most esteemed High Lord’s expense.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I even bother to keep you around.” Dragon tapped the head of the clockwork dragon, and the miniature stirred to life, puffing and extending its filigree wings.

Valerian’s eyes darkened, and his mouth closed in a flat line. Dragon appreciated that his friend had thought better than to reopen the conversation about Lupine.

“You two should make an effort tonight to find your mates,” Dragon said. That too was a recurring topic when the three of them got together. He gave Valerian a raised brow. “Your dark moods would dissipate with a stable companion at your side.” Next, he addressed Lars, “And you must stop chasing married women.”

Lars had the good grace to lower his eyes. “I thought I was being careful.”

Grinning, Valerian folded his strong arms across his chest. “Apparently not, if he got wind of your dalliances from Lupine.”

Sol Palace resembled a microcosm where there were no true secrets, especially not for the High Lord who had eyes and ears everywhere. Dragon hadn’t set out with the aim of creating a web of spies, but people came to him with their tales, contacting him abroad to keep him informed on the latest palatial gossip. Lars’ indiscretions made the bulk of the well-detailed reports that reached Dragon on regular basis.

“I suggest you take better care of your private life if you don’t want enraged husbands challenging you.” Dragon smiled at the servants pausing their tasks at his passage.

As he progressed throughout the long hallway connecting his quarters to the Bridal Chambers, he tried to understand his growing uneasiness and why his thoughts kept reverting to the assassin tied to his bed. Tonight’s ball should have precedence. He would finally get to spend leisure time with his wives-to-be and it should have filled him with pleasure.

At the Bridal Chambers’ entrance, Dragon didn’t hesitate and knocked on the delicate lattice framing, announcing his presence. Outside, he strived to project a semblance of control. Inside, he wanted to turn on his heels and run to his bedroom.

One of the princesses’ lady’s maids opened the door. The girl, one of the many who came with the betrothal entourage, lowered her eyes and moved to the side, announcing him with the feeblest of squeals.

Lauren materialized from behind a screen and glided toward him. “High Lord.” She raised her hand for him to kiss.

“You are a vision.” Brushing her skin, Dragon said what was expected of him. The words came easily enough. Lauren was a beauty, and the evening dress Genevieve Lafrette had designed for her accentuated her stunning qualities, making her look like an ethereal vision in black.

Dragon felt a pang of guilt at having snapped at Lauren earlier. He couldn’t fault her for being excited at the prospect of finally starting their married life after looking forward to it since she was a child.

Gilda walked into the foyer, and Dragon smiled at the enchanting woman who looked at him from under long lashes, seeking his approval. She too wore a Lafrette. The Celestian fashion legend had designed for Gilda a free-flowing tunic in white and silver that framed the shy princess like a halo of light.

“I am the luckiest man alive.” Again, Dragon easily found the right words to say. He brought his hand to his heart, then kissed Gilda’s proffered gloved hand and watched her worried face bloom into a beautiful smile.

“You are too kind, High Lord,” Gilda whispered. The pink blush on her cheeks set off the green in her big eyes.

Any warm-blooded man would be wondering by now about the pleasure of being this delicate creature’s first lover. But not Dragon. Instead, he contemplated why he couldn’t just enjoy what he had instead of hankering for something he couldn’t even define.

Followed by Lars, Valerian, and the princesses’ entourage, he escorted Lauren and Gilda to the ballroom. One woman on each of his arms, he entered the chamber to a deafening applause that rattled the crystal chandeliers.

The master of ceremony announced them, officially starting the night’s festivities. The orchestra played a piece created for the occasion by Havel, Solaria’s most famous composer. Dragon walked his betrotheds to the center of the room and led them through the complicated steps of a trio-waltz. His princesses moved across the polished marble with an elegance that spoke of years of lessons.

The eyes of the court heavily weighed on Dragon’s shoulders. Men envied him, and women sighed. He caught Valerian’s dark gaze following their progress along the dance floor. Lars stood by a corner, nursing a goblet of red Laurum, courtesy of House Martelli. His face wore an emotionless mask as he sipped the rare vintage.

Dragon tried to focus on the two women moving with the grace of angels, and his treacherous mind brought him back to another dance, the night when Valentine Lobo escorted his newlywed bride into a similar room. Dragon remembered the look in the werewolf’s eyes. The mere presence of Mirella enthralled Lobo as if his life depended on her next breath.

The sentiment had been brewing for a while, festering his thoughts, but Dragon wished he could look at his brides with the same all-encompassing attention Valentine showed that night of more than a year ago.