CHAPTER 29: THE MAYFLIES

Suddenly exhausted, Riley felt like he’d aged ten years just from sitting there.

Even now, he still couldn’t wrap his head around why everyone saw this job as some grand prize.

What would anyone even do with money they never had time to spend?

Power? Sure. But what was power to a human who could die the moment someone blinked too hard?

Those things meant nothing to Riley.

He didn’t hate the job. Not exactly. But he knew deep down, he wasn’t suited for it.

Because more than anything, he was paying for this so-called honor with time he didn’t even have.

"So you’re saying," Lady Cirila asked carefully, "you had absolutely no idea about the nature of the work... or the contract?"

"No, my lady," Riley replied honestly. "I only found out about the contract five years later... the moment I tried resigning. Just recently."

The air turned heavy with seriousness, and Riley—being Riley—attempted to lighten the mood.

"Amusingly, I also just found out about the standard employee benefits package," he said with a small, awkward laugh. "You know... five years into employment!"

The room instantly dropped ten degrees.

"...Riley," Lady Cirila said slowly, her voice no longer gentle, "what do you mean by that?"

Riley blinked, startled by the sudden chill in her tone. He hesitated, unsure if he should deflect or spill.

Instinctively, he looked over to Kael.

Big mistake.

That bastard wasn’t going to help. In fact, Kael looked murderous.

But now that Riley thought about it... Why shouldn’t he be the one getting mad?

What kind of employer demands peak performance without giving you the proper tools?

He inhaled sharply and dove in.

"Well... apparently, new employees receive some protective gear. Artifacts, basic enhancements, standard survival tools... that sort of thing. I didn’t know it was standard since I didn’t go through the usual channels. I figured everyone else had those things because of their race."

There was a pause.

Then an eruption.

"KAEL!" Lord Karion bellowed. "Explain yourself!"

Kael narrowed his eyes at Riley as if to say, You’re dead. But honestly?

Riley felt like he already was.

He might’ve snapped. Or gone insane. Maybe both.

But if he was going to be killed anyway, he might as well go out with a bang.

"He has them now," Kael muttered flatly.

"Now?" Lord Karion repeated, furious. "Then how did he survive before?"

"He’s alive, isn’t he?" Kael deadpanned.

Riley twitched.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Well, sucks for him; that wasn’t working.

He tilted his head slowly—like a ghost just before a possession—because he had been holding back this entire time, but that fire-breathing lizard was asking for it.

"By the skin of my teeth, my lord," Riley said sweetly. "Four major hospitalizations. Twenty-three attempted assassinations. Several of the lord’s prospective lovers. A monthly bout of food poisoning. And let’s not forget the daily firestorm."

He smiled. It was not a nice smile.

"I think my ancestors pitied me. That’s the only reason I’ve made it this far."

Lady Cirila gasped, horrified. Lord Karion looked like he’d just heard a war crime.

Kael?

Kael looked like none of that was his problem. Which, fine, technically, not all of it was Kael’s fault. But most of it happened because Riley had no choice but to exist in his orbit, which was definitely all because of this blasted job and that shitty contract.

Five years felt like nothing to dragons. But for Riley?

That was twenty percent of his entire life.

And if this kept going... he’d spend eighty percent of his life in this madness.

If he didn’t die first.

So yes. He was taking this seriously.

Lady Cirila pressed a hand to her mouth before finally whispering, "I’d like to apologize, Riley... this was clearly an oversight. I understand how you—"

"There are only a few more years," Kael cut in, cold and dismissive. "If you hate it that much, then pass it on when the next Hale is of age."

And just like that, Riley’s ears buzzed.

His hands curled into fists.

Oh. Oh, this bastard.

He did not just say that.

The atmosphere in the room shifted.

Maybe it was the tension.

Maybe it was Riley teetering on the edge of a full-blown breakdown.

Either way, something was about to snap.

Because how could he not lose it—when clearly, Kael had the emotional sensitivity of a burnt spoon?

It wasn’t just him, either. Riley could see it now. This wasn’t just a Kael problem. This was a dragon problem. These creatures... these long-lived, ageless, fire-breathing creatures probably couldn’t help it.

When you usually lived forever, maybe the only way to survive was to stop caring about anything that didn’t.

He got it.

He really did.

Humans were practically mayflies to them.

But just because their lives were short didn’t mean they were worthless.

And it sure as hell didn’t mean they get to waste them.

Riley’s fingers curled into tight fists.

His voice came out steady—but only barely.

"Then what happens after, My Lord?" he asked. "Once I pass it on to Liam—who, by the way, is the last of us—what happens then?"

That got their attention.

The three dragons blinked.

"Then pass it to the next heir," Kael said without hesitation. "What else?"

Riley didn’t even breathe.

"But, my lord," he said slowly, "what if there is no next heir?"

Kael raised a brow. "What, are you both impotent?"

Riley’s eye twitched.

He clenched his jaw so hard it nearly cracked.

The only thing that saved Kael’s life in that moment was the fact that he always said things like this.

Predictable bastard, straight where he wanted him to land.

Still, Riley smiled.

Tight. Icy. Dangerous.

"We might as well be," he said. "Since it’s practically impossible to find a partner with a job like this."

That made them pause.

Lady Cirila looked baffled. "Riley, is it really that bad? People used to want to marry into the Hale family before!"

That bad?

No.

That would be an understatement.

It wasn’t just bad.

It was catastrophic.

It was soul-crushing.

It was "someone help, I’m dying in this job and no one will ever love me" levels of bad.

If Riley got a gold coin every time he nearly died doing this so-called "prestigious" job, he could’ve retired by now.

Comfortably.

On an island.

With beach servants and mango smoothies.

And don’t even get him started on emotional damage.

If he got a gold coin every time Kael pissed him off, he’d have enough to fund a new city. Maybe even start a revolution. A very well-compensated revolution.

Honestly?

That could’ve been a great start for building generational wealth.

If he lived long enough to have descendants.

If he somehow found a romantic partner.

If he didn’t die alone, single, and—

With a bald spot.

At this point?

That last one felt like a guarantee.

So Riley took a breath. His voice came out soft. Controlled.

"My Lady... who would want to marry someone who only comes home every few weeks, for just a few hours?"

He didn’t wait for a response.

"Or get a husband whose job requires him to constantly throw himself into hazardous situations?"

He turned his gaze toward the table.

"Someone who might not finish a single meal or date because they never know when the next crisis will hit."

His fingers tapped the polished surface once, slowly.

"And even if they do manage to fall in love with us—somehow—we’d have to tell them that retirement isn’t a real option."

His voice dipped lower.

"That the best we can offer... is a lifetime contract with a ticking clock. And when it’s up, it’ll be our child’s turn."

He looked up.

"And they’d have to watch it happen all over again."

A pause.

"And you know as well as I do... we don’t live very long. Not compared to you or well, almost everyone else."

His jaw clenched for a second, then he continued.

"So let’s say I do everything right. Let’s say I survive. That I make it to the finish line and throw Liam into the fire—without warning, without preparation."

He looked at Kael. Then back at them.

"Even if I make it out, I’ll be thirty-nine by the time I get to start looking for someone."

He smiled bitterly.

"And that’s assuming I could make it to 39 when I’m not even sure I’ll make it to next week."

"So, my lady, as a mother, would it be advisable for human mothers to entrust their beloved daughters to me?"

Well, that’s one hell no for sure.