CHAPTER 67: POWER STRUGGLE

Although if Riley were being honest, the only reason this gift was chosen was because it managed to smooth out that permanent scowl on Kael’s face for a full ten minutes. Which, frankly, was nothing short of a miracle.

Originally, they had planned on digging up some artifact for him to hand over. Something glittery, ceremonial, respectable. The sort of thing that said, Look, I too am capable of affording bribes.

But Riley thought about it for longer than he cared to admit, and the answer was still no.

For one, it would be too obvious. Too insincere. And judging from how Kael had casually asked him to find gifts for his parents before, Riley was sure everyone would assume he had just stolen the Dragon Lord’s idea and wrapped it up with a bow.

So Riley gave Kael the stink eye. A long one.

Not only would that approach invite criticism, it would practically come with a neon sign saying: lazy human aide doesn’t even know how to bring a proper gift without cheating.

"Then? What would you bring if not that?" Kael had asked, with all the helpfulness of a rock.

Good question. Riley had no idea. It wasn’t as if they could waltz into a dragon mall and buy something off the shelf. And what exactly did dragons even appreciate? Other than hoarding, glaring, and setting furniture on fire for ambiance?

Riley thought back. And then he remembered something very important.

Food.

In particular, hamburgers, of which the image of dignified dragons snarling over drive-thru portions nearly broke him into laughter.

Well, while he was not sure about the others, he was 99% sure that the two picky dragons he was always with were rather fond of (obsessed) with hamburgers and fries.

But after the dinner, Riley realized it could actually be human food. Or just food with enough seasoning, really.

Because while the dragons likely had great mana-infused food, the aide was pretty sure they didn’t season the things they roasted, not when it made it feel less authentic. And not when many of them would never step into a grocery store, much less a kitchen.

There was also the fact that most humans wouldn’t casually ask such hot-tempered beings to taste test their food for variety. He was already crazy for doing that with Orien after all.

So maybe he could go with that?

Something unique to him, and something he could actually afford?

The problem was, he couldn’t exactly hand over burgers at a clan gathering. Not when there surely were dragons who had a concept of fast food. They may not have tasted them, but they had probably seen them in ads.

After all, not all dragons were as old-fashioned as Kael when some of them were wearing the latest brands from designers who still had their teeth.

So Riley considered the sorry state of supplies they had picked up. They had enough good, but nothing that special. Certainly nothing that would qualify as gourmet. But did it really need to be gourmet?

Or would it be enough if it only looked the part?

He decided the latter. Surely with an estate like this, he could find great disguises for his gifts?

And maybe it was the right decision.

For when the covered trays were finally brought out, no one in the hall could have guessed the truth.

Riley could practically see the elder dragon’s neck craning like a vulture, trying to glimpse what Kael had withdrawn from storage. Murmurs broke out the moment the light caught against the rows of tiny golden containers.

Each one was crafted from polished gold, with a crystal dome lid that refracted light in jeweled patterns across the hall. And inside, barely visible through the glass, was something unusual. Something shining. Something that rippled with a strange, molten sheen.

The dragons went still. The air thickened. Their eyes sharpened.

Already, the whispers started. Those who did not murmur with their mouths were murmuring with their eyes.

Lady Cirila herself moved forward, her curiosity plain. She narrowed her gaze, eyes turning into sharp golden slits as she leaned just enough to see clearly.

There they were: delicate rows of amber-colored jewels, each one resting in a small crystal cup no bigger than the tip of a dragon’s talon.

"What is it?" she finally asked, her voice threaded with a rare note of intrigue.

Riley almost sagged in relief. He had gambled right. At the very least, she found them interesting. But how could she not, when each one gleamed with a mirror-sheen of caramel so glossy it looked like amber polished from the heart of a mountain?

Whenever Riley shifted the tray, the tops caught the firelight and reflected it like liquid gold. And when the contents moved inside the cups, they gave that irresistible little wobble. That tender, sweet quiver that dared anyone to poke it just to watch it jiggle.

It was enough to un-scowl Kael’s face for a brief, rare instant, just as it did when they did a taste test last night. And Riley figured, if it could work on him, maybe it would work on the rest of these flame-breathing jewel hoarders.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"It’s flan, My Lady."

And how simple yet resounding that word would be.

The moment Lady Cirila raised the spoon to her lips, the entire hall went silent.

A queen among dragons, elegant even when she breathed, she took a single bite. The delicate amber custard dissolved the instant it touched her tongue.

Her eyes widened.

The laugh she had been holding died in her throat. Instead, a sound escaped her — not a laugh, not a sigh, but something sharp and startled, as if her very soul had been jolted awake.

And then—

FWOOM!

Her wings burst open in a great arc of shimmering scales, scattering the light from the chandeliers into prismatic fire across the marble. Gasps echoed all around, dragons jerking back in alarm at the instinctive, uncontrollable gesture.

Lady Cirila, the one who prided herself on composure, had just unleashed her wings in the hall.

And she didn’t even notice.

She was too busy staring at the flan like it was the first sunrise in creation.

Lord Karion followed soon after, skeptical at first. He narrowed his eyes at the little wobbling custard as though Riley had just presented him a poisoned frog. But Kael’s father was not one to back away from a challenge, least of all when his wife’s wings were still extended in bliss.

He scooped up a portion. Put it in his mouth.

And then—

FWOOM!

The newly retired great patriarch of the Dravaryn clan, a dragon so ancient entire mountains bore scars from his flames, released his wings in a thunderclap that rattled the crystal chandeliers above. The golden tips of his wings flared with sparks as though fire itself had bent to bow before the flan.

The dignified lord of dragons was frozen, spoon halfway back to the dish, staring down at the empty crystal cup like it had betrayed him by vanishing so quickly.

Around the hall, dragons gasped, eyes wide, unable to look away. To see both heads of the Dravaryn household unleash like that over a mortal’s dessert? Impossible. Unthinkable.

The sound of wings unfurling spread like wildfire. Scales shivered. Chests rumbled. Dragons of all ages shifted in their seats, trying and failing not to salivate as the air thickened with one shared instinct: hoard it.

Riley, meanwhile, was rooted to the spot, tray still in hand, eyes bugging out of his skull.

You’ve got to be kidding me, he internally thought.

He didn’t remember drugging anything? Or were Kael’s parents simply helping him by reacting like that?

But then—

Across the table, Kael had just snapped his hand out like a golden viper, stopping his father’s finger mid-motion as Lord Karion shamelessly reached for another serving.

The two dragons locked eyes. Neither spoke. Neither blinked.

It was the kind of silent duel Riley had seen before, usually over territory, artifacts, or whose flame had the greater destructive radius.

Now? Over flan.

He could feel the tension crackling like static.

Lord Karion growled low in his throat. Kael’s scowl deepened, his golden eyes cold and uncompromising.

Riley wasn’t sure if this was part of some grand plan, but surely he couldn’t just stand there and let dragons start fighting over flan, right?

Right?

Because if this escalated, he was going to be the first casualty, flattened under a wing buffet while they tore crystal cups out of each other’s claws.

The ridiculous part was that he actually had a bit more tucked away. When he made them, he had been practical about it. He had reserved some for Orien, who rightfully deserved it since it was his birthday. And he had also made a couple more for Kael because... well, Kael. That was the deal. That was the logic.

So why in the flaming abyss was the Dragon Lord himself now trying to compete with his parents over the allotment when he already had his own tucked away?

It didn’t make sense. Unless hoarding desserts was a family trait. Which, come to think of it, seemed very possible.

But before this silent staring match of doom could turn into an actual battle loud enough for the onlookers to notice, Riley caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was gliding close, whispering into the ear of the elder who had tried to cut him down earlier.

Her expression sharpened like a knife sliding free of its sheath.

And sure enough, her words came dripping with honey and poison in equal measure.

"My, how novel. A human offering human food. Quite... appropriate, I suppose." She smiled, her teeth glinting in the light. "Though really, can one call such a thing a gift? Humans may find it acceptable, but for dragons?" Her eyes flicked over the remaining flan cups, gleaming like stolen treasure. "It is rather like a sheep offering grass to the gods."

There was a ripple of chuckles, sharp and sly, among the spectators as if they hadn’t been salivating enough earlier.

Riley took a deep breath, his fingers tightening against the tray. His smile stayed in place, but his mind was running wild.

Gods, huh? Fine. Maybe they were dragons. Maybe they were immortal, powerful, terrifying, and shiny. But were gods always this mouthy and careless?

Because if so, he was starting to understand why so many temples in human history mysteriously burned down.