CHAPTER 68: HUMAN HIGH SCHOOL

Riley could feel it.

The atmosphere of the hall had shifted.

From curiosity over what he brought, the air now simmered with something sharper. Not quite hostility, because that would at least imply a fight. No, this was worse. They looked at him with the kind of condescension that belonged in a textbook definition of "why bullies existed."

In Riley’s opinion, the elder’s jab had landed exactly as intended. Not just against him, but against the Dravaryn name itself.

A few dragons smirked as if amused by the spectacle. Others tilted their heads, eyes gleaming with thinly veiled anticipation, waiting for the collapse of the fragile little human. Some even muttered in agreement, though Riley was fairly sure half of them couldn’t stand each other most days of the week. But against a human? Well, unity suddenly looked fashionable.

And where was Riley in all this?

In the middle of it all. Like an idiot. Holding a tray that could apparently spark a civil war.

He forced his lips into a thin smile, but inside, his eyes were rolling so hard it was a miracle he hadn’t toppled backward.

Not because he was scared. Not even close. But because, once again, his father had been right about one thing: dragons would never survive high school.

The aide who had survived the gauntlet of puberty let the insult hang in the air. After all, someone whose entire species bred in batches like pastries probably didn’t know what verbal sparring looked like when their entire batch alone was just close enough to the remaining dragon population.

He wasn’t even sure whether these dragons had experienced what keyboard warriors were like.

He dipped his head, feigning humility. "Then I suppose," he said softly, "I should apologize."

The pause was perfectly timed. Then, with a faint smile, he lifted his eyes. "After all, this was something Lord Kael and I prepared together."

The room went still.

Every dragon in the hall froze. The tray in Riley’s hands gleamed in the firelight, crystal domes shimmering like molten jewels. He tilted it slightly, letting the light catch on the caramel tops.

"It seems he rather enjoyed it," Riley continued mildly. "But perhaps it is not good enough for the gods, even when one of them had a hand in making it."

The words landed like a boulder dropped into a lake.

Shock rippled through the crowd. Wings twitched open in pure reflex, scales catching the blue flame light like prisms. Gasps cut the silence, whispers rippled, and the collective disbelief was so thick Riley swore he could chew it.

The elder dragon looked like she’d swallowed poison. Her lips worked soundlessly, pale as marble.

Because insulting a human’s gift was one thing.

But insulting something the Dragon Lord himself had had a hand in preparing?

That wasn’t arrogance. That was blasphemy.

And Riley? Riley was internally high-fiving his ancestors.

If only the dragons knew the truth. Sure, Kael hadn’t exactly been whisking eggs in an apron, but he had provided the containers, and his magic had made smuggling them inside possible. That counted. Enough that Riley thought he could ignore the Dragon Lord’s pointed stare and that tiny eyebrow twitch screaming: what in the hell are you doing, Riley?

Not that Riley had time to answer even if he wanted to, because the sound of someone about to explode cut through the silence.

Seris.

The dragonling’s face was red, her shoulders squared, fury radiating off her in waves.

"Lies!" she barked, her voice trembling with outrage. "Do you expect us to believe the Dragon Lord would do such a thing? Prepare food? You dare lie in front of all of us?"

Gasps spread again, but this time with a note of satisfaction. The crowd that had been afraid moments before now watched him with renewed confidence. Of course. They thought he’d overreached. Lied. And now Seris had called him out.

Riley blinked. Slowly. Then tilted his head with a thoughtful expression, as though her fury were nothing more than a loud child throwing a tantrum.

"My Lady," he said gently, "forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that part of dragon tradition?"

A few eyes narrowed, confused.

Riley pressed on. "It is recorded that in earlier times, dragons prepared their own meals and those of their kin to ensure safety and quality. After all, who else could be trusted to touch what belonged to them? To prepare food for one’s family was considered the highest form of filial devotion. A mark of both pride and respect."

He gestured casually toward the carved walls of the grand hall, where intricate depictions of dragons in various stages of life wound their way along the stone.

"If you look closely," he said smoothly, "the murals even show this. Dragons preparing their own feasts, offering fire not only to battle but to cook. The custom lasted several millennia, did it not? Until indulgence made it more convenient to delegate. A shame, really."

A few dragons actually glanced toward the carvings, their expressions wavering between doubt and dawning realization.

Riley smiled, calm and composed, though inside he was marveling at how well his college degree in bluffing through oral presentations was finally paying off. Also, what were these kids being taught when even he, a human, had learned this from school?

Well, apparently, they were about to find out when the hall opened once again, just as Seris reddened in shame.

Because carved along the walls, plain as daylight, were the very depictions Riley had pointed to. Dragons bent over fire pits, talons turning spits, flames shaping feasts for their kin. Entire stories written in stone, exactly as he had said.

The truth stared Seris in the face, and she nearly choked on it.

She opened her mouth to retort, only to jerk as her mind was pierced with a sharp, cold voice.

"Enough. Do you intend to dig your grave deeper?"

Seris froze, blood draining from her cheeks.

The Chancellor.

"You have failed enough without adding foolishness to it," the voice continued like iron scraping glass. "It seems I had to come earlier than intended. Apparently, you cannot even carry out this task without supervision."

Her spine snapped straight, trembling, as if the scolding had been physical. The shame rolling off her was so pungent that Riley almost felt secondhand embarrassment.

But before anyone could question her sudden recoil, a new sound filled the chamber.

"Ah, it is wonderful to hear about our traditions being appreciated like that."

The voice was warm, jovial, almost grandfatherly, and it rippled through the hall like a soothing balm.

Riley turned toward the entrance, expecting maybe another elder. What he saw instead made his brows twitch upward.

The figure stepping in wore an easy smile, the kind that wrinkled around his eyes in practiced kindness. He was tall and robed in shades of ivory and bronze, the colors gleaming faintly with enchantment. His long hair was a pale, silvery gold, combed so neatly it practically reflected light. At his side hung a staff capped with a crystal that pulsed faintly with power.

The kind of man you would trust to hand you candy on a festival day. The kind of man who smelled faintly of parchment and incense, who looked like he’d bless your crops if you asked nicely.

But for some reason, as soon as his gaze swept the hall, Riley’s instincts prickled.

Something about the way his eyes lingered just a half-second too long. Something about the way his smile curved too perfectly, as though it had been painted on.

Riley sniffed the air without thinking, then blinked.

Fishy.

He had no idea why, but he was suddenly sure he’d just whiffed something fishy. And frankly, he was starting to begrudge the scent.