CHAPTER 71: THE SELECTION

The braziers around the hall erupted in sudden bursts of blue flame, and Riley nearly whistled right there in his seat.

He stopped himself at the last second, lips twitching. Probably not the best time to sound impressed, not when the entire room just lit up like a magical concert.

Still, his head wanted to swivel left and right like an idiot because, honestly, he’d been curious about this trick since they walked in. The only thing that stopped him was the memory of earlier—how everyone expected him to cower before these very same flames.

So, belatedly, he pressed his shoulders in and faked a flinch, pretending to cower in his literal dragon chair.

Kael’s annoyance practically radiated off his seat like heat haze.

Yet even with Kael smoldering behind him, Riley had to admit, he was impressed by one thing.

That dragonling.

Seris.

Shaking like a leaf in a storm, knees wobbly, but somehow still managing to glare as if she were the tragic heroine of a story written exclusively for her. Her entire face screamed injustice, her body screamed terror, and somehow she still thought she was winning.

Determination or delusion? Riley wasn’t sure.

But clearly, she hadn’t expected the next words out of Kael’s mouth.

"Since when had the nest been this open?"

It was calm. Quiet. A simple rhetorical question.

And just like that, you could see it dawn across the room.

The dragonlings froze. Eyes widened. A ripple of realization passed over them like a cold wind.

Because of course. That was the problem, wasn’t it?

Chancellor Malrik stiffened so sharply that Riley thought the man might snap in half.

Internally, Malrik was probably screaming. This was exactly why he hadn’t gone through with the original plan. Why in the world hadn’t Seris, that absolute disaster of a dragonling, used her last remaining brain cell to read the situation?!

How could they dare bring up Orien’s supposed disgrace... when an entire brood of dragonlings had crawled out of the nest and paraded themselves here today?

Kael’s voice cut through the silence, smooth and lethal.

"Because if we were to follow her logic, then just how many disgraceful families do we have here?"

The hall gasped.

The sound of knees hitting stone followed, sharp and echoing. One by one, dragonlings dropped to the floor, heads pressed down, wings tucked in tight.

The air shifted, heavy with panic and shame.

But just when everyone thought the situation could not possibly get any worse, Kael’s voice cut through the silence.

"Pray tell, what was so important that everyone risked something allegedly so disgraceful?"

The words dropped like stones in water.

Chancellor Malrik visibly twitched. He opened his mouth, eager to shove some diplomatic excuse into the air, but Kael’s golden eyes swung toward him.

"Chancellor. If you are answering for them," Kael asked coolly, "does that mean all this was orchestrated by you?"

The elder froze. His jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. Riley swore he saw the man’s hands digging crescents into his palms hard enough to leave permanent scars.

But in the end, Malrik stepped back. Slowly. Almost gracefully. Like someone bowing out before the guillotine blade dropped.

Which left the dragonlings completely exposed.

The same group that had proudly stormed in earlier now looked like they were on the verge of collapsing. Every single one of them hunched and wide-eyed, clearly calculating whether fainting might count as an acceptable exit strategy.

Kael’s voice dropped lower. "Do not make me ask again. What is this all about?"

The dragonlings all glanced at one another.

And then, in perfect unison, they stared at one boy with short green hair.

Apparently, he was either the oldest... or the designated sacrifice.

The green-haired dragonling cleared his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. "I... I suppose I should explain..." His voice wavered, then gained a spark of desperate determination. "It is about the mate selection."

The hall erupted. Gasps. Disbelieving laughter. Dragons stiffened, wings twitching open in sheer reflex.

Even Kael blinked, looking faintly confused.

But before anyone could clarify, the boy, Merrin, Riley remembered the name from their briefing—kept going, words tumbling out like he had been waiting years to uncork them.

"Yes! The mate selection! You see, My Lord, I was told years ago that I was the chosen candidate for the Dragon Lord’s mate. One that could only take effect once I had completed my stay at the nest."

"It was explained to me in confidence, which was something expected for something that important. But I understood why it was best to be informed earlier because I believed it was important that I start preparing early. Because it was my duty! I... I even studied for it!"

The boy’s voice cracked in earnest outrage.

Riley sat there, slack-jawed. Studied? For what, dragon governance?

But Merrin wasn’t stopping. His eyes were shining with the purest sincerity of a spoiled dragonling who had never been told no in his life.

"I knew the Dragon Lord was busy, so I understood why we had not yet met. But I was proud to hold that secret in my heart!" Merrin’s hands clenched dramatically over his chest. "Until yesterday... when Seris bragged that she was going outside in an official capacity because she was the candidate for mate!"

The crowd stirred again. Seris flinched, glaring furiously at him.

Merrin threw his hands out in betrayal. "How could that be, when I was told the same?!"

Another dragonling piped up in outrage. "You too?! I was told as well!"

Then another. And another.

Chaos broke loose.

Apparently, nearly every dragonling close to leaving the nest believed they were the one and only official mate candidate for the Dragon Lord.

Voices overlapped in squawks of indignation. "It was supposed to be me!" "No, I was told first!" "You don’t even like studying etiquette!"

It was the same squabble again. To think they had already faced this issue earlier.

Merrin stamped his foot. "I told you all already! It must mean we are all candidates! There must be an official selection coming!"

That quieted the dragonlings, who seemed to have forgotten they were in the presence of the Dragon Lord himself.

At first, the idea sounded absurd. But then one particularly excitable dragonling shouted about unearthing old texts, writings that mentioned an ancient "selection process" to ensure population stability during times of crisis. Suddenly, the logic clicked for them, at least in their dragonling brains.

"Yes! That explains everything!" Merrin remembered his reaction earlier. "It is tradition! And clearly Seris wanted to betray us all by sneaking out to present herself first!"

Then, after finishing with his tale of what happened earlier, he pointed an accusing finger at Seris, who looked moments away from exploding.

Around him, the rest of the dragonlings nodded fiercely, all glaring at her like she was the ultimate traitor.

Meanwhile, the mature dragons in the hall—and one very misplaced human—sat in stunned silence.

Lady Cirila swayed where she stood, pale as moonlight. For the first time in centuries, she actually felt faint.

Lord Karion had gone perfectly still, like a statue about to shatter.

And Riley... Riley sat there clutching his now-empty tray, eyes wide.

Mate Selection?

Did I just walk into a reality show? Just how on Eryndra did they go from the missing Orien to a mate selection???

The aide had a hundred questions. But the loudest one rattling in his head was the most honest.

Wait, surely they didn’t mean to include him in this, right?

Right?!