Sereis (Dragon Master Daddies Book 2), page 1
Sereis
Lucky Moon
Contents
Keep in Touch
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Also by Lucky Moon
Copyright
Keep in Touch
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Chapter 1
MIRA
No one else in the world had seen what I was about to see.
A conclave of the Dragon Lords.
A once in a generation event. Maybe even less than once in a generations. The last one had been over a hundred years ago. Who knew what this one would be like.
"Stop daydreaming and help me with these," Tam called from across the chamber, wrestling with a silver tray that kept trying to levitate. The Dragon Lord we served—Caelus—had an interesting sense of humor, and liked to keep us on our toes with random enchantments. Or as he called them, “Improvements.”
Around us, three dozen servants scrambled through preparations, their voices echoing off the carved red stone. The air tasted of metal polish and fear-sweat.
The sweat was the fault of the pumice walls of the servants' preparation chamber. It held the day's heat like an oven, and we were down in the basement, three levels below where the Dragon Lords would soon posture and preen.
A girl, maybe thirteen, sat hunched in the corner, arms wrapped around her middle. New, by the way she kept touching her collar like it might come off if she found the right catch. I recognized the look—that particular hollow-eyed hunger that came from Caelus's latest inspiration.
"Achieve clarity of purpose," Tam muttered, mimicking our master's airy tone as he finally subdued the tray. "Three days of fasting for mental acuity. Has he forgotten humans actually need food?"
I crossed to my sleeping pallet and retrieved the bread I'd hidden that morning, along with a precious wedge of cheese I'd been saving. The girl's eyes went wide when I pressed them into her hands.
"Eat quickly," I whispered. "Before the overseer comes back."
She didn't need telling twice, tearing into the bread with desperate efficiency. Tam appeared at my shoulder, shaking his head.
"He'll notice if you collapse during service, too."
"He won't." I returned to the goblets, each one requiring a specific polishing pattern to maintain its electrical charge. "Caelus never notices anything that doesn't directly affect his comfort or reputation."
"Still." Tam's voice held that particular note of exasperation reserved for my stubbornness. "You can't keep giving away your portions. You're already too thin."
The leather collar sat heavy against my throat, Caelus's storm-cloud brand rough against my skin where sweat had made it chafe. Three years I'd worn it. Three years since my father had chosen to sell me over my brothers, claiming a daughter's duty was sacrifice. The ash wastes had taught me hunger long before Caelus acquired me. This was nothing.
"Lord Davoren called the Conclave three weeks ago," I said, changing the subject as I held a goblet up to the light, checking for smears. "But he won't say why. Not until tomorrow's formal declaration."
Tam's eyes lit with the particular gleam that meant fresh gossip. "I heard from the kitchen staff who heard from the stable hands that it's about his new mate. The human woman—Kara. Did you know she fought off assassins?"
"Everyone's heard that story." Though I admitted, privately, that a human woman who had been claimed by a Dragon Lord was worth some curiosity. "She must be extraordinary."
"All the Dragon Lords will be here." Tam practically vibrated with excitement as he began arranging the goblets in order of size—then changed his mind and arranged them by electrical intensity, the way Caelus preferred. "Even Sereis."
The name caught my attention. "The Ice Lord?"
Tam's grin turned wicked. "The hermit dragon. Did you hear how he arrived?”
“No.”
“Well,” Tam’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “Davoren arrived in a ball of flaming magma. Zephyron came in an actual bolt of lightning.”
“So what, Sereis snowed himself here or something?”
Tam shook his head.
“No. He just came in a carriage. Like a mortal.”
“Hmm, probably tired of all the showing off of the other lords.”
Tam gave a wicked look. “Have you got a crush?”
“No! I haven’t even met Lord Series.”
“And you never will, if you don’t master the pours.” Tam grabbed an empty pitcher, filling it with water from the carved basin. "Here, you need practice. Show me the seventeen pouring techniques. You keep mixing up number eleven and number fourteen."
"They're identical—"
"Not to Caelus." He positioned himself like a seated lord, imperious and demanding. "Number eleven, the Cascade of Consideration."
I adjusted my grip on the pitcher, angling it just so. The water had to arc precisely, creating what Caelus called "a waterfall of respect." It was absurd, like everything he demanded, but my hands moved through the motion anyway. Muscle memory from three years of service.
"Better. Now fourteen, the Tempest's Blessing."
This one required a spiral pour, the water turning clockwise exactly three times before landing in the cup. I managed two and a half rotations before Tam shook his head.
"Again. You know he'll demand it at least once tomorrow, probably for someone important."
We worked through all seventeen, my arms aching by the end. Tam's left sleeve had torn during his wrestling match with the levitating tray, a long rip from elbow to cuff. I fetched my bone needle and the thread I kept hidden in my pallet's seam.
"Sit," I ordered, and he complied, knowing better than to argue when I had that tone.
The stitches came automatic, tiny and perfect like my mother had taught me before the selling. Each one precisely spaced, creating an almost invisible mend that would hold better than the original weave. She'd believed in making broken things beautiful, in finding worth in the wounded.
"You could have been a seamstress," Tam said quietly, watching me work. "In another life."
In another life, I might have been many things. But this was the life I had—collar heavy on my throat, hands that knew seventeen ways to pour wine for a chaotic Dragon Lord, and a friend who helped me remember I was more than property, even when the brand on my neck said otherwise.
"There." I tied off the final stitch. "Good as new."
Above us, something shook the ceiling—probably Caelus rearranging his entire pavilion again. Tomorrow, the Dragon Lords would gather. Whatever grievance had driven Davoren to invoke that right, it was serious enough to drag Sereis from his isolation.
The younger girl had finished eating, color returning to her cheeks. She caught my eye and mouthed "thank you" before scurrying back to her assigned tasks.
"Come on," Tam said, lifting the tray of goblets with practiced ease. "Let's get these to the introductory chamber before Caelus decides they should actually be arranged by the lunar calendar or something equally ridiculous."
I followed him toward the carved steps, my mother's perfect stitches holding his sleeve together, the weight of tomorrow's gathering pressing down like the collar around my neck.
The introductory chamber hit me like a physical force—all that space, all that light, after the cramped heat of the servants' quarters. The transparent walls rose a hundred feet, volcanic glass so pure you could see straight through to the platforms beyond. My worn boots whispered against floors polished to mirror-black, and I caught my reflection fractured in the obsidian: small, dark-haired, collar tight around my throat.
"Pattern of the eternal storm!" Caelus's voice rang out before I'd taken three steps. "No, no, NO! Can't you see it? The cushions should spiral—counterclockwise—representing the cycle of tempests!"
He stood in the center of chaos, silver-white hair floating around him like he carried his own private wind. Thirteen servants scrambled to rearrange silk cushions that had already been moved four times in the past hour, their faces blank with the particular exhaustion that came from serving the Wind Master.
"The blue ones represent rain," he continued, gesturing wildly. "So obviously they go on the outside. But wait—" His eyes lit with fresh inspiration. "What if we arranged them by electrical conductivity instead? Yes! Bring the copper-threaded ones to the center!"
Tam shot me a look that said kill me now as we set down our tray of goblets. A servant girl—maybe sixteen—collapsed a cushion pile in her haste to follow his latest command. Caelus didn't even glance her way.
"You there!" He pointed at two men struggling with an enormous silk banner. "That needs to ripple! Like actual wind! Use the enchantment I showed you!"
"My lord," one ventured carefully, "you haven't shown us—"
"Haven't I?" Caelus frowned, then laughed—bright and careless as breaking glass. "Well, figure it out! Improvisation breeds innovation!"
Through the transparent walls, movement caught my eye. The other Dragon Lords were arriving.
Davoren entered first, and even through volcanic glass, his presence burned. Not literally—though steam did rise from his footsteps—but something about the way he moved spoke of barely leashed violence. Beside him walked a woman who had to be Kara, his human mate. The golden marks on her skin glowed like living tattoos, shifting and swirling with each step. She kept one hand on his arm, and I realized with a start that she was calming him, this ancient being of fire and fury.
Her other hand rested protective over her stomach. The gesture was subtle, but I'd seen it enough in the ash wastes—women checking, always checking, that what grew inside them still lived.
"More servants!" Caelus called out, though we were all already here. "The ceremony begins in minutes and nothing is RIGHT!"
Zephyron arrived next, and the air itself seemed to celebrate. Lightning crackled between his fingers in lazy arcs, his storm-gray hair floating as if underwater. He took his platform with theatrical flair, static electricity making every metal surface in his vicinity sing.
Then came Garruk, and the floor trembled. Not enough to topple anything, but enough to feel it in your bones—this deep, grinding reminder that the earth itself bent to his will. He moved like a mountain deciding to walk, deliberate and unstoppable.
But then—
Everything stopped.
I didn't understand how I knew he'd arrived before I saw him. Maybe it was the way the temperature dropped, just a degree or two. Maybe it was how every other Dragon Lord turned to look, even Davoren with all his fury.
Sereis entered alone.
No retinue. No display of power. He wore simple white robes that moved like water, his black hair cropped short enough to see the elegant line of his neck. Where other Dragon Lords claimed space with their presence, he seemed to create stillness around him, a pocket of absolute quiet in Caelus's chaos.
His eyes were pale as winter dawn. Not cold, exactly, but . . . distant. Like he was looking at everything from very far away, or maybe from very deep inside. When he took his designated platform—just the single space meant for him, while others had claimed three or four for their attendants—he settled into perfect stillness.
I couldn't stop staring.
There was something about the way he held himself, spine straight but not rigid, hands folded but not clenched. Like he'd found some secret center of gravity the rest of us had lost. While Caelus whirled and Davoren burned and Zephyron crackled, Sereis simply . . . was.
My hands had gone still on the goblet I was supposed to be positioning. Through the transparent wall, those pale eyes moved across the preparation space, taking in the scrambling servants, the repositioned cushions, the chaos that Caelus created simply by existing.
Then his gaze found me.
I should have looked away. Should have remembered I was nothing, less than nothing, a collared servant who wasn't supposed to exist except when pouring wine. But something in his expression held me—not command, not desire, but . . . recognition? As if he saw something familiar in the girl standing frozen with a lightning-charged goblet in her hands.
"Wake up, little mouse!"
Caelus's clap came inches from my face, loud as thunder. I jerked back, nearly dropping the goblet, my cheeks burning with sudden heat.
"The Introduction Ceremony begins in minutes!" He peered at me with those storm-gray eyes that never quite focused on any one thing. "Where's my ceremonial cape? The one that changes color with my mood!"
"In your dressing chamber, my lord," I managed, voice steady despite my racing heart.
"No, no, I've changed my mind." He whirled away, hair floating. "Bring the one that generates static instead! It makes such delightful crackling sounds when I move. Actually—" He spun back. "Bring both! I'll decide when I see them!"
I bobbed the required curtsy and fled toward his chambers, grateful for the excuse to escape. But even as I ran through the servant passages, even as I gathered both ridiculous capes with their competing enchantments, I couldn't shake the image of Sereis's stillness.
Or the way those pale eyes had looked at me—really looked—like I was something more than furniture that poured wine.
Caelus chose the static cape, of course. It crackled with every movement as he swept into the main Conclave, and I followed three steps behind, carrying the ceremonial wine pitcher that weighed so much I kept swaying and stuttering.
The Introduction Ceremony had rules older than the volcano that formed this island. Each Dragon Lord must acknowledge the others in order of age—starting with Garruk who was almost as old as the stars—so people say—and ending with Zephyron, the youngest at a mere four centuries. The process would take hours, and I would pour for each acknowledgment, a witness to words that shaped the world.
"Remember," Tam whispered as we took our positions, "pour from the left for the elder, right for the younger. And whatever you do, don't spill on Davoren."
As if I needed the warning.
Davoren's fury was a living thing in the hall, controlled only by Kara's steady presence. She stood beside his throne—not behind it like a proper mate, but beside, her hand resting on his where it gripped the armrest. Those golden marks on her skin pulsed in rhythm with his breathing.
Garruk began, his voice like grinding stone: "Lord Morgrith, I acknowledge your presence and your shadow."
The formula was ancient, each word weighted with meaning. Presence meant you recognized their physical form. The second part—shadow, flame, storm, frost—acknowledged their essential nature.
I moved forward, pitcher steady despite the tremor in my hands. Pour from the left for Garruk, the elder. The wine—deep purple, almost black—fell in a perfect arc. Seventeen different ways to pour, and this was the simplest, yet it carried the most weight.
Morgrith responded in his echo-touched voice: "Lord Garruk, I acknowledge your presence and your stone."
Pour from the right. My feet knew the pattern, twelve steps between each throne, careful not to let my shadow fall across any Dragon Lord's space.
The ceremony continued. Presence and storm for Zephyron. Presence and wind for Caelus, who couldn't sit still even for this ancient ritual, his cape crackling with nervous energy. Each acknowledgment, each pour, brought me closer to Sereis's austere corner.
My hands started trembling when I was still three thrones away.
He hadn't moved once since taking his position. Hadn't shifted, hadn't gestured, hadn't even blinked that I could see. While other Dragon Lords fidgeted or whispered to their attendants or—in Caelus's case—rearranged their cape twelve different ways, Sereis remained perfectly, impossibly still.
"Lord Sereis," Morgrith intoned, "I acknowledge your presence and your frost."
Twelve steps. My boots silent on the obsidian floor. The pitcher suddenly felt like it weighed as much as the mountain itself.
Pour from the left. I raised the pitcher, and that's when those pale eyes fixed on me.
Not on my hands. Not on the wine. On me.
The look wasn't what I expected from a Dragon Lord. Wasn't dismissive or hungry or cruel. It was . . . curious. Intent. Like I was a book written in a language he'd forgotten he knew how to read.
The wine poured in a perfect arc—muscle memory saving me when my mind went blank. It filled his goblet precisely to the ritual level, not a drop spilled, not a tremor shown.
He wouldn't drink it. Everyone knew Sereis never touched the ceremonial wine, or any food offered at these types of gatherings. But his eyes held mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and in that moment, I forgot how to breathe.
"Lord Morgrith," he said, his voice like distant avalanches, "I acknowledge your presence and your shadow."
I fled to the next position, but I could feel his attention follow me. Not oppressive, not demanding, just . . . there. A cool pressure against my back like standing in front of an open window in winter.
The ceremony continued. Presence and flame for Davoren—and when I poured his wine, the liquid actually steamed. Garruk acknowledging Caelus. Caelus acknowledging Zephyron, though he got distracted halfway through and started talking about revolutionary changes to the acknowledgment formula before Morgrith cleared his throat.
