The air leaves my lungs, not because of the altitude or the flight, but because of the voice resonating in my skull. Mated. The word hangs heavy and absolute in the archives of my mind, spoken with Tairn’s grumbling, undeniable authority.

My eyes snap across the flight field, past the shimmering scales of the other dragons, landing instantly on the massive, lethal form of the Navy Blue daggertail. Sgaeyl. She is terrifying and beautiful, and she belongs to only one person.

Slowly, painfully, I shift my gaze to her rider. Xaden Riorson is watching me. He isn't surprised. Of course he isn't. He knew.

Panic, cold and sharp, begins to claw at my throat. I know what this means. I’ve read the codexes. I know the lore. Mated dragons are a biological imperative; they cannot be separated for long periods without their power fading, without their sanity cracking. Tairn cannot be away from Sgaeyl. Which means I cannot be away from Xaden.

The implications crash into me like a landslide. The wingleader, the son of the Great Betrayer, the man who has every reason to want me dead,is now the person I am physically forced to live alongside. We are tethered. Wherever he goes, I must follow. If he is deployed to the border, I am deployed to the border. My autonomy is suddenly, violently erased.