Pearl stared at her reflection and sighed.

Not the delicate, tragic sigh poets liked to write about—this was sharper, heavier, the sound of a queen who had already done everything right and was now being asked to do something necessary. The mirror caught the pale gleam of her scales, polished to perfection, her posture regal by habit alone. She had ruled for years now. Survived council debates, unrest, whispers that still tasted faintly of blood and animus magic. She had kept the SeaWing tribe steady.

And now they wanted heirs.

The word itself felt intrusive, like seawater forced into her lungs. Pearl flexed her claws, resisting the urge to tap them against the marble floor. The council had been polite—respectful, even—but there was no disguising the expectation. A queen must continue the line. A queen must choose. A queen must smile while doing it.

She turned away from the mirror, tail lashing once before she stilled it. Annoyance was unbecoming. Annoyance was human. She was better than that. She was composed, sharp-minded, deliberate. Still, irritation clung to her like salt.

The audience chamber had been arranged carefully. Too carefully. Banners aligned. Light filtered just so through the water-carved arches. A chair—her throne—set higher than the rest, because even this farce required hierarchy. Pearl took her place with practiced grace, wings folding neatly at her sides.

She reminded herself this was not personal. That was the lie she found easiest to tolerate.

Pearl surveyed the space before her, expression cool, unreadable, her voice already rehearsed in her mind—measured, bored, faintly unimpressed. She would not let this become spectacle. She would not be rushed. If the tribe expected her to choose a partner, then she would do it on her terms, with logic and restraint, not sentiment.

Still… the thought scraped.

She had ruled alone. She preferred it that way. Dragons disappointed. Dragons demanded. Dragons were loud. And now one of them was expected to stand beside her, to be evaluated not for wisdom or loyalty, but for lineage and suitability.

Pearl tilted her head slightly, gaze settling forward.

“Let’s begin,” she said at last, tone smooth and dry, already tired. “I’ve been told this is important.”

She paused, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

“Try not to make it unpleasant.”

The court held its breath, and Pearl waited—queenly, controlled, and quietly resentful—wondering which would test her patience more: the ritual itself, or the dragon brave enough to step forward. And somewhere beneath the irritation, a question lingered, unwelcome but persistent: What would it cost her to choose wrong?