The Dragonless Maid's Dangerous Royal Mate

CLAIRE'S POV:

I leaned in the shadow of the stone pillar, pretending to admire the tapestry. My gaze, however, never left Courtland. He was speaking in low tones with Rosalind, and they looked so perfect together.

The fine, red scales on Rosalind's gown shimmered under the light. It was the mark of a common Dragon-kin, less noble than the crimson-gold of a half-blood, but still enough to crush a Dragonless girl like me under her heel.

Maeve sighed beside me. "Give it up, Claire. Rosalind's back. You don't have a chance."

I shook my head stubbornly. "Not necessarily." My own heart felt hollow.

Luckily, a steward approached them and spoke respectfully to Courtland. Courtland nodded, gave Rosalind an apologetic smile, and turned toward the corridor leading away from the main hall.

My chance! He was alone.

"I... I need to use the washroom," I told Maeve, and before she could stop me, I hurried after him.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I wove through several couples murmuring sweet nothings to each other. Their strange looks made my cheeks burn.

I turned into the quiet corridor that led to the balconies. The light here was dimmer than in the hall, with only the Dragon-crystal stones embedded in the walls casting a faint glow.

Courtland was just ahead of me, his tall back nearly blocking the entire passage.

How should I start? I walked faster, my mind racing. Maybe I could pretend to be passing by, and then...

Just then, two servants carrying heavy platters rushed out from a side path, calling out, "Make way, my lord!"

I jerked to the side to avoid them, not noticing the curled edge of the carpet beneath my feet.

A short gasp escaped my lips. I lost my balance, my body tipping forward uncontrollably.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the humiliation of falling flat on the floor, of becoming the biggest joke of the evening.

But the pain never came.

A strong hand gripped my arm, pulling me into a firm, warm embrace.

I collided with a hard chest. My nose was instantly filled with Courtland's unique dragon scent—a cold, sharp mix of cedar and faint metal that made my head spin.

"Careful," his deep, magnetic voice rumbled above my head, laced with a detached politeness.

My cheeks flushed crimson. I could feel his fingers gripping my upper arm through the thin fabric of my dress. The skin there felt like it was on fire.

I scrambled out of his arms, taking a step back. I kept my head down, not daring to look at him. "S-sorry, Lord Courtland. I wasn't watching where I was going."

His gaze fell on me. I could feel it, almost a physical weight, scrutinizing me and making my skin crawl.

"Are you alright?" he asked. His tone was flat, emotionless.

I shook my head quickly. "I'm fine. Thank you."

He gave a slight nod, saying nothing more. His ice-blue eyes were completely calm, as if he had just steadied a piece of falling furniture.

He dropped his hand and walked past me, continuing down the corridor as if our encounter was a meaningless interruption.

I stood frozen, the warmth of his touch still lingering on my arm, but my heart was growing colder by the second.

When I returned to the hall, my steps were unsteady. Several young noblewomen were glaring at me with a mixture of jealousy and contempt.

Maeve rushed over, her voice tight with worry. "Gods, Claire, I saw you run into Lord Courtland! Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?"

The noblewomen's whispers drifted over.

"Who is that Dragonless girl? How dare she throw herself at Lord Courtland. So shameless."

"Exactly. She should look at her own status. Lord Courtland is the future Dragon Lord. His mate must be of the noblest bloodline."

"He actually touched her. She got off easy."

The words were like needles stabbing into my heart, but I couldn't argue.

I pulled Maeve to a quiet corner. The brief flutter of my heart from that touch had been replaced by a crushing sense of loss and shame.

He had held me, but his eyes had never once seen me.