As soon as Maddox released Hadrian’s collar, his gold eyes moved to Guinevere.

He leaned forward, chest heaving. The kind of breathing that belongs to a man who has sprinted across a ballroom.

Unbeknownst to her, he had, in fact, just sprinted across a ballroom.

TESTOSTERONE INCIDENT #1: Use Your Words, Commander

His jaw was locked. His pupils were blown wide enough that the gold around them looked thin, almost gone, eaten alive by something darker. His hand flexed at his side.

Guinevere had never seen him look like this. Confused. Furious. Irritated.

"Are you alright?" Her voice was quiet, meant for only him to hear.

Zero strategy behind it. The question of a woman who saw a man in visible distress and responded the way she responded to everything: with kindness she couldn’t turn off even when it would have been smarter to.

He seemed to get more angry by the question. She wasn’t sure.

"Commander," she added in case that was it.

For a split second, that made it worse. Then he blinked. The processing behind it was loud. He shook his head once. Twice. His chest was still heaving. His eyes were still on her. His mouth opened a fraction like a word had formed and then died behind his teeth.

"We’ll get out of your way, Maddox. I’m sure you’re busy flirting with your house lords in here." Blair’s voice was bright and breezy.

Blair’s hand closed around Guinevere’s arm, and pulled her along. Guinevere accidentally brushed against Maddox, which she realized probably didn’t help his irritation.

"Apologies."

He didn’t move or acknowledge it. She didn’t wait for one.

She let herself be led, ignoring all of her instincts because his survival outweighed everything else.

TESTOSTERONE INCIDENT #2: Confidence, Voss. Look Into It

"Protective older brother. He does that when boys talk to me." Blair squeezed Guinevere’s arm. "Let’s find Ryker. I need a drink. You need two."

They made it eight steps.

"Lunaris."

A broad-shouldered rider with dark hair and a jawline that had its own reputation stepped directly into their path.

"Commander Voss. Fifth House Stormridge. I watched your run. I have never seen anything like it. Fly with me tomorrow. I’ll have you pressed against me so tight that dress won’t hide a thing when we bank hard."

That introduction had seen a mirror. Possibly multiple mirrors.

She looked at Blair who also had an equally shocked expression on her face because this man was one of the most respected men in Velkaris.

When she looked back at him, his eyes had left her face entirely and were conducting a full inspection of everything south of it. Her mouth fell open.

"Are you finished? Or should I spin."

Something between a laugh and a wheeze left Blair. Voss looked at her. She waved him off. She was fine. She was not fine.

A second voice arrived from her left.

"Ignore him. He peaked at seventeen and has been banking off the reputation ever since."

Another rider. Taller. Blonde. Built like he’d been assembled from a list of physical requirements and then given too much confidence.

The insult landed with the ease of two men who had clearly done this before, possibly to the same woman, possibly at the same event.

His hand slid around her waist and locked on, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of her hip in the clinging crimson gown. Guinevere stared down at it, then looked up at his face. Blair looked down at the hand equally floored.

"Lord Caelum Daine. I’m better looking, I fly faster, and I won’t bore you with geography." He leaned forward. "Dinner. Tomorrow. Private terrace. I already told the kitchen."

"You already told the kitchen," Voss repeated. "Before she said yes."

"Confidence, Voss. Look into it."

Voss looked into it. He did not like what he found. His grip on his glass shifted from "drinking" to "throwing" in under a second.

Guinevere blinked at both of them. Twice. She arrived at one logical conclusion: everything she had been told about dragons being the superior species was propaganda.

She peeled his hand off her hip the way one peels a price tag off a gift. Quietly. So no one sees the number. Then she took a step back.

Behind them, a glass hit stone hard enough to explode.

The sound made them both flinch. Guinevere turned towards it. Blair turned her away from it. "Nope."

She steered Guinevere between the two men with the precision of a woman navigating a minefield.

"She’s flattered, my lords, but unfortunately she’s busy."

TESTOSTERONE INCIDENT #3: A Dragon Lord’s Baptism

Lord Daine physically moved her towards a pillar in a blur.

It was so quick, Guinevere screamed. Her champagne, startled by the same event, evacuated the glass and relocated to Lord Daine’s face.

The entire glass. Not a splash. A relocation of liquid assets.

The Skyrunner Lethal Simulation Record Holder had screamed for the second time tonight. She was aware.

Everyone around them froze. The dancing stopped and all conversations died.

Lord Daine didn’t react. Champagne on his face. Smile intact. The man was waterproof.

Guinevere shot a ’whoops’ look to Blair, only to see Blair was already memorizing every detail for future retelling.

When Guinevere turned back to the man in front of her, she realized he hadn’t stopped staring or moved.

She took a step back, her spine going against a pillar.

He caught a drop running down his jaw with his thumb. "If that’s foreplay, I’m in."

His hand braced against the stone behind her, caging her in. "Keep backing up and I’ll just pin you right here until you say yes."

Fight-or-flight chose fight and her knee met his groin.

By the time he hunched over, she was gone. Ducked, sprinted, vanished into the crowd with the urgency of a woman adding "assaulted a dragon lord" to tonight’s list and choosing not to be present for the consequences.

The shoes were not built for sprinting. She sprinted anyway. Kael’s gift was getting a stress test it was never designed for.

Heavy footsteps thundered behind her, followed by the sound of stone cracking.

She didn’t turn back. Blair found her a minute later.

"You just threw champagne in a dragon’s face," Blair said flatly. "And it was spectacular."

"It was an accident," Guinevere snapped.

"You baptized him and then castrated him. In that order. In public. At a gala. ’Accident’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting right now."

TESTOSTERONE INCIDENT #4: Wolf Reflexes, Dragon Denial

Ryker was holding two drinks against a pillar. Blair walked up and took both out of his hands.

"Those are—"

"Mine now. Get more."

She gave one to Guinevere and killed the other. Guinevere looked at Blair’s empty glass. Looked at her full one. Downed it. When in Drakencrest.

Ryker looked at Guinevere. Then at Blair. Then at the trail of emotional wreckage behind them.

"What the hell happened to you two?"

"What HASN’T happened to us?" Blair said, throwing her hands in the air.

"You both look like you committed a crime."

Ryker flagged a passing server and grabbed three more glasses, handing one to Guinevere and keeping two for himself.

"Bold dress."

The voice came from behind her. She turned.

Kael stood with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass he hadn’t sipped. "I am surprised you agreed to wear all of it. I was expecting some pushback."

She gave him a soft smile. The kind that carried weight because it carried memory, a cold hearth, a chair, a conversation that changed something.

"Bold of you to gift it and expect me to wear anything less. Thank you, Kael."

She said it with a warmth that couldn’t be faked and a sincerity she didn’t bother hiding. She meant it, and wanted him to know it.

Kael’s expression held, but the glass in his hand rotated a quarter turn, which was Kael’s version of fidgeting.

"You’re welcome, Guinevere."

He reached forward and adjusted the earring on her left ear. The gesture was casual. Easy. Like he’d done it before. Her cheeks heated. She didn’t examine why.

"You’re glowing, Gwen," he said quietly.

"You’re joking." She glanced down at her glowing hands.

He gripped both of her shoulders and squared her to him. "Look at me."

She met his eyes.

"Breathe in through your nose. Slow." His hands slid down to her arms. The glow retreated with each exhale. He let go and grinned. "That’s twice tonight I’ve saved you. The earring and now this. You owe me a drink and a thank you card."

A laugh escaped her. Brief. Real. "Add it to my tab, Kael."

"It’s getting long."

"So is the evening."

They were both still smiling when something hurtled toward his head from her peripheral vision. She yanked him forward and his body crashed into hers. Chest to chest. His hands caught her waist on reflex. Glass exploded where his head had been. Neither of them moved for a full second.

He gave her an unimpressed look. "You do realize I am a dragon, right?"

She let go of him. "You do realize a wolf was just faster than a dragon, right?"

He didn’t dignify that with a response.

TESTOSTERONE INCIDENT #5: A Dragon Tantrum

They looked towards the direction of who threw the glass at the same time, only to see the Dragon King standing a short distance away, fists clenched at his sides, watching them with barely contained fury.

"Was that glass Maddox’s?" Guinevere asked, looking back at Kael.

He didn’t answer, his head still turned towards Maddox.

"He’s coming. Keep it casual. Lighthearted."

She glanced over again to see the Dragon King stalking forward, gold eyes locked on her with terrifying focus.

The look on his face resembled the one she hoped she’d never see from him again. She swallowed down the grief, refusing to let that memory surface.

Maddox stopped in front of her, ignoring Kael entirely. "You’ve turned down every drink I’ve offered you this week. But you’ll take one from him."

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation dressed in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

What came out of her mouth next was not strategic.

"Ryker gave me the drink. Kael gave me the dress. You gave me a lecture in a war room. I think you’re behind, Commander. But if it helps, the drink wasn’t that good."