The Last Dragon Shifter

Chapter Twenty-Three

"And finally, our sophomore team is...Malcolm Greenwood and Naomi Cliffton."

More cheers erupted from the crowd with Malcolm hopping up immediately. He grabbed hold of her again and hauled Naomi onto the stage.

"Thank you, everyone! We're grateful for your support, and we'll come out on top!" Malcolm raised his and Naomi's joined hands in a salute. It was very royal-esque.

While Dean Wellington made some closing remarks, Malcolm spoke to Naomi feverishly.

"My dad is going to love this. He'll be thrilled. Be prepared to clear your schedule. With a victory like this, he's bound to invite us over again."

Then Malcolm's friends and Alicia swarmed around him. As Naomi watched them celebrate in whooping victory, Quinn sidled up next to her.

"Looks like we're on opposite sides. May I say in advance, sorry for your loss?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Malcolm and I could totally win," Naomi shot back.

"Fine. Whoever wins buys the other one dinner." Quinn held out his hand.

"You're on." Naomi returned his handshake, sealing their pact. With Quinn around, the Summit Trials might turn out to be fun.

***

That Firan evening, Naomi found herself following through with what Malcolm had surmised. Upon hearing the fortunate news, the delighted king had invited them to dinner. At seven, Naomi headed over to the castle with Malcolm, Figgis, and Sam, with unease coursing through her. In the same black dress from the ball (she refused to ask for Malcolm's fashion help again), she didn't feel properly dressed for dinner with the king. That assumption only grew when she and Malcolm reached the castle gates.

"What in the world is this?" Naomi gaped at the impressive edifice.

The ivory towers had been wrapped with crimson and golden garlands. Every light in the damn place was lit as the windows glistened with a bright invitation. Worst of all, luxury cars lined the long driveway.

"Oh gods, he didn't." Malcolm groaned.

"Did what?" Naomi panicked.

"It's a royal commemoration," Figgis sighed with disgust.

"A.k.a castle party!" Sam whooped, much more delighted than the rest of them.

"You can't be serious," Naomi said, looking to Malcolm for reassurance. All he did was rub his forehead in agitation.

"Afraid so, Cliffton. Father wants to show us off to the High Council."

"The High Council?" Naomi squeaked.

"Few rules," he went on as if she hadn't spoken. "One, you have to keep the sass in check."

"Sass?" Naomi bristled.

"Yes, sass," Malcolm said firmly. "If you suspect whatever you're about to say or do might cause offense, then don't do it. Two, all positivity and smiles. Three, please tell me you've gotten better at the whole curtsy thing."

"Let's just get this over with." Naomi scowled before storming towards the castle.

"So much for keeping the sass in check." Sam snorted from behind her.

Ignoring him, Naomi continued through the security check and other nonsense she had to do before entering the front doors. Once inside, several servants bustled around them, welcoming Malcolm with over-enthused pleasantries.

"They're in the ballroom, I assume?" Malcolm asked one of them.

"Yes, Your Highness. Right this way." The servant flourished his hand with a deferential gesture. As if Malcolm didn't know the location of rooms in his own house. Naomi contained her irritation at the ridiculousness already beginning as she followed behind Malcolm and his new entourage. They were dramatically announced as they entered the illustrious, gleaming hall and came face to face with all eight High Council members.

Naomi's irritation quickly tumbled into anxiety. Dear Dija, they were so intimidating! With their striking posture and million token clothes. Not to mention their austere faces. While they didn't glare at her in disdain, each one of them had the air of knowing they were above...well, everything.

"Naomi! Malcolm! So nice to see you." King Drewell greeted them first, coming over to place a hand on both of their shoulders.

"My esteemed guests, as you know, this is my son, Malcolm, and our exceptional compatriot to the royal family, Naomi Cliffton."

Sensing the formality of it all, Naomi curtsied (decently enough) alongside everyone else's mix of bows and feminine knee bending.

"Um, thank you for having me," Naomi said, mustering up all of her possible refinement.

"And Naomi, I'm sure you're already familiar with our excellent company." King Drewell motioned again towards the council members.

"Oh, yes, of course," Naomi agreed, curtsying once more. Because "of course" Naomi had seen the famed politicians on news broadcasts. But that was just it. On broadcasts. Not in real life, in the royal palace, staring her down with judgmental eyes.

"I just wanted to invite everyone to this small get-together as I've been eager for all of you to meet. Isn't that right, Fiona?" The king deigned to include his wife in the overly cordial festivities. Her dour expression revealed just how happy she was about being involved.

"Oh yes. He was ever so eager," Fiona said with a tight smile.

"Well, I, for one, have definitely been looking forward to meeting Ms. Cliffton," a diminutive woman with sleek dark hair spoke up. Her eyes sparkled with genuine interest as she reached for Naomi's hand.

"Lily Wren. It's nice meeting people outside of the competition."

"The competition?" Naomi asked quizzically.

"In addition, to my council duties, I'm a judge for the Summit Trials."

Of course, she is, Naomi thought, even more nauseous.

Not only had the king walked her into a political lion's den, but he'd also set her up to impress a trial judge. He was going to be severely let down as the only response Naomi managed was a stupefied nod. Thankfully, a cheerful chime resonated in the air, saving them all from the awkward silence.

"That's dinner. Everyone ready?" King Drewell asked before guiding his guests to the dining hall.

With no possible escape, Naomi ended up imprisoned—or rather, seated--between Malcolm and Lily Wren. On the table in front of her, a vast spread awaited: roasted turkey, mini-quiches, and a plethora of fresh vegetables abounded. She was unsure what to tackle first but also grateful for another excuse not to talk. She couldn't do aristocratic small talk while chewing. That was just bad manners. As soon as her plate was full, Naomi fixated on eating while the king struck up a casual conversation. The banal chitchat was all fine with her:

"The weather in Patria is quite nice this time of year." Insert nod and a bite of squash.

"The Summit Trials will be life-changing for you!" Give an enthusiastic smile and nibble on a mini-quiche.

"I'm remodeling my house this spring. I want the living room aesthetic to center around the severed dragon head on my wall."

Full-on turkey leg choke.

Stunned, Naomi locked eyes with the council member who just spoke. Alistar Wood, the illustrious griffon shifter councilman was also apparently a disgusting bigot. He'd been giving her dirty looks all night, but now that he'd gotten his golden opportunity, his stare was unabashedly hostile.

"What did you just say?" Queen Fiona's horrified tone implied even she had a limit on open hatred.

"What's the big deal? My ancestors slayed quite a few dragon shifters in their day. They make great centerpieces," he said after a swig of wine. The red liquid stained the corner of his sneering lip, the epitome of bloodthirsty. 

*** Uh oh! Don't start no stuff won't be no stuff, Alistar! How do you think Naomi will react?