Matteo is the late king’s bastard son. His half brother sits on a throne of gold and emeralds and presides over the funeral. He stands in the crowd, his face sad but his eyes dry.

They are only seventeen when the dowager queen follows.

But the world continues on, so he must shrug and refuse to mourn his lot in life.

The king smiles warmly as he appoints him as the Chief Keeper of Dragons for his eighteenth birthday. It is not a luxurious life, but the king meant well. He is no noble, after all, and has no fortune to speak of. He sleeps above the dragon stables. He has no dragon of his own, but they are all fond of him, and he of them. It is where he belongs. It is his haven.

The king’s favorite bitch has died giving birth. The runt died last night; the second smallest may die yet. She is a pale grey, not quite white, but not quite grey, either. Her obsidian eyes glitter with sparks.

The king mourns his bitch, and gives Matteo the second smallest as a present for his nineteenth birthday. Some protest his decision—only nobles may own a dragon of their own. The king waves them off, reminding them of his half brother’s noble heritage. It is no secret, not anymore.

The stables are no longer his haven. There is nowhere to hide, and he must still perform his duties. The dragons must be fed, must be trained, must been let out to pasture. They do not all understand why he is sad. Some grasp the simple meaning of his pain, but only Petia truly understands.

But Petia is only a kit, and he must be sure to hide her away when they come to taunt him, or they may harm her. Only gold dragons can properly defend themselves. Only gold dragons can breathe fire. They would kill his kit, his Petia, and he would kill them.

She grows quickly, much faster than the average kit. Her eyes still sparkle with an intelligent storm. One night she coughs, and the lights in the stable flicker and go out. She giggles high, and a few other dragons protest—dinner was not done and over with yet.

It happens again the next week. The electrician is annoyed, and tells him he ought to go jump his bastardly self off the roof. Petia snarls at him, and sparks jump from her teeth. The man leaps up with a yell and backpedals out of the dragon stables as Matteo laughs.

Only the gold dragons can breathe fire, but only his Petia can breathe lightning.

The nobles do not come near the stables anymore, not even to taunt him. Only his brother comes to visit him, but he does not mind.

He crawls into his bed in the loft of the dragon stables and sighs. A moment later, a snout pokes his arm and the bed dips as Petia climbs in beside him. Her scales are soft, and her eyes are calm. It is not difficult to sleep with Petia beside him.