"Flood the venue?" Samantha squeaked, her voice climbing an octave as she processed Herald Blazewing's words.
The crystal amphitheater fell silent except for the nervous rustling of dragon wings. Even Baby Nova seemed to sense the tension, her tiny fists clenching around the fabric of her mother's dress.
Marcus stepped forward, his ancient instincts kicking in as he assessed the situation.
The diplomatic nightmare unfolding before them was exactly the kind of political mess he'd been avoiding for centuries. But this time, running wasn't an option—not with his family at stake.
"Seventeen realms," he repeated slowly, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand years of experience. "All demanding invitations to our private ceremony."
