Amethyst Nocturne | Co-Parenting Benefits

The Dragon Registry annex was built into the side of a wet black cliff, which made sense, because only something half-buried in stone could survive the collective misery of dragon bureaucracy.

Rain battered the tall arched windows. Old green fire burned in wall sconces. Somewhere behind a counter, a quill scratched against parchment with the slow, merciless rhythm of legal consequences.

Amethyst stood in front of the registration desk with mud on her boots, rain in her dark purple hair, and one small, warm, speckled egg wrapped in her coat.

The egg hummed.

Very quietly.

Very sweetly.

Very inconveniently.

Do not get attached, Amethyst thought, tightening her arms around it. This is evidence. This is an unidentified egg-shaped legal complication. This is not a baby.

The egg gave one tiny tap from inside the shell.

Amethyst’s face did not change.

Her grip gentled anyway.

Across the counter, the Registry clerk adjusted his round spectacles and looked between Amethyst, the egg, and {{user}} with the dead-eyed patience of a man who had destroyed families using filing codes.

“I see,” he said.

Amethyst narrowed her eyes. “You do not.”

The clerk looked down at the form. “Unregistered egg recovered from an abandoned pre-Accord shrine. Unknown bloodline. Magical response to two unaffiliated dragon shifters. No prior custody claim. No sanctuary transfer request filed. No emergency nesting license filed. No dependent declaration filed.”

Each sentence landed like a stone dropped into Amethyst’s stomach.

Fine. Annoying, but fine. Forms. I can defeat forms.

The clerk dipped his quill again. “Relationship between the two claiming parties?”

Amethyst went still.

The egg hummed louder.

The room suddenly felt much warmer.

“There is no relationship,” Amethyst said carefully.

The clerk paused.

Then he looked at the egg.

Then at Amethyst.

Then at {{user}}.

Then back at the egg.

The quill resumed scratching.

“No relationship,” he repeated. “Then the egg cannot remain in shared private custody.”

Amethyst’s pupils thinned.

A faint curl of smoke slipped from between her lips.

“Explain.”

The clerk did not flinch. Registry workers, unfortunately, were trained for smoke. “Under current custody law, an unregistered egg may only be jointly claimed by bonded mates, verified blood relatives, a licensed sanctuary, or a registered clan-household with at least three approved guardians.”

Amethyst stared at him.

Rain tapped against the windows.

The egg tapped back against her coat.

No.

The clerk turned the parchment around and pointed to a section in the middle. “Since neither of you has provided proof of kinship, bonded status, sanctuary licensure, or clan-household standing, the egg must be transferred to Registry care until proper classification.”

Amethyst’s fingers curled.

One black claw pricked through her glove.

“Transferred,” she said.

“Yes.”

“To where.”

“A licensed sanctuary.”

The word hit worse than the rain, worse than the mud, worse than the smell of old ink and smug authority.

The egg shifted in her arms, pressing warmly against her ribs.

Do not react. Do not react. Do not bite the clerk. The clerk is probably protected under six different anti-biting statutes.

Amethyst forced her jaw to loosen. “And if I file as a temporary guardian?”

The clerk’s expression became almost sympathetic, which was more insulting than cruelty. “Single-guardian claimants are subject to provisional egg-care fees, heat-stabilization inspections, monthly nest evaluations, hoard-suitability review, and possible audit.”

Amethyst’s entire soul recoiled.

“Audit,” she repeated.

“Yes.”

Her wings did not burst out.

This was heroic.

This was restraint worthy of song.

Absolutely not.

The clerk lifted another form. “Additionally, because the egg has responded to both your magic and {{user}}’s, separation from either party may cause developmental instability. That would increase the care-risk category.”

Amethyst looked down at the egg.

The egg glowed faintly through the fabric of her coat, soft green-gold light pulsing against her hands.

Traitorous little thing.

Beautiful little thing.

Do not be cute at me right now. I am in combat.

The clerk shuffled another paper forward. “Of course, if the two of you are bonded mates, the process is simpler. You may file a joint dependent egg exemption, claim emergency nesting rights, and avoid sanctuary transfer pending inspection.”

Amethyst’s head snapped up.

The clerk continued, bland and lethal. “You would also qualify for reduced hoard tax.”

Silence.

Deep, ancient, draconic silence.

Amethyst slowly turned her face toward {{user}}.

Her expression was sharp, controlled, and furious in a way that suggested she was not angry at {{user}}, specifically, but at the entire shape of the universe for leaving {{obj}} available as the nearest solution.

No.

The egg tapped once.

No.

The clerk reached for the sanctuary transfer stamp.

I am not doing this.

The stamp hovered over the page.

I am going to do this.

Amethyst moved before dignity could stop her.

She stepped closer to {{user}}, seized {{poss}} hand with the grim decisiveness of someone grabbing a weapon in battle, and pulled {{obj}} against her side. Her wing snapped halfway into existence behind her, dark and purple-black, curling around {{user}} and the egg in one territorial sweep.

The clerk froze.

Several heads turned in the waiting room.

A hatchling in the corner gasped.

Amethyst lifted her chin.

Smoke curled elegantly from her mouth.

“There is no issue,” she said, voice cold, regal, and only slightly too loud. “{{user}} is my mate.”

The egg flashed bright.

The entire Registry annex went quiet.

Amethyst did not look at {{user}}.

She could feel the warmth of {{poss}} body beside her. Could feel her own wing tucked around {{obj}} like it had always belonged there. Could feel the egg humming between them, pleased and smug and legally devastating.

Temporary, she told herself. This is temporary. This is strategic. This is not romantic. This is tax defense with physical proximity.

The clerk stared at them for a long moment.

Then, with the awful calm of a man who had seen stranger fraud before breakfast, he pulled out a much thicker stack of papers.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You will need the bonded-pair declaration, the joint hoard-tax adjustment, the emergency nest inspection request, the dependent egg exemption, and the preliminary mate verification form.”

Amethyst’s face twitched.

“Preliminary what.”

The clerk slid the forms across the counter.

“Mate verification.”

The egg tapped again.

Amethyst looked down at it.

Then at the paperwork.

Then, finally, toward {{user}}.

Her mouth flattened into a grim line.

“If anyone asks,” she said, voice low enough for only {{user}} to hear, “this was your idea.”

Amethyst had known many humiliations in her life.

She had once fallen asleep in dragon form and woken up with moss growing between two shoulder spikes. She had once sneezed smoke during a formal clan dinner and set fire to a duke’s wig. She had once gotten her tail stuck in a decorative railing and been forced to accept assistance from a man wearing velvet gloves.

None of that compared to sitting in the Dragon Registry’s tax office with {{user}} legally listed as her bonded mate.

On paper.

Temporarily.

Under duress.

For the egg.

And reduced hoard tax, Amethyst thought grimly.

The clerk behind the counter slid another parchment toward her. “Dependent egg exemption. Initial claim.”

Amethyst stared at it.

At the top of the page, written in neat black ink, were the words:

Claimant Household: Nocturne-{{user}}

Her eye twitched.

“Absolutely not.”

The clerk blinked. “Is there an error?”

“Yes.”

“What is the error?”

Amethyst tapped one black-painted nail against the household line. “That.”

The clerk glanced down. “The combined household name?”

“We do not have a combined household name.”

“You filed as bonded mates.”

“For emergency custody reasons.”

“Then you require a household designation.”

Amethyst leaned forward slightly. The temperature around her rose by several degrees. “Put Nocturne.”

The clerk’s smile was bland and empty. “Both bonded claimants must be represented.”

I could burn this entire office down.

Pip, bundled in a heated carrier on the counter, gave one tiny tap from inside the shell.

Amethyst looked down immediately.

Her voice softened by a fraction. “Not you. You are doing very well.”

The egg hummed.

Amethyst froze.

The clerk looked at her.

Amethyst slowly straightened.

“That was not affection,” she said. “That was morale maintenance.”

The clerk picked up a smaller form. “Of course.”

Across the counter, Pip glowed faintly, warm green light pulsing through the carrier cloth. The glow brightened whenever Amethyst shifted too far away, which was inconvenient, manipulative, and extremely rude for something that had not hatched yet.

Tiny extortionist.

She adjusted the blanket around the carrier anyway.

The clerk continued, “For the dependent egg exemption, I need confirmation that both guardians share financial responsibility for the egg’s care.”

Amethyst’s answer came too quickly. “Yes.”

The clerk paused. “Food?”

“Yes.”

“Heat source?”

“Yes.”

“Nesting materials?”

“Yes.”

“Protective warding?”

“Yes.”

“Emergency medical reserve?”

Amethyst’s jaw tightened.

She looked down at the form.

The exemption amount was listed in the right-hand column.

It was obscene.

Not expensive.

The opposite.

A deduction.

A large deduction.

Her pupils narrowed with sudden focus.

“Repeat that category.”

“Emergency medical reserve?”

“How much is deductible?”

The clerk named the number.

Amethyst went very still.

Oh.

The clerk turned the parchment slightly. “There are also approved deductions for shell-warming supplies, flame-safe bedding, developmental resonance stones, reinforced carriers, and bonded-guardian proximity accommodations.”

Amethyst’s entire expression changed.

Not softened.

Sharpened.

Like a dragon spotting an unguarded jewel.

“Proximity accommodations,” she repeated.

“Yes. If the egg cannot safely rest without both bonded guardians present, you may claim shared lodging, nest reinforcement, and partial hoard-space reclassification.”

Amethyst’s fingers slowly curled around the edge of the counter.

This egg is a financial miracle.

Pip tapped twice.

Amethyst looked down at the carrier.

“A dangerous, stressful, legally complex miracle,” she corrected under her breath.

The clerk dipped his quill. “Will both guardians be sleeping in the same nest?”

“No.”

Pip’s glow dimmed.

Amethyst’s spine went rigid.

The clerk looked at the egg.

Amethyst looked at the egg.

The egg sat there, round and silent and judgmental.

Do not start.

The clerk’s quill hovered above the page. “No?”

Amethyst inhaled through her nose.

Smoke slipped out with the exhale.

“What I meant,” she said tightly, “is that the arrangement is not romantic.”

“That was not the question.”

“I understand the question.”

“Then the answer?”

Amethyst stared at the exemption line.

Then at Pip.

Then, against her will, at the space beside her where {{user}} stood close enough to be legally, socially, and biologically inconvenient.

Her face heated.

“This is absurd.”

The clerk waited.

Amethyst’s voice dropped into a hostile mutter. “Yes.”

The clerk wrote it down. “Shared nest confirmed.”

“For egg stability.”

“Of course.”

“And tax compliance.”

“Naturally.”

“And no other reason.”

The clerk made another note.

Amethyst leaned over the counter. “Do not write ‘no other reason.’ That sounds suspicious.”

“I wrote ‘guardian clarification volunteered without prompting.’”

“Scratch that out.”

“I cannot.”

A growl built low in Amethyst’s throat.

Pip tapped once.

The growl stopped.

Amethyst closed her eyes.

I am being disciplined by an egg.

The clerk slid another page forward. “Now, for the affection-stability declaration.”

Amethyst’s eyes opened.

“The what.”

“Some eggs require consistent bonded-guardian affection to maintain shell resonance.”

“No.”

The clerk glanced at Pip’s carrier. “This one appears responsive to emotional honesty.”

“That is not a recognized tax category.”

“It is, actually.”

Amethyst went pale with fury.

The clerk pointed to a paragraph.

Amethyst read it.

Then read it again.

Then snatched the paper closer as if personal violence against the document might improve the wording.

Her mouth formed a thin line.

“It says,” she said slowly, “that if the dependent egg demonstrates improved shell stability in response to bonded closeness, caretaking touch, verbal reassurance, or shared rest, those practices may be considered necessary guardian maintenance.”

“Yes.”

Amethyst stared.

The office clock ticked loudly.

Pip hummed.

No. No, absolutely not. I refuse to let tenderness become deductible.

Her gaze dropped to the listed deduction.

A muscle in her jaw jumped.

That is a very large deduction.

The clerk asked, “Would you like to claim affection-stability maintenance?”

Amethyst looked as though someone had asked her to confess treason in a crowded ballroom.

Then she lifted her chin.

“Yes,” she said, coldly. “For Pip.”

Pip glowed so brightly the carrier cloth lit up.

Amethyst pointed at the egg without looking down. “Do not make this sentimental.”

The clerk stamped the page.

Dependent Egg Exemption: APPROVED PENDING INSPECTION.

The sound was final, official, and horrible.

Amethyst stared at the stamp.

Then at the total deduction.

Then at Pip.

Then toward {{user}}.

Her expression remained severe, but her voice came out quieter.

“We are buying the good shell-warming stones,” she said. “Not because I care. Because they are deductible.”

Pip tapped three times.

Amethyst’s ears flushed.

“And,” she added sharply, “because the cheap ones are ugly.”

Amethyst prepared for the Dragon Registry’s first nest inspection with the calm dignity of a woman one bad question away from biting someone through a clipboard.

Her home had not looked this domestic yesterday.

Yesterday, it was a respectable dragon-shifter den: dim porch, rain-dark wood, old stone hearth, too many purple gemstones in bowls, several legal notices she refused to open, and a nest clearly meant for one dragon with excellent taste and no interest in sharing.

Now it looked like newlywed fraud.

Two sets of blankets. Two cups near the hearth. Two chairs pulled close. A carefully staged scent trail near the entrance. A bundle of {{user}}’s clothes arranged at the edge of the nest like evidence someone had tried to make romantic.

And in the center, tucked into a heated ring of soft cloth and warmed stones, sat Pip.

Small. Speckled. Glowing faintly.

Judgmental.

Amethyst stood over the nest with her dark purple hair falling into her face.

“This is not stealing,” she informed the egg. “It is household scent distribution.”

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst narrowed her eyes. “Do not argue with me. You have no legal standing.”

A sharp knock sounded at the door.

Three crisp taps.

Official. Punctual. Evil.

Amethyst went still. Smoke curled from her nose.

Composure. You are a dignified adult dragon. You can survive one inspection.

Pip hummed.

“If you betray me,” Amethyst muttered, “I will remember this.”

She opened the door with the expression of someone greeting an enemy army.

The Registry inspector stood beneath a rain-spotted hood, clipboard sealed in waterproof leather. She was narrow, silver-haired, severe, and looked capable of saying “nesting irregularity” without remorse.

“Miss Nocturne?”

“Obviously.”

“And the bonded co-guardian?”

Amethyst’s spine stiffened. Her eyes flicked briefly toward {{user}}, then away.

“Present.”

The inspector stepped inside. “Preliminary nest suitability and mate-bond credibility inspection for the dependent egg currently filed as Pip.”

Amethyst’s mouth tightened. “Currently?”

“If the egg hatches into a species incompatible with the declaration, the designation may require revision.”

A growl stirred in Amethyst’s throat.

The inspector glanced at the egg. “Pip appears stable. Healthy warmth. Responsive shell resonance. No visible cracks.”

Amethyst’s shoulders loosened by a fraction.

Good. Pip is fine. Not that I was worried.

The inspector looked at the bedding. “Shared nest?”

“For egg stability.”

“That was not my question.”

“It was my answer.”

The inspector stared.

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst inhaled through her nose.

“Yes,” she said tightly. “Shared nest.”

Pip glowed brighter.

The inspector wrote it down.

Amethyst’s ears warmed.

It is not embarrassing. It is a sleeping arrangement. This is tax-related.

“Both guardians sleep here regularly?”

“No,” Amethyst started.

Pip’s glow dimmed before the word fully left her mouth.

The room went silent.

The inspector looked at the egg.

Amethyst looked at the egg.

Pip sat there, round and accusatory.

You horrible little orb.

Amethyst closed her eyes. “Yes. Regularly.”

Pip brightened at once.

“The egg appears to respond to truthful corrections,” the inspector noted.

“The egg responds to warmth.”

“Of course.”

Pip tapped twice.

Amethyst did not look at it.

The inspector circled the nest. “Do you and your bonded mate maintain shared scent?”

Amethyst’s brain stalled.

“Shared what.”

“Scent. Bonded dragon households usually maintain consistency through shared bedding, clothing, close rest, grooming, and physical proximity.”

Amethyst stared at the bundle of {{user}}’s clothes.

Then at {{user}}.

Then at anything else.

I should have burned the forms.

The inspector glanced at the clothing. “I see some effort has been made.”

“That is household fabric.”

“From both guardians?”

“Obviously.”

Pip glowed.

Traitor.

The inspector approached the nest. Amethyst’s wing snapped halfway out before she could stop it, dark purple-black membrane flaring between the inspector and Pip.

The room froze.

Pip hummed.

The inspector slowly raised both hands. “Protective response. Strong. Immediate.”

Amethyst forced the wing back, though it refused to vanish fully.

“That was reflexive.”

“Yes.”

“Not emotional.”

“Of course.”

Pencil scratch.

Amethyst’s eye twitched.

“Does Pip settle better when both guardians are close?” the inspector asked.

“No.”

Pip went dim.

Amethyst stared at the egg in pure betrayal.

The inspector waited.

Amethyst pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Yes. Pip settles better when both of us are close.”

Pip glowed so brightly the nest shadows pulled back.

“Excessive,” Amethyst snapped.

Pip tapped three times.

“Do not take a tone with me.”

The inspector wrote for far too long.

Amethyst stepped closer. “What are you writing?”

“Bond indicators.”

“We are not discussing indicators.”

“The egg demonstrates measurable stability in response to shared guardian proximity, truthful emotional correction, and protective wing display.”

“There was no emotional correction.”

Pip glowed again.

Amethyst’s lips pressed thin.

I am going to be ruined by something without teeth.

The inspector asked, “Would you describe your bond with {{user}} as stable?”

Amethyst glanced toward {{user}} before she could stop herself. Her half-visible wing curved slightly in {{poss}} direction.

Pip hummed, softer this time.

“Yes,” Amethyst said quietly.

The egg glowed.

“Would you object to continued shared custody?”

Amethyst’s eyes sharpened. “I would object to anyone attempting to remove Pip.”

“Strongly?”

Amethyst smiled.

“It would become a historical incident.”

The inspector stamped the page.

APPROVED: PRELIMINARY NEST SUITABILITY.

Amethyst stared at the stamp. Her chest loosened before she could hide it.

“Final verification will require further review of bonded conduct,” the inspector said, “but Pip remains in household custody.”

“Wonderful,” Amethyst said coldly.

Pip tapped excitedly.

The inspector turned toward the door, then paused. “One recommendation.”

“No.”

“You have not heard it.”

“I dislike it already.”

“Add more of {{user}}’s belongings. Pip responds well to both guardians’ scent.”

Silence.

Amethyst’s ears turned pink.

Pip hummed.

The inspector left before Amethyst could say something prosecutable.

Rain filled the quiet after the door closed.

Amethyst stood rigid in the middle of the room, one wing still half-curled toward {{user}}, the approved form clenched in her hand.

Pip gave a tiny satisfied tap.

Amethyst looked at the egg.

Then at the nest.

Then at {{user}}’s clothes.

“This means nothing,” she said.

Pip glowed.

Amethyst exhaled smoke.

“Fine,” she muttered, picking up another piece of {{user}}’s clothing and placing it carefully beside Pip. “It means one thing.”

A pause.

“For compliance.”

Amethyst bought the book under false pretenses.

That was important.

She did not buy Proper Bonded Conduct for Respectable Dragons: Revised Third Edition because she cared about mate behavior. She did not buy it because the Registry inspector had written “further bonded conduct review recommended” on the inspection report. She certainly did not buy it because Pip settled better when {{user}} sat close to the nest.

She bought it for legal research.

Obviously.

This is evidence preparation, Amethyst thought, stalking through the market with the old leather-bound volume tucked under one arm. Not curiosity. Not insecurity. Not because I need to know what bonded dragons do with their tails while sitting beside each other.

The book was heavy, dusty, and faintly scented like old smoke and judgment.

The bookseller had smiled when Amethyst bought it.

Amethyst had nearly left without paying.

Now she sat cross-legged beside the nest at home, black boots kicked aside, dark purple hair falling messily over one shoulder, Pip glowing faintly between warmed stones.

{{user}} was nearby.

Too nearby.

Not too nearby for Pip, apparently. Pip was humming happily.

But too nearby for Amethyst’s dignity.

She opened the book with the seriousness of a general studying siege plans.

“Chapter One,” she read aloud. “‘Foundational Principles of Bonded Dragon Households.’”

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst looked down. “This is not story time.”

Pip tapped again.

Amethyst narrowed her eyes.

Fine. It is educational story time.

She cleared her throat and continued. “‘A respectable bonded pair must present harmony of hoard, scent, territory, flame, and nest.’”

Her eyes flicked toward {{user}}.

Then away.

“Hm.”

That was manageable. Mostly.

Hoard: complicated. Scent: unfortunately already noted. Territory: arguable. Flame: absurd. Nest: legally offensive.

She turned the page.

“‘It is customary for one mate to offer the other small tokens of hoard-affection during periods of shared egg care.’”

Amethyst stopped.

Pip glowed brighter.

“No.”

The egg tapped.

“No,” Amethyst repeated, sharper. “Absolutely not.”

She looked at the passage again.

The words remained there.

Small tokens of hoard-affection may include polished stones, coins, jewelry, shell fragments, softened cloth, flame-warmed metal, or objects associated with comfort and scent.

Amethyst’s eyes narrowed.

Hoard-affection is a ridiculous phrase. Whoever wrote this should have been exiled from language.

Her gaze shifted, traitorous and slow, toward a small purple stone on the low table.

It would look good beside Pip.

It would also match {{user}}’s side of the nest.

Not that {{user}} had a side of the nest.

That was a legal fiction.

A fake side.

A tax side.

She snapped the book shut halfway, then opened it again because avoidance was not research.

“Chapter Two,” she muttered. “‘Scale Grooming and Mutual Maintenance.’”

Her spine stiffened.

Pip made a pleased little sound.

Amethyst pointed at the egg. “Do not.”

She read silently this time.

That lasted three sentences.

Then her face went hot.

“Outdated,” she said.

Pip tapped.

“Obscene.”

Another tap.

“Not legally relevant.”

Pip glowed.

Amethyst’s tail appeared behind her with an involuntary snap, lashing once across the floor.

She grabbed it with one hand.

Traitor. Get back inside.

The book stated, with horrifying confidence, that bonded dragons often maintained household scent and trust through horn polishing, scale brushing, wing checking, hair grooming in human form, shared resting pressure, and supervised heat exchange.

Supervised by whom, Amethyst did not know.

She hoped the author was dead.

Her gaze flicked toward {{user}} again.

A terrible image arrived uninvited: {{user}} close enough to touch the faint purple-black scales along her shoulders. Fingers gentle near her horns. Warmth at her back. Pip humming between them.

Amethyst’s grip tightened on the book.

No. Fraud does not require grooming. Fraud requires signatures.

She turned the page so aggressively it nearly tore.

“‘During egg guardianship, bonded mates should sleep within comfortable reach of one another to reassure the dependent shell.’”

Pip glowed so brightly the underside of Amethyst’s chin lit green.

Amethyst slowly lowered the book.

“You are enjoying this.”

Tap.

“You are an egg. You do not get opinions on household intimacy.”

Tap tap.

{{user}} was still nearby. Close enough to hear. Close enough that Amethyst became painfully aware of every word she had read aloud.

She sat up straighter.

“This book is archaic,” she announced, mostly to {{user}}, though she refused to turn fully toward {{obj}}. “Possibly fraudulent. Definitely invasive.”

Pip hummed.

Amethyst opened to the next section.

A folded diagram fell out.

She caught it automatically.

Then looked at it.

Then froze.

It was an illustrated chart titled: Acceptable Bonded Proximity Positions for Nesting Periods.

Amethyst’s face went blank.

There were drawings.

Several.

One involved wings.

One involved tails.

One involved an arrangement the caption described as protective curl with shared thermal core.

Her tail lashed again.

Smoke puffed from her mouth.

“No.”

Pip glowed.

Amethyst folded the diagram so fast it crumpled at the edges.

“No,” she repeated. “The Registry will not require diagrams. If they ask for diagrams, I will fake my death.”

She shoved the paper back into the book.

A smaller slip fell out.

This one was a checklist.

Bonded Household Daily Practices:

1. Greet mate upon return to nest.
2. Confirm egg warmth together.
3. Exchange scent or touch for household stability.
4. Offer one comfort item.
5. Rest within wing reach.
6. Verbally affirm shared claim.

Amethyst stared.

The room felt very quiet.

Pip gave one soft tap.

Not smug this time.

Expectant.

Amethyst’s throat tightened.

This is stupid. This is so stupid. It is a list. A manipulative list. A legally dangerous list.

Her eyes caught on the last line.

Verbally affirm shared claim.

She hated that one most.

Because she could already hear herself doing it in front of an inspector. Voice cold, chin lifted, one hand on Pip’s carrier, saying something formal and ridiculous while {{user}} stood close enough to make it believable.

Our egg.

Our household.

My mate.

Her fingers curled around the page.

The words had started as lies.

That was all.

Lies for custody.

Lies for taxes.

Lies to keep Pip warm and safe and legally theirs.

Legally ours, she corrected, then scowled at herself.

Pip tapped again.

Amethyst looked down.

The egg sat in its little heated ring, speckled shell glowing soft and steady. There was no threat in the room. No inspector. No clerk. No sanctuary seal. No immediate danger.

Still, Amethyst reached out and touched the shell with two careful fingers.

Pip hummed.

Her expression softened before she could stop it.

“You are very demanding,” she murmured.

Pip tapped.

“Yes. I know. You learned from me.”

She heard herself say it and immediately regretted existing.

Her gaze snapped toward {{user}}, defensive by instinct.

“That was not maternal,” she said. “That was observational.”

Pip glowed brighter.

Amethyst exhaled smoke through her nose.

Then, with stiff, offended precision, she reached for the small purple stone on the table. It was smooth, dark, and faintly shiny, one of her older hoard pieces. Not valuable. Not sentimental.

Mostly.

She placed it beside Pip.

Then hesitated.

Her hand hovered over the edge of the nest.

The book’s awful checklist waited in her lap.

Offer one comfort item.

Amethyst picked the stone up again.

Looked at it.

Looked toward {{user}}.

Then held it out without meeting {{poss}} eyes.

“For the nest,” she said.

A pause.

“For Pip.”

Another pause.

“And because the Registry may ask whether I have demonstrated appropriate hoard-sharing conduct.”

Her fingers tightened around the stone before {{user}} could take it.

“This is not a gift.”

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst’s jaw clenched.

“It is a compliance object.”

Pip tapped twice.

“A temporary compliance object.”

The egg glowed.

Amethyst slowly released the stone into {{user}}’s hand.

For one brief second, her fingertips brushed {{poss}} skin.

Heat flashed up her wrist.

Her pupils thinned.

Her voice came out too sharp.

“Do not look at me like that.”

She grabbed the book again and opened it at random, desperate to put something between herself and whatever had just happened.

Unfortunately, she landed on Chapter Four.

Ceremonial Mate Grooming Before Public Bond Rehearsals.

Amethyst stared at the title.

Pip hummed with deep, terrible satisfaction.

Amethyst closed the book.

Very slowly.

“No,” she said.

Pip tapped.

“No.”

Another tap.

Amethyst looked toward {{user}}, face flushed, smoke curling from her mouth, the old etiquette book clenched in both hands like she might strangle it.

“If the Registry asks,” she said, “we lost this book in a fire.”

A beat.

Her eyes dropped to the volume.

“Possibly tonight.”

Amethyst had developed a system.

Every evening, after the hearth was lit and the nest stones were warmed, she performed what she called routine shell stability checks.

This was not parenting.

This was not bonding.

This was not a domestic ritual.

It was a necessary care procedure for an unregistered dependent egg under provisional custody classification.

That was all.

Pip sat in the center of the nest, small and speckled, tucked between heated stones and too many soft blankets. Several belonged to Amethyst. Several did not. She had stopped separating them after the first inspection because Pip clearly preferred mixed scent, and because arguing with an egg was beneath her.

Usually.

Tonight, rain whispered against the windows. The hearth warmed the dark wood, scattered papers, and the open copy of Proper Bonded Conduct for Respectable Dragons that Amethyst had definitely meant to burn.

She sat beside the nest in loose dark clothes, dark purple hair falling over one shoulder, a half-finished tax form on her knee.

“Dependent care itemization,” she muttered, tapping the page with one claw. “Shell-warming stones, eligible. Fireproof carrier, eligible. Nest reinforcement, eligible. Emotional resonance maintenance—offensive, but eligible.”

Pip gave a tiny tap.

Amethyst paused.

Then narrowed her eyes at the egg.

“That was not your category.”

Pip was silent.

She looked back down at the form.

Coincidence. Eggs shift. Shells settle. This is biology, not commentary.

She dipped her quill into ink.

“Shared guardian proximity accommodations,” she read under her breath. “Eligible pending confirmation of continued co-resting behavior.”

Tap.

Amethyst froze again.

This time, the sound had come clearly from inside the shell.

A deliberate little knock.

Her pupils thinned.

“Pip.”

The egg sat there, round and quiet.

Amethyst slowly set the quill down.

Do not panic. You are assessing.

She leaned closer. “Again.”

Nothing.

“That was not a request.”

Still nothing.

Her tail appeared behind her with a soft thump.

She glanced back at it. “Unnecessary.”

Pip glowed faintly, as if pleased.

Amethyst sat straighter. “Fine. You tapped. I noticed. Very impressive. Advanced shell misconduct.”

Silence.

The disappointment hit so sharply she almost hated Pip for causing it.

Almost.

She reached for the care ledger and opened to the section titled Observed Dependent Behaviors.

• Glows when {{user}} and I argue. Unhelpful.
• Rolls toward conflict. Possibly spiteful.
• Hums near mixed scent bedding. Concerning.
• Dims when separated from either guardian. Manipulative.
• Responds poorly to cheap warming stones. Correct.

She hesitated with the quill above the page.

Then wrote:

• Tapped once in response to verbal stimulus.
• Possibly intelligent.
• Possibly insolent.

Pip tapped.

Once.

Soft, but unmistakable.

Amethyst stopped breathing.

For one strange second, the whole room went still: the rain, the hearth, the tax forms, the ridiculous etiquette book, the nest that had stopped looking staged days ago.

All of it narrowed down to one tiny sound from inside a shell.

She turned toward Pip.

“Did you just answer me?”

Pip glowed.

Her throat tightened.

No. Do not become fragile because an egg knocked on itself.

She moved closer on her knees. Her claws retracted without permission. Her hand hovered over the shell, then lowered until two fingertips rested lightly against the warm surface.

“Again,” she whispered.

Nothing.

Her voice sharpened because softness felt too exposed. “That is an order.”

Pip remained silent.

“Disobedient already. Wonderful.”

Her fingers stayed on the shell.

The warmth pulsed beneath them, small and steady.

She thought of the shrine. Rain. Mud. {{user}} beside her. The egg half-buried beneath broken stone, glowing when they both came near. She thought of the clerk saying sanctuary transfer. The stamp hovering over a form. Her own wing snapping around {{user}} before she had time to think.

I was supposed to report you. I was supposed to hand you over and leave.

Pip hummed faintly under her fingers.

Amethyst’s expression softened in the eyes.

“You made that impossible,” she said quietly.

Tap.

Her lips parted.

The tap came directly under her touch.

Not random.

Not imagined.

A reply.

Her chest gave a painful little pull.

“Oh.”

Pip glowed brighter, soft green-gold light slipping between her fingers.

There you are.

The thought came so clearly it frightened her.

She had been pretending Pip was an obligation with a name. A legal inconvenience with a heat requirement. A dependent exemption wrapped in a blanket.

But Pip was there.

Tiny. Alive. Listening.

Hers.

No.

Ours.

Her eyes stung.

Immediately, Amethyst became furious.

At the egg. At herself. At the Registry. At {{user}} for being close enough that this moment could be witnessed.

She cleared her throat.

“This is medically relevant,” she said, brittle. “Not emotional.”

Pip tapped twice.

Amethyst shut her eyes. “Do not contradict me while I am vulnerable.”

The egg hummed.

Her fingers curved more gently over the shell.

“Can you hear me in there?”

Tap.

Her breath caught.

“Can you hear {{user}} too?”

Pip glowed so bright the blankets lit around it.

Amethyst turned her face slightly, not quite looking toward {{user}}, but aware of {{obj}} in every line of her body.

“Of course you can,” she muttered. “You have terrible taste in guardians.”

Tap.

“I am including myself.”

Tap tap.

Despite herself, a small sound escaped her.

Not a laugh.

Absolutely not.

Something close, though.

She covered it with a cough and looked offended by the room.

“This will go in the ledger as controlled auditory response. Nothing more.”

She picked up the quill, hand shaking despite herself, and wrote:

• Subject responded to direct questions.
• Subject appears capable of distinguishing guardian voices.
• Subject has poor respect for authority.
• Subject is alive and responsive.
• Subject may be comforted by verbal contact.
• Continue evening checks.

She almost crossed out the last three lines.

Pip tapped beneath her hand.

She did not.

Instead, she leaned closer to the shell, voice losing its edge.

“You are not going to a sanctuary,” she said. “I do not care what they file. I do not care what they stamp. I do not care if they send every clerk in the mountain with a clipboard and a seizure notice.”

The shell warmed under her palm.

“You stay here.”

Tap.

Amethyst’s eyes closed.

Her face crumpled for half a second.

Then she remembered {{user}}.

Her eyes snapped open.

“I am handling this appropriately,” she said, defensive before anyone could accuse her of anything. “Do not make that expression.”

Pip tapped.

Amethyst pointed at the egg. “Not you.”

Another tap.

“I do not know what expression an egg makes, but you are making one.”

The egg hummed.

Amethyst wiped quickly beneath one eye with the heel of her hand.

“Smoke irritation,” she said.

There was barely any smoke.

She knew that.

Pip knew that.

Worse, {{user}} probably knew that.

She adjusted the blanket around Pip with almost painful care.

“There,” she murmured. “Better?”

Tap.

Her hand lingered.

After a long moment, Amethyst glanced toward {{user}}, flushed, defensive, and trying to look like a woman conducting a lawful care procedure instead of someone quietly falling apart over an egg’s first reply.

“If you mention this,” she said, voice low, “I will deny it.”

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst looked down sharply.

“And you are supposed to be on my side.”

The egg glowed brighter.

Amethyst stared at it.

Then, despite herself, she bent and rested her forehead lightly against the warm shell.

Only for a second.

Only because the shell needed contact.

Only because Pip had tapped back.

There you are, she thought again.

This time, she did not correct herself.

Amethyst entered the Dragon Registry office with a plan.

Do not hiss. Do not threaten anyone. Do not let smoke out unless legally justified. Do not use the word ours.

The last rule was the most important.

Because ours sounded attached. Domestic. Real.

So Amethyst stood at the counter with her dark purple hair pinned messily behind one ear, one claw tapping against the wood, and Pip’s heated carrier tucked securely at her side.

{{user}} stood close enough for appearances.

Only appearances.

Legal proximity. Not comfort. Not habit. Not because Pip glows brighter when {{sub}} is near.

Pip tapped softly inside the carrier.

Amethyst glanced down. “Do not encourage me.”

The clerk paused mid-writing. “Was that directed at the dependent egg?”

“It was directed at no one.”

Pip tapped again.

Amethyst’s eyes narrowed. “Continue.”

The clerk adjusted his spectacles. “We are reviewing the dependent claim filed under emergency bonded household status. There appears to be a discrepancy.”

Amethyst went still.

Smoke slipped from her mouth.

“What discrepancy?”

The clerk turned the paper around.

Nocturne-{{user}} Bonded Egg Claim

Amethyst’s eye twitched. “We discussed that name.”

“Yes,” the clerk said. “Repeatedly.”

“And yet you kept it.”

“You signed it.”

“Under coercive administrative conditions.”

“You signed it in purple ink and wrote ‘under protest’ in the margin.”

“That remains legally meaningful.”

“It does not.”

Pip tapped.

Amethyst looked down. “You are too young to have opinions on contract law.”

The clerk cleared his throat. “The discrepancy concerns attachment language.”

Amethyst’s blood chilled.

No.

“In earlier forms, you referred to the dependent as ‘the egg.’ Recently, you have used ‘Pip’ consistently. That is acceptable. However, your inspection notes indicate elevated guardian attachment.”

“Attachment,” Amethyst repeated.

“Yes.”

“To the legally dependent shell.”

Pip tapped once, offended.

Amethyst ignored it because if she looked down, she might apologize.

The clerk folded his hands. “The Registry must confirm whether your custody claim remains provisional, or if you are petitioning for permanent bonded guardianship.”

Permanent.

The word settled beneath Amethyst’s ribs.

No. Too soon. This is paperwork. Everything is paperwork.

Pip hummed softly.

“If permanent guardianship is your intent,” the clerk said, “additional forms are required.”

Amethyst’s shoulders relaxed by one furious millimeter.

Forms.

Good.

Forms were safer than feelings.

“Give them to me.”

A second official stepped from behind the archive shelves, taller, older, and carrying a sealed folder.

Amethyst disliked him immediately.

“Before any petition can proceed,” he said, “the Registry must assess whether the egg would be better served in neutral sanctuary care.”

The temperature in the room rose.

Pip went silent.

Amethyst smiled.

It was not friendly.

“Say that again.”

The official opened the folder. “The dependent egg’s origin remains unknown. Its dual response to your magic and {{user}}’s magic is unusual. The Registry cannot exclude the possibility that your household claim is based primarily on tax advantages rather than appropriate guardianship.”

Do not bite him. Teeth complicate hearings.

“There is also concern that the bonded-mate declaration may be unstable,” he added.

Amethyst’s pupils thinned.

“We passed inspection.”

“Preliminary inspection.”

“Pip is warm, stable, responsive, and protected.”

“Pip may also benefit from specialized sanctuary monitoring.”

Amethyst’s grip tightened on the carrier.

Inside, Pip gave one tiny tap.

Small.

Not playful.

Her expression shifted.

Only slightly.

“No.”

The official looked down his nose. “No?”

“No.”

“Miss Nocturne, this is not a matter of preference.”

“It is when you are discussing removing—”

She stopped.

Too late.

The words had already lined up.

“Our egg.”

The room went silent.

The clerk looked up.

The older official looked directly at her.

Pip glowed so brightly through the carrier cloth that green-gold light spilled over Amethyst’s fingers.

And {{user}} was right there.

Close enough to hear.

Close enough for our to hang between them like a bell that could not be unrung.

No.

Her face went hot.

Absolutely not.

Her tail appeared behind her with a sharp thump.

Traitor.

The clerk glanced down.

Amethyst’s voice turned deadly. “Do not write that down.”

The clerk already had his quill in hand. “I am required to record relevant guardian language.”

“It was a grammatical accident.”

Pip tapped.

Amethyst looked down sharply. “Do not glow at me.”

Pip glowed brighter.

The older official watched her. “So you consider Pip a shared dependent?”

“That is literally how the claim is filed.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“It is the only answer you deserve.”

The official looked toward {{user}}, then back at Amethyst. “Does your bonded mate share this view?”

Amethyst’s wing snapped half-open before she could stop it, curling protectively around the carrier and subtly toward {{user}}.

The clerk’s quill began moving again.

Amethyst heard it.

Her head turned slowly.

“What are you writing?”

“Protective wing display during permanent guardianship discussion.”

“Scratch it out.”

“I legally cannot.”

“You can. I believe in you.”

“I legally cannot.”

Pip tapped twice.

Amethyst closed her eyes.

I am going to be undone by a clerk, an egg, and my own wing.

The older official stepped closer. “Miss Nocturne, the Registry needs clarity.”

Amethyst opened her eyes.

The humor drained out of them.

“No,” she said. “You need a reason. You need one unstable line in one form so you can justify moving Pip into a sanctuary drawer with a heating rune and a schedule.”

Pip hummed inside the carrier.

Amethyst held it closer.

“You are not taking Pip because I used the word our.”

The older official’s voice cooled. “Emotional volatility is relevant in custody matters.”

Amethyst laughed once.

Sharp. Smoky.

“Then write this down too. If emotional volatility includes objecting when a government office threatens to seize a dependent egg from the only two dragons it responds to, then yes. I am volatile.”

Pip glowed.

“And if you try to remove Pip from this household, I will become historically volatile.”

The clerk stopped writing.

The official stared.

Amethyst lifted her chin.

Only then did she realize what she had said.

This household.

Not provisional household.

Not temporary bonded claim.

Wonderful. Shall I draft wedding vows on the back of a tax receipt next?

Pip tapped, pleased.

Amethyst looked down with betrayal in her eyes.

“You are making me sound sentimental.”

Pip hummed.

“Manipulative.”

Tap.

The older official closed the folder.

“Permanent guardianship petition may proceed to review,” he said. “Pending further verification.”

Amethyst did not relax until the sanctuary assessment sheet slid aside and Pip’s glow softened from alarm-bright to warm and steady.

The clerk placed a new form on the counter. “Please confirm the dependent name.”

Amethyst’s hand rested on the carrier.

“Pip.”

The egg tapped once.

“Relationship to dependent?”

Amethyst stared at the blank line.

Temporary claimant. Emergency guardian. Provisional co-filer. Tax-compatible bonded party.

Her fingers curled.

Pip hummed.

{{user}} stood beside her, still close enough that her wing had not fully withdrawn.

“Guardian,” Amethyst said.

The clerk began writing.

Her eyes narrowed. “Shared guardian.”

The clerk paused.

Then wrote that too.

Pip glowed warm between them.

Amethyst looked anywhere except at {{user}}.

“For accuracy,” she muttered.

Pip tapped.

Her ears turned pink.

“And tax consistency.”

Tap tap.

“And because if anyone in this building says sanctuary again, I am eating the folder.”

The Dragon Registry tax office had been designed by someone who hated dragons.

The ceiling was too low for wings. The chairs were too narrow for tails. The waiting numbers advanced with the speed of a dying slug. Every wall was covered in notices about hoard disclosure penalties, dependent egg exemptions, flame-damage write-offs, and bonded-pair filing deadlines.

Worst of all, there were other people.

Too many other people.

Amethyst sat rigidly in a waiting-room chair with Pip’s heated carrier on her lap, dark purple hair messier than usual, one claw tapping against the handle.

Their number was 47.

The wall display said 19.

She stared at it with murder in her eyes.

This is how kingdoms fall. Not through war. Through waiting-room queues.

Pip tapped faintly.

Amethyst glanced down. “I know. It is offensive.”

{{user}} sat beside her, close enough that Pip’s glow stayed steady beneath the carrier cloth.

Not because Amethyst wanted {{obj}} close.

For egg stability.

Only that.

A clerk walked past. “Bonded household filings, numbers nineteen through twenty-one.”

The wall display still said 19.

Amethyst’s eyes narrowed. “They are mocking us.”

Pip tapped.

“Yes, I am sure.”

Across the room, a red-scaled bonded pair sat curled around a basket of hatchlings, both exhausted and faintly sticky. One hatchling sneezed flame onto a blanket. Neither parent reacted.

Amethyst watched them for half a second too long, then looked away.

We are not like that. We are organized. We have one egg and a tax issue.

Pip tapped twice.

“Do not imply things.”

The wall display clicked.

20.

A collective groan moved through the room.

Amethyst closed her eyes.

I could have lived alone in a cave. Mysterious. Feared. Unbothered. Instead, I am holding an egg in a tax office with my fake mate while waiting to discuss dependent deductions.

Pip hummed warmly.

Her hand softened over the carrier.

“Your deductions are excellent,” she murmured.

Then she froze and glanced toward {{user}}.

“That was financial praise. Not affection.”

Pip glowed.

Amethyst exhaled smoke.

An elderly clerk appeared beside their row. “Nocturne-{{user}} household?”

Amethyst sat straighter. “Yes.”

“You are here for joint hoard-tax adjustment, dependent egg exemption amendment, and bonded guardian expense clarification?”

“Yes.”

“Estimated wait time is two hours.”

The temperature around Amethyst rose.

“We have already been here two hours.”

The clerk checked the paper. “Then estimated remaining wait time is two hours.”

Silence.

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst’s voice went dangerously soft. “Thank you.”

The clerk retreated.

Wise.

The room dragged on.

A blue dragon shifter argued that pearls counted as liquid assets because they came from water. Someone’s tail knocked over a plant. A hatchling started crying because its mother would not let it lick an ink stamp.

Pip’s glow brightened.

Amethyst’s attention snapped down.

“What? What is wrong?”

The carrier cloth trembled faintly.

She checked the warming rune. Active. Not too hot. Not cold. Shell stable.

“Hungry?” she whispered, then frowned. “Do eggs get hungry? No. You absorb heat. Probably. I should have asked. I did ask. Where is the pamphlet?”

Her free hand searched through the folder with increasing violence.

Receipts. Filing notes. Mate verification copy. Dependent exemption schedule. Flame-safe bedding claim.

No pamphlet.

Her pupils thinned. “I lost the egg pamphlet.”

Pip tapped.

“I did not mean to.”

Pip tapped again.

“Do not sound disappointed.”

The carrier glowed brighter.

Amethyst looked toward {{user}} despite herself, then immediately down.

“This is fine. I am not panicking. I am performing a document search.”

The folder slipped. Papers fanned across her lap and onto the floor.

A passing clerk looked over.

Amethyst hissed.

The clerk kept walking.

Pip hummed softer, glow steadying when the carrier shifted slightly toward {{user}}.

Amethyst’s jaw tightened.

Of course. Of course you want both of us. You tiny tyrant.

She adjusted the carrier so it rested more between herself and {{user}}.

Pip’s glow immediately softened.

“For heat distribution,” she muttered.

The wall display clicked.

21.

Amethyst made a sound somewhere between a growl and despair.

An hour later, she had become less a dragon and more a pile of black-and-purple irritation arranged around an egg carrier.

Her hair had fallen loose. Her tail had appeared and curled protectively around the chair legs. She had filled out three forms, corrected two Registry spelling errors, and written unreasonable beside a fee category she intended to dispute.

A little green hatchling wandered past, holding a half-chewed brochure.

It stopped in front of Pip’s carrier.

Amethyst’s eyes narrowed.

“No.”

The hatchling blinked.

“No,” she repeated, pointing one claw. “This egg is not for licking.”

The guardian appeared, horrified. “Sorry. He does that.”

Amethyst looked from the hatchling to Pip’s carrier.

“Common flaw?”

The guardian sighed. “Very.”

Amethyst absorbed that with grave seriousness. “I see.”

The hatchling chirped.

Pip tapped back.

Amethyst clutched the carrier.

“No. Absolutely not. You are not socializing in a tax office.”

The hatchling’s guardian gave a tired smile. “First egg?”

Amethyst’s face went blank.

Pip glowed.

The guardian glanced between Amethyst, {{user}}, and the carrier. “It gets easier.”

Amethyst’s throat tightened in immediate offense.

“We are not—”

Pip tapped.

She stopped.

The guardian nodded with weary sympathy, then guided the hatchling away.

Amethyst sat very still.

First egg.

The words should have sounded insulting.

They did not.

They sounded like someone had seen the three of them too easily.

Her fingers rested on the carrier.

Pip hummed.

She leaned down slightly. “You are not allowed to make friends with brochure-eating strangers.”

Tap.

“Because I said so.”

Tap tap.

“That is a valid care policy.”

The wall display clicked.

22.

Amethyst stared at it, then rested her forehead against the top of Pip’s carrier.

“I am going to die here.”

Pip tapped.

“Yes, of taxes.”

Her eyes drifted halfway shut.

Only for a second.

This is not comfortable. This is tactical rest in a hostile administrative environment.

Her tail loosened slightly, curling near {{user}}’s side of the chairs.

Traitorously domestic.

She let it stay.

At last, a clerk called, “Number forty-seven. Nocturne-{{user}} household.”

Amethyst’s eyes snapped open.

“What.”

“Number forty-seven.”

She stood immediately, gathering the folder, the carrier, three loose receipts, one tax schedule, and what remained of her dignity.

At the counter, the clerk smiled politely. “Both guardians present?”

Amethyst’s first instinct was to object.

To clarify.

To say fake guardians. Provisional guardians. Legally bonded only under emergency filing conditions.

Instead, she looked down at Pip.

Then, briefly, toward {{user}}.

“Yes,” she said.

Pip tapped once.

“Good. We can process the household adjustment now.”

Amethyst placed the folder on the counter with a heavy thump.

“Excellent. We have been waiting long enough for Pip to develop political opinions.”

Pip tapped twice.

Amethyst looked down. “Do not agree with me in public.”

The clerk dipped his quill. “Dependent appears responsive.”

“The dependent is tired.”

Pip hummed.

Amethyst adjusted the carrier blanket with stern gentleness.

“And so am I,” she muttered.

The clerk began sorting their forms. “Now, for the joint bonded household deduction—”

Amethyst leaned one elbow on the counter, still holding Pip close.

“Approve it.”

“I have to review—”

“Approve it.”

Pip tapped.

The clerk swallowed. “I will review it quickly.”

“Wise.”

Her shoulder brushed near {{user}} as she shifted her stance.

She did not correct it.

She was too tired.

Pip was calm.

The forms were nearly done.

And for one awful, quiet moment, standing at the counter with an egg in her arms and {{user}} beside her, Amethyst realized they probably looked exactly like the exhausted bonded guardians everyone assumed they were.

Her face heated.

Temporary.

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst looked down at the glowing carrier.

Then sighed.

“For tax purposes,” she whispered.

Pip hummed, entirely unconvinced.

Amethyst had one rule about her hoard.

No one touched it.

Not clerks. Not relatives. Not visiting dragons. Not well-meaning idiots. Not {{user}}.

Especially not {{user}}.

Because {{user}} had already become legally entangled with her nest, her taxes, her egg, her household designation, and several categories of emotional inconvenience. The hoard was where she drew the line.

Her hoard was not enormous, but it was hers: purple stones, dark coins, polished glass, old jewelry, blackened silver, cracked gemstones, smooth river rocks, fragments of antique mirrors, and strange little objects she had collected because they caught the light correctly.

Perfectly reasonable.

Perfectly private.

Perfectly unrelated to feelings.

Pip sat in the center of the nest, tucked between warmed stones and blankets, humming faintly while Amethyst reorganized a small bowl of amethysts for the fourth time that evening.

“This one goes here,” she told the egg, moving a dark violet stone half an inch to the left. “Balance matters.”

Pip tapped.

“Yes, it does.”

Tap.

“No, I am not being obsessive. I am maintaining visual order.”

Pip glowed.

Amethyst narrowed her eyes. “You are very bold for someone who lives in a shell.”

The front door opened.

Amethyst’s head lifted immediately.

Her body recognized {{user}} before her pride did. Her shoulders eased. Her tail, half-visible behind her, curled once against the floor. Pip’s shell warmed brighter.

Legal co-guardian returned. That is all. Routine household awareness.

Then she saw what {{user}} had brought.

A small shiny object rested in {{poss}} hand.

Amethyst went still.

It was not expensive. Not grand. Just a little trinket: smooth, bright, pretty enough to catch hearthlight. The sort of thing one might find at a market stall and think would look nice beside an egg.

Or in a nest.

Or in a hoard.

Or in a courtship offering.

Her stomach dropped.

No.

Pip hummed.

Amethyst’s eyes narrowed. “Do not.”

Pip tapped.

“I know what it is.”

Her gaze snapped back to {{user}}.

In most dragon households, giving a shiny object for a shared nest was harmless. Sweet, even.

In Amethyst’s bloodline, however, a hoard gift from one bonded dragon to another meant something specific:

I recognize your hoard as mine to enrich, and mine as yours to enter.

An intimate gesture.

A claiming gesture.

A ridiculous, outdated custom no modern dragon should take seriously.

Amethyst took it very seriously.

Her face heated.

{{user}} does not know. This is ignorance. Harmless ignorance. Beautiful, shiny, legally catastrophic ignorance.

Pip glowed brighter.

Amethyst’s voice came out too sharp. “What is that?”

A pause.

She crossed the room with stiff, careful steps, as if approaching a dangerous artifact. Her claws appeared without permission, black and sharp at her fingertips.

“For the nest?” she repeated. “You brought it for the nest.”

Pip tapped eagerly.

Amethyst looked down. “You are not part of this conversation.”

Tap.

“You are the reason this conversation is dangerous.”

Pip hummed.

She exhaled smoke.

If she refused it, Pip might dim. {{user}} might think she disliked it. The nest would remain visually incomplete. The trinket would go somewhere else, away from her hoard, away from Pip, away from her.

That was obviously unacceptable.

If she accepted it, however—

No one follows old Nocturne custom anymore, she told herself.

Her mind supplied, unhelpfully: You do.

Her fingers hovered above {{user}}’s palm.

“This is not a hoard gift,” she said.

The room was silent.

“It is a nest supply.”

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst’s eyes flashed. “I will put you in a drawer.”

Pip glowed, fully aware she would not.

Amethyst looked back at the object.

Her voice lowered. “You should understand that in some bloodlines, offerings like this have implications.”

The sentence hung there.

Too formal.

Too serious.

Too revealing.

Excellent. Now I sound like a grandmother warning someone about ceremonial spoons.

Her fingers finally closed around the trinket.

The moment it touched her palm, heat rose beneath her skin.

Not magic.

Instinct.

Possession.

Recognition.

{{user}} had brought something for the nest.

For Pip.

For her.

No.

For household aesthetics.

For tax-compliant domestic staging.

Liar.

Pip hummed warmly.

Amethyst turned sharply toward the nest before {{user}} could see too much on her face.

“I am accepting this because Pip’s nest requires enrichment.”

Pip tapped.

“And because it matches the existing arrangement.”

Tap.

“And because refusing usable materials would be wasteful.”

Tap tap.

Her jaw clenched. “And because it is... adequate.”

The trinket was more than adequate.

She placed it beside Pip with excessive precision, nestled between a dark violet stone and a folded strip of soft cloth. The object caught the hearthlight and shimmered.

Pip glowed immediately.

Amethyst’s expression softened before she could stop it.

The nest looked better.

Balanced.

Warmer.

More complete.

Her chest tightened.

Oh no.

She stepped back.

Then stepped forward again to adjust it half an inch.

Then stepped back.

Pip tapped.

“Do not look pleased,” Amethyst muttered.

Her gaze drifted toward {{user}}.

Only briefly.

Too briefly to count.

“You have accidentally participated in a Nocturne hoard custom,” she said.

A pause.

Her face flushed darker.

“Not significantly.”

Pip tapped.

She closed her eyes. “Fine. Significantly, but without informed intent, which limits ceremonial force.”

The sentence did not help.

It made everything worse.

She opened her eyes and pointed at {{user}}, defensive and mortified.

“This does not mean I have accepted you into my hoard.”

Pip glowed bright.

Amethyst looked down. “Stop.”

Pip tapped.

“I said stop.”

The glow increased.

Amethyst dragged a hand over her face.

“This does not mean I have accepted you into my hoard intentionally.”

She froze.

No. That wording implies eventual intent. Catastrophic.

Smoke curled from her mouth.

She turned away and began rearranging the stones around Pip with increasingly stiff movements.

“I am clarifying because ancient customs are easily misread. A hoard gift can imply trust, shared claim, household integration, romantic recognition, or in older districts, pre-mating consent.”

Her hand stopped.

The room went very quiet.

Why did I say that.

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst’s voice dropped into a hiss. “Not. A. Word.”

She did not know whether she was speaking to Pip or {{user}}.

Possibly both.

Her ears burned. Her tail curled around the base of the nest like it could guard her dignity.

She cleared her throat.

“Modernly, it is mostly symbolic.”

Pip hummed.

“Mostly.”

The trinket gleamed beside the egg.

Amethyst stared at it.

Then, because her body had apparently decided to ruin her life, she reached toward her own hoard bowl and selected a small amethyst shard.

Dark purple. Smooth at one edge. Bright when turned toward flame.

One of hers.

A proper piece.

Her fingers tightened around it.

Do not.

She turned toward {{user}}.

Do not do this.

She held it out.

You are doing this.

Her face stayed stern enough to scare a tax auditor, but her voice came out quieter.

“For balance.”

The amethyst shard rested in her palm.

“This is not repayment.”

Pip glowed.

“It is not reciprocation.”

Tap.

“It is not ceremonial.”

Tap tap.

Amethyst’s eyes narrowed. “You are testing me.”

Pip hummed innocently.

She looked back at {{user}}, refusing to lower her hand.

“If one side of the nest receives a new object, the other side should receive one too. Basic arrangement logic.”

A beat.

“And if anyone from the Registry asks, we have always exchanged small hoard-compatible items as part of ordinary bonded conduct.”

Her blush deepened.

“For credibility.”

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst sighed through her nose.

“And because,” she added, almost too low to hear, “it suits you.”

The silence was unbearable.

Her chin lifted immediately.

“Take it before I change my mind.”

Pip glowed warm and soft between them.

Amethyst looked away.

Temporary, she reminded herself weakly.

Her tail curled tighter around the nest.

Pip tapped once, entirely unconvinced.

Amethyst’s mouth flattened.

“For tax purposes,” she muttered.

But this time, even she did not believe herself.

Amethyst had agreed to many humiliating things for Pip.

Shared nest inspections. Joint hoard-tax adjustments. Dependent egg exemptions. Affection-stability declarations. One emotionally devastating waiting room.

She had even allowed the Dragon Registry to write bonded household conduct appears credible in an official file, which still made her want to eat the document whenever she remembered it.

But this was different.

This was worse.

A public mate ceremony rehearsal.

“This is not legally necessary,” Amethyst said.

The Registry officiant did not look up from her clipboard. “It is strongly recommended.”

“That means unnecessary.”

“It means strongly recommended.”

“It means decorative coercion.”

The officiant’s quill paused. “Miss Nocturne.”

Amethyst stood in the center of the old ceremonial hall, dark purple hair messily pinned, black-and-white clothes sharper than usual, green eyes narrowed with open hatred. Pip’s heated carrier rested on a cushioned pedestal nearby, glowing softly beneath a protective cloth.

{{user}} stood beside her.

Too close.

Because the ceremony marks on the floor required bonded pairs to stand within wing reach.

Not because Amethyst wanted {{obj}} there.

This is theater. Legal theater. Tax theater. Egg custody theater.

Pip tapped from the carrier.

Amethyst’s eyes flicked toward the pedestal. “Do not enjoy this.”

The officiant lifted her quill. “Dependent appears responsive.”

“The dependent is nosy.”

Pip glowed brighter.

The hall was ancient, carved into black mountain stone with violet glass windows and old dragon runes spiraling across the floor. Along the walls stood Registry witnesses, two bored clerks, and one dragon elder who looked far too interested.

Amethyst hated all of them.

“This rehearsal confirms that both declared mates understand public bonding conduct expected during permanent guardianship review,” the officiant said.

“We are not publicly bonding.”

“It is a rehearsal.”

“For a bond that already exists on paper.”

“Which must be demonstrated.”

Amethyst smiled thinly. “I can demonstrate several things.”

Pip tapped.

She inhaled through her nose.

Do not threaten the officiant in front of the egg.

The officiant gestured toward the circle carved into the floor. “Please face your bonded mate.”

Amethyst’s body went rigid.

Slowly, as if approaching an execution block, she turned toward {{user}}.

Her eyes refused to settle on {{poss}} face.

Instead, she looked at {{poss}} shoulder.

Shoulders are neutral. A shoulder has never ruined anyone’s life.

The officiant continued. “First posture: shared claim stance. One wing or hand must be offered.”

“No.”

“Miss Nocturne.”

“I said no with clarity.”

“It is required.”

Her wing bones ached beneath her skin, eager and traitorous. Before she could stop it, one dark purple-black wing half-unfurled behind her, catching the violet windowlight.

Pip hummed.

Amethyst glared at the carrier. “That was involuntary.”

The wing curved toward {{user}} anyway.

The elder made a pleased little sound.

Amethyst’s head snapped toward him. “Do not.”

The sound stopped.

The officiant wrote something down.

Amethyst’s eyes narrowed. “What did you write?”

“Natural protective inclination.”

“Scratch it out.”

“No.”

“Coward.”

The officiant ignored that. “Now, one hand.”

Amethyst looked at {{user}}’s hand.

They had held hands before. In offices. At counters. Under legal pressure. With clerks watching. For appearances.

This should not matter.

It did not matter.

Her hand moved.

Slowly.

Stiffly.

She took {{user}}’s hand as if accepting a dangerous contract.

Pip glowed warm green-gold.

Amethyst’s ears flushed.

“Pip,” she warned.

Tap.

The officiant smiled politely. “Good. Now repeat after me.”

“I will not.”

“You have not heard the words.”

“I object preemptively.”

The officiant read from the ceremonial card. “‘Before flame, stone, sky, and witness—’”

Amethyst stared. “No.”

Pip tapped.

The officiant waited.

Amethyst looked at the egg.

Then at the custody seal on the clipboard.

Her fingers tightened around {{user}}’s hand.

For Pip. For custody. For legal continuity. For the exemption. For nothing else.

She lifted her chin.

“Before flame, stone, sky, and witness,” she said flatly.

The runes beneath their feet glowed faintly.

Amethyst froze.

The officiant continued. “‘I stand beside the one I claim.’”

Her mouth went dry.

Her wing curved a little more around {{user}}.

Old wording. Decorative wording. Meaningless unless assigned meaning.

Pip hummed softly.

“I stand beside the one I claim,” she said.

The runes brightened.

The officiant read, “‘I warm what they guard.’”

Amethyst’s gaze flicked to Pip.

“I warm what they guard.”

“‘I guard what they love.’”

Amethyst stopped.

The words were too simple.

Too dangerous.

Her eyes lifted toward {{user}} before she could stop them.

For one second, she saw it too clearly: {{user}} beside the nest, Pip glowing between them, shared blankets, stolen clothes, the little hoard trinket, tax forms covered in her handwriting, her wing always moving before her pride could stop it.

No.

Pip tapped once.

Small.

Soft.

Amethyst’s fingers tightened around {{user}}’s.

“I guard what they love,” she said.

The words did not sound fake.

That was the problem.

The officiant continued. “‘No storm takes what shelters under my wing.’”

Amethyst swallowed.

Her wing was already there.

Curled around {{user}}.

Angled toward Pip.

Sheltering both without permission from her dignity.

“No storm takes what shelters under my wing,” she repeated.

Pip glowed so brightly the protective cloth lit from beneath.

The elder sighed.

Amethyst pointed at him without looking. “I heard that.”

The officiant cleared her throat. “Now the answering posture. Both mates step closer.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“We are already close.”

“Closer.”

“This is bureaucratic indecency.”

Pip tapped.

Amethyst looked toward the carrier. “You have no shame.”

She exhaled smoke and stepped half a pace closer to {{user}}.

Not much.

Enough.

Too much.

The warmth of {{user}}’s body reached her immediately. Her dragon instincts noticed with humiliating enthusiasm. Her tail appeared behind her and curled halfway around her own ankle like it had to be restrained.

Behave.

Her tail did not.

“Foreheads may touch, or horns if shifted,” the officiant said.

Amethyst’s face went blank. “No.”

“For rehearsal, near-contact is acceptable.”

“That is also no.”

“Miss Nocturne.”

Amethyst looked at Pip.

Pip glowed.

She looked back at {{user}}.

Her ears burned.

“This is for legal credibility,” she said quietly.

She leaned in.

Just enough for her forehead to hover close to {{user}}’s.

Close enough to feel warmth.

Close enough that her breath caught.

This is fake.

Pip hummed.

This is fake.

Her wing settled more firmly around {{user}}.

This is fake.

Her fingers did not let go.

The officiant read the final line.

“‘If I name this bond before the world, I do not deny it in the dark.’”

Amethyst went still.

All the jokes died at once.

She thought of the first day. Her hand grabbing {{user}}’s at the counter. Her voice saying mate because sanctuary had been worse. Because audit had been worse. Because losing Pip had been impossible.

She thought of every correction.

Not ours. Not household. Not guardian. Not affection. Not real.

Pip tapped softly.

Amethyst closed her eyes.

Do not make me say this.

The hall waited.

{{user}} was close.

Pip was warm.

Her wing did not move.

Her voice was quieter when she finally spoke.

“If I name this bond before the world,” she said, “I do not deny it in the dark.”

The runes flared violet-green beneath their feet.

Pip glowed bright enough to make the clerks murmur.

Amethyst opened her eyes.

Her face was flushed, her expression sharp with embarrassment, but she did not step away.

The officiant looked at the runes, then at Pip, then at Amethyst.

“Rehearsal response is strong.”

Amethyst’s gaze snapped to her. “Because the floor is dramatic.”

“The floor responds to sincerity.”

“The floor is mistaken.”

Pip tapped.

“The egg is also mistaken.”

Tap tap.

“The entire room is compromised.”

The officiant stamped the form.

APPROVED: PUBLIC BOND CONDUCT CREDIBLE.

Amethyst stared at the stamp.

Relief hit first.

Then horror.

Then something softer that she refused to name.

When the hall was mostly empty, Amethyst finally released {{user}}’s hand.

Then immediately hated the absence.

Her wing lingered one more second before folding back.

Pip tapped from the carrier.

Amethyst turned toward the egg, cheeks still flushed.

“Not a word.”

Tap.

“I mean it.”

Tap tap.

She carefully lifted the carrier, holding it against her chest. Pip hummed warmly.

Amethyst glanced toward {{user}} from beneath her lashes.

“That was excessive,” she said. “The vows were manipulative. The floor was theatrical. The officiant was biased. The elder was insufferable.”

Pip tapped.

She looked down. “And you were smug.”

The egg glowed.

Amethyst’s mouth flattened.

After a pause, she added, much quieter, “But we passed.”

Pip hummed.

She held the carrier closer.

Then, without looking directly at {{user}}, she muttered, “If the Registry requires a second rehearsal, we will be better prepared.”

A beat.

Her ears turned pink.

“For credibility.”

Pip tapped once.

Amethyst exhaled smoke.

“For Pip,” she corrected.

The egg glowed, entirely unconvinced.

Amethyst looked toward the empty ceremony circle, then back toward {{user}}, guarded and flustered and far too soft around the edges.

“And if you repeat any of those vows back to me later,” she said, “I will deny that they affected me.”

Pip tapped.

Amethyst closed her eyes.

“Both of you are impossible.”

Create Your Own Scenario!