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at this hovel. You’ll have to do better than that.”
    “Hah, hah.” Orion snorted. “I didn’t realize you were such a princess.”
    The night before, she’d slept in a hotel room adjoining Orion’s. His servants had gone to her house in the morning and packed up all her belongings. Then they had all flown to Nevada on a private jet owned by Garrison Industries. First time she’d ever peed in a gold-plated toilet. She was hoping it was the last; there was something disconcerting about resting her butt cheeks on material that was worth more than her yearly salary.
    They had just climbed out of Orion’s limousine and she was staring up at the enormous stony castle of Garrison Keep, his clan’s ancestral home. Dragon dwellings, and towns, were built with a lot of brick and mortar and stone and not very much wood.
    The castle was dominated by square towers and huge arched windows, and was so massive that the building itself took up at least several acres. It was ringed by traditional English gardens with hedges clipped into fantastic shapes, and rose gardens with trellises, and enormous stone fountains. Beyond the hedges and gardens, meadows dotted with grazing sheep and cattle rolled out like a green carpet that stretched to the horizon.
    They’d driven through decorative iron gates that were shaped like an enormous dragon. A long, wide cobblestone road led up to the castle’s main building. The entryway was an arched door with twenty-foot-high dragon statues on either side, with stone flame flowing from their mouths. Flanking the front face of the castle were four enormous square towers with turrets.
    She tipped her head back to stare at the towers. “So do you have a lot of sieges here?” Cadence asked. “I keep looking for the actors from Monty Python to come skipping out pretending to ride horses.”
    He gave her a scornful look. “Dragon racist. Do you want to sleep in the dungeon?”
    “Hah. You don’t have a dungeon.” She looked at him narrowly. “Do you?”
    He bared white teeth in a fierce grin. “I guess you’ll find out when you have the grand tour.”
    “How long does that take?”
    “About a week if you want to see everything.”
    “How many people live here?” Cadence marveled as his servants walked behind them, carrying her luggage. “If you say it’s just you and your family, I’m going to be really freaked out.”
    He shook his head. “Oh no, there’s dozens of families that live here. My family, our cousins and nieces and nephews, our servants, their families. Human, dragon, shifter – we’ve got it all.”
    “Except ice dragons.”
    “Hey, gotta draw the line somewhere,” he said with mock horror, which earned him a punch in the arm.
    A group of people were standing on the steps waiting for them, with expressions that ranged from disgusted to fascinated.
    “This is my brother Nikolai, who is also the clan’s Centurion.” he said. “His wife, Phaedra. My uncle, Alcott, and my mother, Cynthia. My house steward, Aloysius, and my butler, Edgar.” He introduced more people. Their titles were a fascinating mix of nineteenth-century manor house and Ancient Roman legion. Dragons held on to traditional roles and dragged them forward through the centuries.
    Alcott, who looked like an older version of his nephew, walked forward with a pronounced limp and extended a hand in a stiff, unwelcoming handshake. His expression was frosty and disapproving. As far as Cadence recalled, he’d been permanently injured by her father during the battle for the silver mine a hundred years ago.
    Cynthia, who wore a red silk maxi skirt and dripped with chunky gold jewelry set with opals, stared at her stone-faced and gave only the slightest nod of acknowledgement. She was an elegant woman who appeared to be in her fifties but was hundreds of years old; her blonde hair, shot through with gray, was piled up in a sixties-style beehive wrapped with blonde braids. A gold tiara set firmly in her hair