“It’s the term we use,” the elder said, “to describe the human who has been chosen and paired by claiming bond to a dragon.”
“Then in this situation, it’s the wrong term.”
A second ripple moved around the table. The elder leaned back by a fraction. A generous woman might’ve called it curiosity. “Explain.”
“I’m the human party. I wasn’t chosen with. I was chosen for. That makes me the claimed party, not a mate.” I did not drop the look. “I have been claimed. I haven’t chosen.”
For the first time since I entered, Dominic moved. It was only a small shift of weight behind Yuki, barely enough to register in the room, but I felt it. The bond caught his unease and ran it under my sternum like a warning.
I continued, “The clan that first used the word mate did so because mate sounded better than property in political documents.”
The elder’s eyes sharpened.
The deputy on Yuki’s left straightened. She was younger than the others, maybe fifty in human years, and had been the one who made the small sound earlier.
“Madam Chair, if I may, the term has standing in forty years of council records.”
Yuki didn’t turn her head. “No.”
The deputy closed her mouth. Color rose in her face and stayed there. Yuki’s gaze hadn’t moved from me.
Yuki was the woman who had helped write the legal precedent eighty years ago and was running it now. She leaned forward an inch. “You wouldn’t like to use the term bonded mate in this council, then.”
“No.”
“What term will you accept?”
“Claimed party. Until I have chosen.”
The Compact’s own Section Four had defined the human, before any bond was sealed, as the claimed party pending recognition. I wasn’tinventing language. I was reading theirs back to them.
The Norwegian liaison sat at the far end of the table in the position the council had given to the foreign delegation’s representative. Lord Olafsen.
Not high-ranking enough to decide policy, but high enough to carry information accurately back to Bjorn and Rhain.
The eldest elder turned to him. “Lord Olafsen.”
“Madam.”
“Your delegation?”
“Has been informed,” he said. “Lord Solberg requests access. Standard bond consultation.”
The new pulse in my chest gave one hard, irritated beat.
Dominic’s.
Also mine now, in one technical and deeply inconvenient sense.
The elder didn’t look at him. “Denied.”
Olafsen inclined his head. “Madam, the precedent of 1947 requires—”
“The precedent of 1947 is the reason we aren’t granting it.” The elder’s voice didn’t rise. It carried anyway. “We aren’t making this mistake again.”
Olafsen’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Lord Solberg may request access in writing,” the elder continued. “The council will deliberate. Until then, the claimed party remains in protective custody under Ashenmere.”