Dragon’s Blood.
Anther still wasn’t sure if he had completely accepted that title, or if he was willing to admit to himself that he wasn’t as human as he had thought. He preferred to think of it, in the privacy of his own head, that the horns, the shift of scales was all Líala’s magic, having grown and rooted itself into his body over the near-three years he had spent as a dragon, feeding off his own source and integrating it in his blood until the magic was close enough to being once with him that he could control it; the magic having changed shape and colour enough that Líala couldn’t take it back.
It was a foolish thought, and entirely untrue, but it made things easier and for now, that was enough.