Yes, I know, it's a terrible moment plot-wise. I'm very sorry. I'll come back as soon as possible. Thank you for being with me the whole time.

See you again!

Lena

“Septaria, ash, sulfur… I would say it was the Dragon Bar,” Hera said after examining the glass vessels, which sat on a table in the center of the white-tiled chamber. “But the copper is missing.”

Dago pointed to Hera’s pocket, where she’d hidden the coins she found along the way. “We have obols. They’re made of copper.”

Surprise crossed the maga’s face, soon mixed with shame and irritation. She probably felt stupid for not having thought of it herself.

Once, Dago wouldn’t have spared her a pointed remark, but now he had no desire to do so. Half an hour had passed since they’d entered the dungeon, and they were already in the seventeenth room. If he were alone, it wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary—but Hera hadn’t known the tasks she had to solve beforehand, and yet she’d deciphered the mudras and incantations hidden in the puzzles and calculated the proportions of the spell ingredients as if she passed through this corridor every day. She never once asked him for help, and it gave Dago a strange feeling.

He felt like he was redundant.

If I hadn’t told her to collect obols, she would’ve had to go back, he consoled himself.

Then he remembered that they were about to enter the second level, which was guarded by a warrior golem, and his mood improved. Hera had no training in fencing, so she would have to rely on him…

Dago spent the next five minutes trying to look interested in the calculations Hera was making on the sheet of papyrus, but inside he chafed at the bit. The last time the woman had seen him with a sword in his hand was in Arkadia, when that Buffoon Herkules had accidentally knocked the weapon out of his hands, but now she would have to be impressed. He spent hours improving not only his technique, but also the way he looked while doing it.

“Done,” Hera announced, lifting a glass globe filled with the necessary ingredients. She placed the spell in a round recess next to the black door and, placing her hands in the Mudra of Fangs, hissed, “Basiliskos.”

The door opened slowly in a grand style, revealing a spiral staircase.

“Congratulations,” Dago said. “You finished level one.”

A strange grimace crossed Hera’s face, as if she couldn’t decide whether she was more pleased or disappointed.

“It wasn’t that hard,” she said, assuming the pose of a modest schoolgirl.

Dago’s eyebrow twitched dangerously, but he somehow managed to stop it from going up. Instead of a jab, he offered, “The upper floors will require more physical effort, so I’ll go ahead, okay?”

Hera gave him a wary look, as if wondering if there was an insult hidden behind his words, but ultimately nodded. “Lead the way.”

As Dago climbed the stone steps, he recalled his previous duels with the golem and thought of possible battle scenarios. These mental preparations proved futile, though. There wasn’t one golem in the black-tiled chamber on the first floor.

There were two of them.

Freaking nightmare, Dago cursed in his mind as he looked at the clay soldiers.

His parents were really testing them. He couldn’t protect Hera if both golems charged at them at once—

Both golems charged at them at once.

Dago tensed, instinctively reaching for the sword placed by the entrance. Before he could lift it, though, Hera stepped forward, having transformed her arm into a large wing of red-gold feathers. With a single wave, she sent a blast of phoenix heat toward the golems. A few seconds later, the places of the dashing, vigorous claymen were taken by motionless ceramic statues.

“We were supposed to defeat them in a fencing match,” Dago said. This time he couldn’t help but be spiteful. “Let’s hope my parents don’t see this as destruction.”

Hera paled, clearly remembering the warning sign. If you break something, you will pay for it.

“I’m sorry.”

Dago gave her a cursory smile, then strode forward.

“Are you angry?” Hera asked, trying to keep up with him.

“No,” he said through gritted teeth.

A pause.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really didn’t want to destroy the golems. I acted on instinct.”

Dago clenched his jaw even tighter, but forced his muscles to relax. She’s my future wife, he told himself. It’s good that she can defend herself.

Surprisingly, his nerves had calmed. If something dangerous happened during his absence, it would indeed be better if Hera were able to take care of herself.

“What’s in the next room?” Hera asked as they passed the golems, frozen in mid-run.

“A pond with stinking water.”

“And what are we supposed to do there?”

“Dance a waltz.”

A pause.

“But I can’t dance a waltz.”

With that statement, Dago’s irritation evaporated. “I will guide you,” he said in a perfectly indifferent voice.

Another pause.

“If you evaporate the water in the pond, my parents will definitely consider it a loss,” he added.

He opened the white door and climbed another spiral staircase. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the black and white chamber, the enchanted piano standing in the corner began to play the Dark Waltz.

“Why do we have to dance?” Hera asked, looking closely at the glass dance floor, beneath which was a pool of murky water. “Can’t we just walk through? This glass looks solid.”

“It will melt like ice if you put your foot in the wrong place.”

Hera sighed. “Of course.”

“Where has your enthusiasm gone?” Dago held out his hand. “I thought you enjoyed challenges.”

The woman gave him a strange look. “This is different,” she muttered, taking his hand.

Dago turned so they stood face to face. He lifted their clasped hands, adjusting his grip to one more comfortable for dancing, and moved closer. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”

When she did as he said, he made a similar move himself, except his hand rested on her back. As usual, Hera’s first reaction to his touch was tension, but she didn’t pull away. Instead of suspicion, he saw tentative anticipation in her eyes. Compared to the state of their relationship a few weeks ago, it was significant progress, but Dago showed no satisfaction.

“When I step forward, you step back,” he said, lowering his voice. “You start with your left foot back.”

He took a slow step forward, giving the woman time to connect his words with his movement. She stepped back a little too quickly for his taste, but he didn’t comment. The pink tint of her cheeks sweetened his mood. “Now forward.”

He slowly backed away. Hera followed him, confused but trusting. A shiver ran through him.

“Backwards. This time slightly rise onto your toes at the end.”

They practiced the basic step forward and back, then right and left, until he felt Hera finally relax. Then he moved on to a practice dance. He stopped giving verbal cues and started relying solely on body language, guiding her with gentle pressure. She didn’t seem to notice the difference.

“Good,” he said after a few minutes. “Now let’s try a little faster, in time with the music.”

He felt a growing excitement. Hera Galenos understood him without words. He would never have guessed.

But that wasn’t the only surprise. On her flushed face played a smile. The longer they danced, the more noticeable it became. She seemed to be having a good time.

“Ready for the main performance?” he asked when he deemed their test performance satisfactory.

She hesitated. “Is that really enough? It’s only four steps.”

“It’s enough to cross this dance floor. If you want, I’ll teach you more when we get back to the castle.”

The blush on her face darkened. She glanced at the glass parquet floor as if to estimate its dimensions, but he knew it was really embarrassment that made her look away. “Okay,” she said.

He led her to the edge of the glass-covered pond and waited for the piece to start over, then let himself get carried away by the melody.

The room spun. Everything but the woman in his arms seemed blurred and unimportant. What mattered was music, dance, and those dark amber eyes.

Before he knew it, they had reached the center of the dance floor. Dago was aware that their dance wasn’t perfect, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good dancing. Maybe never—

Suddenly, Hera tore her hand away with a cry and threw herself at his neck. He thought she’d stumbled and instinctively tried to catch her, but he too lost his balance. Cold water embraced his body and pulled him down.

It doesn’t stink, he thought nonsensically as water splashed across his face.

Instinctively, he clamped his mouth shut and held his breath. Then he let it out abruptly, choking. The fall winded him, and the weight of a feminine body pressing down on his chest made it hard to draw in oxygen. He was suffocating…

He tensed his muscles and rolled onto his side, pushing Hera’s body off him as gently as he could. He coughed and spat out the water that had pooled in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her doing the same. It took him a long moment to regain his normal breathing, and even longer to realize he was kneeling on grass.

Dago blinked, but the green blades growing from the ground did not disappear.

He straightened and looked around. Grass as far as the eye could see. Above them, the sky was a pleasant blue. But it was rippling and waving, as if it wasn’t sky but water…

A meadow at the bottom of a pond?

Impossible…

And yet.

Dago swallowed. It was hard to believe, but there was a rational explanation.

They were in Elysium. A place where the impossible became possible. A place inhabited by walking trees, cloudragons that resembled cotton candy, and luckbeasts that brought bad fortune.

A place where logical human magic didn’t work properly, and where potential opponents were infinitely more unpredictable than golems.

They were in the Dreamland.

Dago woke up disoriented. He felt content, but at the same time, something was bothering him. The soft shapes his body was nestling in, the warmth, the smell of a woman… That was good. What was strange was the belief that he was in his own bed, which was impossible, because, first of all, he never let anyone into his bedroom and second, he never slept in the presence of a woman—after playing, he always went home.

He tried to recall where he was. He remembered Zeno mentioning a party, but it seemed to be next week. The Valentinus’ inn? He came there regularly because the parties attracted women eager for a night of adventure…

Dago frowned. He didn’t remember going out anywhere that evening.

He opened his eyes. The sun rays crept through the carelessly drawn curtains and, reflecting off the diamonds on the ceiling, created asymmetrical patterns on the golden walls. That was the view he contemplated almost every day after waking up.

So he was in his bedroom, after all.

But he was not alone.

When the woman sleeping next to him stirred, Dago froze. He knew those brown curls…

But that was impossible. Hera Galenos would never fall asleep in his arms, with his hand cupping her breast and his cock nestled against her buttocks…

Sweet nightmare, he thought as the sleepy fog around his mind finally lifted. His longtime rival was now his fiancée. He stiffened.

Then he remembered the previous evening. Instead of taking the opportunity to meticulously inspect his room, Hera, clearly distracted by his touch, had allowed him to lead her to her bed. She’d suggested she could caress him. He’d rejected her offer.

Again.

Nyx Nemesis and all nightmares… What was happening to him? He never fell asleep in the presence of anyone; his innate suspicion didn’t allow it. He never let anyone into his bedroom because his draconic instincts fought tooth and claw against it. This was his territory, his den, where he could safely hide himself and his treasures…

He’d also never turned down a sensual proposal he liked. Until now.

For some reason, everything was different. He wasn’t distrustful, nor did he feel the need to fight. The woman sleeping in his arms wasn’t an enemy. She was exactly where she was supposed to be.

“Good morning, sweetsun,” he murmured, sensing the change in Hera’s breathing. Fighting the instinct that urged him to remove the thin white robe wrapped around her body, he squeezed her breast lightly. “Did you sleep well?”

As he expected, Hera stiffened, probably as confused as he’d been moments earlier. He moved his hand to her waist and lifted himself to kiss her shoulder. “Relax, sweetpearl. Nothing happened between us. I want our wedding night to be special.”

She lay still for a moment, but her cheeks were visibly pink. When she turned toward him, he loosened his grip, but it wasn’t enough for her. Looking at him with eyes as round as coins, she slowly and unsubtly moved out of his reach. She must have done it unconsciously, however, because a look of embarrassment crossed her face and the blush on her cheeks darkened. Then she suddenly sat up and, nervously adjusting her dressing gown, mumbled, “I need to go to the toilet.” She slid off the bed and headed for the door, only to stop abruptly and ask with feigned casualness, “How can I open it?”

“It’s opened,” he said, barely containing an amused smile. “The spell works only from outside.”

“Aha.”

Mine, the reptilian voice whispered in his soul, urging him to keep the woman inside. Mine.

Not yet, he thought. He waited until the door closed behind Hera, then pulled himself up to peer behind the bed. The sight of the bottle on the floor, its previously colorless contents now glowing with a soft pink light, brought him a satisfaction so profound that he felt physical pleasure.

But soon.

***

Midais Fortress. This was the common name for Eolia, Dago’s home island, and that was for two reasons. The first and most obvious was the high, steep cliffs that surrounded the island like a wall. The second was the strong, magic-fueled wind that made it impossible to fly over the island. Actually, there was one more element meant to make it harder for outsiders to get into the manor, but the few who knew about it had been asked to keep it a secret. So when Hera heard about the trap-filled dungeon that had to be traversed to get inside, she was genuinely surprised.

“But… we also have to traverse it now?” she asked, carefully avoiding his gaze. After leaving the flying castle on the edge of the windy barrier and swimming to the shore—Dago in dragon form, with her clinging tightly to his back—they were both dripping wet. Now she was drying her clothes with the fiery wing her hand had turned into, and he was using a towel he’d put inside a waterproof bag. “This is your home. Don’t you know any shortcuts?”

“The only shortcut is by air,” he said.

“But… your parents knew you were coming. Why didn’t they deactivate the wind spell?”

“I’m curious about that too.”

Puzzlement made Hera forget herself and look in his direction, but soon she averted her gaze again. “They want to test me?”

“Us,” he corrected her. He reached into the scaly bag and pulled out his clothes. “I guess they don’t fully believe my explanation, so they want proof that we can actually work together.”

He put on a black tunic and sandals and ran his fingers through his hair. Seeing the doubt on Hera’s face, he added, “Lighten up, sweetsun. I know this dungeon inside and out.”

For some reason, these words didn’t seem to comfort Hera. She pointed to a large metal sign attached to the cliff that read: “Private Property. If you break anything, you will pay for it.”

“Is that literally or figuratively?”

“Depends on my parents’ mood.”

Dago led Hera along a narrow beach to a huge boulder, behind which was hidden a triangular stone door.

“Open sesame,” Dago said, performing the Heart Mudra.

“That’s it?” Hera asked when the door opened, revealing the cave. “A basic first-grade spell?”

Dago shrugged. “Not all people are magi, and not all magi were trained in Arkadia. For most, this will be an insurmountable barrier.”

They came inside. Dago made the Phoenix Mudra and intoned while bending and straightening his fingers, “Twinkle, twinkle, little star.”

Nothing happened.

“You sang ‘star’ too fast,” Hera said.

Dago suppressed his irritation. He’d never liked this spell. For ten years he’d been using lamps of his own design, which were lit by the word “luster.”

“Maybe you want to do it?” he suggested politely, squashing the flame of school rivalry igniting within him.

Hera sang an incantation in a sweet, clear voice. It caused the torch-like lunar lamps to glow with a soft pearly light, revealing the outline of the smooth walls.

She’s my fiancée, he told himself, pushing aside his jealousy. It’s a good thing she’s talented.

Hera read the inscription carved into the portal above the door. “‘Speak a mischievous spell and enter.’” She raised an eyebrow as if she couldn’t believe that anyone actually used that kind of riddle, then said the word “mischievous” loud and clear.

The door before them opened, and the door behind them closed.

“Aha.” Hera glanced over her shoulder, then focused on him. “Is there anything I should know before we go in?”

Dago gestured at the interior of a newly discovered corridor, the walls and floor of which were lined with alternating black and white tiles. The latter gleamed with the faint glow of lightpaint.

“If you touch a white tile, the toffee will spill on your head.”

“That’s all?”

“If you find an obol somewhere, take it. It will be useful later.”

“Why?”

“There will be other doors along the way which will have to be opened with an appropriate spell.”

“Like this one?” Hera pointed to the inscription above the door.

“Not so simple.”

Instead of being concerned, the maga nodded and briskly stepped over the threshold of the dungeon.

Dago stifled a sigh. He should have guessed that instead of feeling intimidated, the woman would take his parents’ challenge as entertainment.

After all, Hera Galenos loved tests.

Luck was a strange thing. When one needed it, it rarely happened, and on those rare occasions when one didn’t need it, it also rarely happened. Hera didn’t understand why she was attracting it now. She didn’t need to win. She played “seriously” because she understood how important the enthusiasm of all participants. True, she was curious about Dago Midais’s bedroom, and the more she thought about it, her curiosity grew, but that was only because he made such a big secret of its contents. She wouldn’t be sad if she couldn’t see it.

But Hera was fortunate in playing cards. No one knew why, but a fact was a fact, even if it didn’t come from a mathematical equation. She won.

“Interesting,” Dago murmured, frowning.

“Not at all,” said a sullen Dorian. “I wanted to win.”

“You can play with Dago again when I’m not here,” Hera consoled him. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Dago threw her an amused look. “I suggest we postpone the collection of the reward until after dinner and bath. Do you agree?”

Due to the presence of the minor morpheus, Hera pretended not to notice the suggestion hidden in this question.

“Okay.”

But after dinner—the preparation of which had been chaotic because of a determined but clumsy imp—Hera was no longer so composed. As she took her bath in a fountain-like tub with a four-headed dragon as a faucet, she couldn’t help but wonder:

What was Dago going to do today?

What did she want him to do?

“I don’t know” was the only answer she could think of, and it confused her terribly. Midais’s unpredictability was one thing, but how could one not know what one wanted?

But she really didn’t know. The previous two times had been pleasant for her, but that was just it. For her. Had they been pleasant for him, too? Certainly not to the same extent.

Surely the man expected her to reciprocate.

It wasn’t that she minded. Indeed, given their history of rivalry and teasing, the thought of kneeling before Dago Midais should have been objectionable to her, but as Hera pictured the man’s sculpted body and cool eyes as they watched her every move, she felt excited instead…

…until she remembered that many women had done it before her. Then the excitement turned into a hard lump of something Hera couldn’t name. Yes, there was jealousy in it, but not enough to make it the main ingredient. Nor was it disgust. After all, it wasn’t Dago’s fault that he had substantial needs.

I don’t want to be “another one,” she realized, remembering her visit to the Temple of Sweetness and how it hurt her when the elevator guard suggested it wasn’t the first time Midais had come there with a woman.

Hera rubbed her face. What was happening to her? She wasn’t a romantic. She didn’t dream of mind-blowing love and a fairytale wedding. A calm, warm feeling would be enough for her. Being alone didn’t bother her either. She didn’t really need a man in her life…

Marry me.

But she would be deluding herself if she didn’t admit that those words—and the determination with which Dago spoke them—stirred something within her. Besides, weren’t those words proof that she wasn’t just “another one?”

I’ve met many women, but I’ve never wanted to marry anyone. How else can I explain that I’m now ready to lock myself in a gilded cage with you, if it wasn’t you who I really wanted?

He needs me to get a promotion, she told herself, trying to bring her thoughts to the plains of reason. What did it matter whether she was “another one” or not? Their relationship was purely business.

If after three years you decide you no longer want to be my wife, we will divorce.

“Sweet nightmare,” she swore under her breath, frustrated.

Why did Dago seem certain that he not only wanted her as his wife, but that their marriage would last even after the contract expired?

And why did that excite her?

“Sweet nightmare,” she repeated with resignation.

That was too difficult. She couldn’t solve this equation.

All she could do was go with the flow.

***

“You’ve got the wrong room, sweetpearl,” she heard Dago say as she reached for the black door at the end of the corridor that led to her room.

She glanced in his direction. With his damp hair and his black dressing gown tied carelessly, the man seemed strangely vulnerable at first, but the cheeky smile on his face put her on alert.

“I didn’t know you were done your bath already,” she said. “It usually takes you longer.”

His smile widened. “My bath took exactly the same amount of time as usual. You were the one who bathed longer than usual today.” He moved his gaze over her face. “Did you like my bathroom? Or were you distracted by something else?”

Hera felt her cheeks heat up. Was he suggesting that she…?

“I was just lost in thought,” she said, pulling herself together.

“And what were you considering so deeply?”

“Your intentions.”

His cheeky smile faded. It should have pleased her, but the look of concentration on his face embarrassed her more than it pleased her. She couldn’t remember Dago ever taking her so seriously.

“Come,” he said, making an inviting gesture toward the room he was standing in front of. “Let’s talk.”

She cocked her eyebrow. “You want to talk in the bedroom?”

“It’s not a bedroom. It’s a treasury.”

She snorted with laughter, but then sobered. Dago’s expression suggested that this was no joke, and considering his interests, it wasn’t at all far-fetched that he might sleep in a treasury…

“Intrigued?” he asked. His cheeky grin returned.

She snorted. “Does it not bother you that I was more interested in the word ‘treasury’ than ‘bedroom?’”

“That’s a natural reaction, given your unexciting experiences. We’ll work on it.”

Hera ignored the tug of irritation at the first part of his statement and the shiver that ran down her spine at the second. She went into her room to drop off her clothes and toiletry bag, then went back out into the hallway and approached Dago. Behind the now-open black door, she saw… another door.

“Nice seal,” she said, examining the geometric symbols engraved in silver metal. “The regular open sesame won’t work, I guess.”

“Your guess is correct.” Dago moved closer to her and, putting his arm around her waist, placed his free hand on the magic symbol. He pushed on it and the door opened, revealing a spacious interior dripping with gold.

Hera knew she should take a good look at the room because such an opportunity might not come again—or at least not so soon. But the warmth of his hand, which she felt through her satin robe on her lower back, was so distracting that details—the shape of the furniture or the patterns on the chandeliers—merged into a golden swirl. When Dago led her toward the enormous four-poster bed in the center, she felt so dizzy that she couldn’t remember why she had come here.

“What do you want to do?” she asked.

“What do you want to do?”

She looked into his silver eyes, alert, beautiful, focused only on her.

“I don’t know,” she confessed.

“Then we’ll wait until you find out.”

He took her hand, pulling her with him onto the bed. When she sat on the golden sheets, he let go of her and lay on his back.

“The best view is from here,” he said, gesturing at the ceiling.

She lifted her head and saw the diamond-studded ceiling. It took her a moment to realize that the jewels were arranged in such a way that they looked like a river… or a dragon. Fascinated, she lowered her head, ready to lie down as well, but when she met Dago’s gaze, she hesitated.

“You don’t want me to…?” she asked, gesturing vaguely at the lower half of his body.

He smiled. “Not now.”

“When?”

“When you beg me for it.”

She tsked. “I won’t beg you for anything.”

When she lay against him, he took her hand and stroked it with his thumb.

“You will, sweetpearl. You will.”

When Hera returned to the workshop, there were playing cards spread out on the table in addition to the bottles of colorless liquid, and next to Dago sat a little red-haired boy in a black tunic, watching them with fascination.

“Dorian wants to learn new games,” Dago explained when she stopped at the door, surprised. “And we need a spirit. Something good for everyone.”

“New form?” Hera asked when the boy lifted his poisonously green gaze to look at her.

Dorian raised his hands above the table and spread his fingers. “Dago said that without these, the amount of fun in the human world is limited.”

The fair-haired man smiled. “But it’s true, isn’t it?” he said, meeting her suspicious gaze.

Hera decided it was better not to pursue the subject. She took a seat on the other side of the table.

Dago pointed to the bottles. “Try to get into it, sweetpearl.”

She gave him a skeptical look, but he only smiled wider and casually explained the rules of the first game to Dorian. The morpheus’s enthusiasm, which filled three bottles before they even started playing, proved contagious, however, and Hera became so involved in the game that she used up almost all of the bottles she’d been given by dinner.

“That’s the fighting spirit,” Dago said with amusement, looking at her bottled emotions, among which fiery shades dominated. He patted the shoulder of the imp, who was frustrated with the last game. “This game requires both luck and speed. There’s nothing you can do about the former, but the latter will come as you get used to your new form. If you want to gain human dexterity, start using your hands instead of magic.”

Heartened, Dorian followed them into the kitchen. Dinner took an abnormally long time to prepare because the shadow was determined to implement Dago’s advice and wanted to do everything himself, accepting only verbal advice. He wasn’t discouraged by broken plates, spilled flour, spilled water, or the tomato sauce on the table, floor, and his clothes. He treated everything, including cleaning, as an exercise. Hunger gripped her stomach, urging her to hasten the process, but Hera had to admit she was impressed not only by the morpheus’s steadfastness but also by Dago’s patience and understanding. She would never have guessed that beneath the armor of cynicism and pride that the man wore like a second skin, there were the makings of a teacher… or a father.

“You have a strange expression on your face,” Midais said when he finished explaining the order in which Dorian should arrange the toppings on the pizza.

“I’m hungry,” Hera said.

Dago ran his gaze over the dirty counter. Suddenly he stood and, careful not to step on anything, went to the cupboard by the wall and took out a packet of nuts, which he put in a wooden bowl and placed in front of surprised Hera.

“You still have a strange expression,” he said, cocking his eyebrow.

“I’m still hungry,” she muttered, reaching for the nuts.

The pizza that Dorian prepared may not have been symmetrical, but thanks to Dago watching over the entire process, it turned out to be quite tasty. Moreover, the imp insisted on cleaning everything up himself as part of his training, and Hera returned to the workshop not only full but also lazy, so she wasn’t aggreived that she didn’t win the games as often as before.

“You’re letting me win?” Dorian asked an hour later, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Sated predators are not as eager to fight as hungry ones,” Midais said in a mentoring tone.

“Why?”

“Because they got what they wanted.”

The boy’s angelic face wrinkled in thought. “So to get them to fight again, one has to take something away from them?”

“It would be safer to show them something they’d want just as much.”

The appreciation Hera had felt for them in the kitchen fell to the floor and shattered into pieces. Dorian hadn’t listened to Dago out of curiosity, and Dago hadn’t passed on knowledge of the human world to the imp because he was nice. They had a common interest.

They intended to cause mischief.

“You’re making a strange face again,” Dago said when his gaze landed on her. “You’re hungry again?”

“I’m thirsty,” she blurted.

Dorian jumped up with excitement as if he had suddenly understood something. He took a few steps and transformed into a giant spider, then ran to the door and spat cobwebs on it. “No one can leave until they defeat me,” he declared.

Hera stared at him, dumbfounded. Dago laughed.

“Not bad,” the man said. “But it won’t work in the presence of magi. Hera can melt the web with one flap of her wing.”

“What are you teaching him?” the woman asked, barely containing her indignation. “Do you want him to grow up to be a kidnapper?”

“Who is a ‘kidnapper?’” Dorian asked.

Hera fell silent, confused by the morpheus’s question.

Dago gave her a meaningful look, then spoke to the imp as if the conversation was about herbalism, not ethics. “A kidnapper is someone who takes someone somewhere without their consent.”

“Why doesn’t a kidnapper ask for their consent?”

“Because they think their goal is more important than someone’s consent.”

“What is their goal?”

“Usually money.”

“Why don’t they just conjure it up?”

Dago didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Hera’s hands. “Because it’s difficult in the human world.”

“And illegal,” Hera added emphatically, glaring at him.

“Hmm,” Dorian murmured. After a moment of thought he added, “But why will the kidnapper have money if he kidnaps someone?”

“Because the kidnapped person’s family will pay him to return them.”

“Ah… So a kidnapper is a thief who steals people?”

Dago nodded. “Exactly.”

The imp wiggled his legs, shifting left and right. “But I stole no one. Why did Hera say I’d grow up to be a kidnapper?”

“Because you wanted to lock me in a room without my consent,” Hera said. “And that’s what kidnappers do.”

The spider transformed into a ginger kitten. “I just wanted you to have more fun.”

“If you want to motivate someone to play, a reward works better than a threat,” Dago said.

The cat moved his tail left and right. “People don’t like threats?” he asked, as if he’d just realized.

“No.”

Dorian tilted his head. “So what are we going to play for?”

Dago smiled. “What would you like to play for? What prize would be interesting enough for you to try your hardest to win?”

The morpheus gave him a sharp look. After a moment’s thought he announced, “I’d like to see your bedroom.”

Dago snorted with laughter. “Of course you want that.” He glanced at Hera, who had nearly fallen off her chair at Dorian’s statement. He raised an eyebrow at her wide eyes. “My bedroom is the only room in the castle that no one else is allowed to enter,” he said, looking at her meaningfully. “You’ll agree that being able to see it is an interesting reward, right, Hera?”

Hera remembered the day Dorian had shown her the way to the library, and she’d asked what was behind the door opposite it.

“I can’t tell you,” he’d replied. “I can’t go there.”

“And what if you win?” she asked. “It’s no prize for you.”

“You’re completely wrong.” Dago’s expression suggested that saying this gave him great pleasure. “Defending territory is a priority for dragons. Of course I’ll want to win.”

He looked at Dorian, who had transformed back into a smiling boy.

“Shuffle the cards. I’ll get something to drink.”