Hera was meditating.

Or at least, she was trying to. She usually did that to recharge her mana, but this time it wasn’t necessary. Her reserves were full. Dago had taken care of that.

Not on purpose, of course. It just happened. For the second time…

Stop, she told herself.

She meditated to stop thinking. She had to clear her mind of all thoughts. In particular, those related to the naked Dago Midais. She had to rise above the illusions of her imagination, which repeatedly showed her the image of the man stroking his hard manhood, and above the animal instincts that pulsed with the memory of that same man using her breasts for mutual stimulation. She had to forget that she was a woman he’d licked and sucked.

She had to find out what she really felt.

Was she really going to sign a three-year contract that would result in three years of unemployment if she broke it? Did she really want to marry a greedy man with a head full of unvirtuous ideas who was going to use her reputation to gain power?

Did the prospect of being the lover of someone like that really excite her?

Did she really like that he looked at her like she was a treasure he intended to guard with tooth and claw until he found a place where no one could steal it?

Really?

Really, answered her touch-starved skin.

Really, responded her neglected nipples.

Really, agreed the moist whisper from between her legs.

Heart, Hera thought desperately.

She had to think with her heart. Not with her body. Not about her body. Not about sex.

Candy dream, it was about her future. Did she really want to be a part of the Midais family? That Midais? The descendants of a pure nightmare, schemers who plotted a coup every second generation?

By marrying me, you will gain funds for research, hospital renovation, and supplies.

Did she really think Dago would share his wealth with her?

Was she really thinking about money now?

Don’t judge. She remembered the advice that Master Homer had given her when he’d taught her meditation. Just accept.

Hera took a deep breath. All right. Everything was all right. Everybody deserved a chance, she had a right to have sex and marry anybody she wanted, and the money was only helpful when put to use and not squirreled away. Dago Midais was Dago Midais and she wanted what she wanted. Oh, well.

She exhaled.

Oof.

She really felt better.

Acceptance was indeed a magical thing.

***

At the majestic gate leading to Dago’s flying castle, Hera was greeted by a little winged cat with ginger fur and poisonously green eyes. Unexpectedly, she didn’t have to convince the imp to let her inside.

“Come, come,” Pandorian said, skipping in place with excitement. “Dago is in the workshop. We were waiting for you.”

Hera followed him, but his enthusiasm made her wary. Morpheuses often enjoyed things that humans found unamusing.

Masking her suspiciousness with a light tone, she asked, “Why is Dago in the workshop?”

“Because we’ll make a spirit out of you.”

Ah, yes. When they were looking through books for ideas on how to break the curse put on her hands, they’d often come across discussions about emotions. Emotions ranked quite high on the list of potentially useful ingredients for creating a transmutation spell due to their changeable nature and energy charge. Though Hera was initially surprised that Dago decided to work on it now, it was a good idea. From what he’d said, they wouldn’t reach his home island until tomorrow afternoon anyway.

She walked through the white courtyard and the corridor full of dragon statues relaxed. When they entered the room at the end, she turned to look at Dorian and screamed.

“I told you it would work,” the giant brown spider, into which Dorian had suddenly transformed, said with delight.

“Good job,” praised Dago, who was standing near the black door, corking a triangular bottle filled with murky water.

Hera took a deep breath, trying to calm her pounding heart. She glared at the magus. “How about ‘good morning?’”

Dago set the bottle down on the white counter that took up most of the room and reached for another one. He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her.

She was irritated, but before she could express it, a pigeon flew up to her and began to slap her head with its wing. She raised her hands in a defensive gesture. “Stop!”

“Enough, Dorian,” Dago said after a moment, corking the bottle, inside which the transparent liquid was just turning orange.

The imp rose into the air out of her reach.

“Do you really have to behave like that?” she snapped.

The bird pooped on her dress in response.

Hera froze. This did not just happen. That would be impudent even for a morpheus…

And yet, bird poop was soaking into the white material of her freshly washed, spotless dress.

“Are you well, Galenos?” Dago asked with mockery in his voice and a bottle of putridly green liquid in his hand.

Hera clenched her jaw. She couldn’t believe that she’d come here voluntarily. Did she really want to marry this man?

“Sit down.”

Her anger made her stop dead in her tracks. How did he dare to speak to her like that?

“Chill out, sweetpearl,” Dago added, his tone no longer commanding but amused. He inserted the cork into the neck of the bottle with the furiously red solution. “The hard part is over. Now you can go wild and tell us about your research. You’ll need some enthusiasm.”

Hera stared first at him, then at Dorian, who was now a fluffy-tailed kitten sitting on the floor.

Seeing her unenthusiastic expression, Dago smiled with understanding. “There’s a new dress from Rea Smaragdus waiting for you in the bathroom. I ordered it especially for you, so if you burn it in anger, I’ll be as sad as Rea will be offended.”

She was speechless with surprise, but his smile widened.

“The rest of the day will be more pleasant,” he said. “Promise.”

In Dorian’s presence, he was careful not to let any hint appear in his voice, but Hera could see it clearly in his eyes.

Colorful drops… The ease with which this ghoul played with her emotions was nightmarish.

Hera left the room wordlessly. She didn’t know what to say nor to think. Less than five minutes had passed and she was already feeling tired from the journey. How was she supposed to endure another three years?

She went into the bathroom, intending to wash her dress and ignore the one Dago had mentioned, but one glance at the creation hanging on the rack made her hesitate. The works of Rea Smaragdus could not be ignored. Unlike most tailors, for whom simple and practical clothes were bread and butter, the woman toyed with fashion, sometimes bending generally accepted norms and sometimes completely breaking conventions. This earned her the admiration of all opponents of boredom—magi descended from morpheuses in particular. So though Hera usually wore modest clothing, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the fancy gown with a low neckline in front of her. If the material were blue, one would think it was made of two streams of water that merged into one and flowed down like a waterfall. Because it was red, it was more like a river of lava flowing down the slope of a volcano. However, its delicacy toned down the strong color, and instead of seeming extremely bold, the creation seemed subtly sensual. Against her will, Hera was fascinated.

But she didn’t try it on.

She couldn’t let Dago think he could win her favor with gifts.