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.”