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.”