Oblivious to Asena's horror at his over-the-top statement, the Prince continued. "What is your beast called? It can't be as bad as Attor, which means poisonous."

'Consider me poisoned,' Moggie mewled. 'He's good, but obsessive, which is bad...'

Asena flushed. By now she must have resembled a prune. "Moggie." She facepalmed, baffled why she'd told him that. That guarded smile of his was disarming her when she had to guard her tongue.

Drach frowned. "A cat?"

"She is a cat, so yes." Now she sounded sulky.

"Did she choose it, or was it given to her?"

Asena sipped the chilled mocktail. "Our father named her."

"Where is he?"

She recalled Zane's advice and said, "I would prefer not to talk about him." Yet a lump clogged her throat.

"I apologize." He leaned forward and his huge hand covered hers. His clean, short nails turned obsidian and shrank into thicker talons. "I do not wish to interrogate you, but I have to ask. Why are you here?"

Asena was way out of depth and he was extracting information she hadn't planned to share with him.

She gulped and forced herself to say, "There was no reason for me to stay... not anymore. An acquaintance had used Eros' services, so I did too." She'd prepared this explanation beforehand.

"Why not the other side of the pond?"

She shrugged, pretending she didn't grasp his meaning.

"The Americas," he explained. His wide forehead creased. He did not like the New World, but then he was a royal, who would harbour disdain for the radical order that rejected the hierarchical monarchy.

"How? I cannot swim across oceans and the human ships with boxes are cof—a death sentence." She pretended not to know of the intake centers.

He quaffed his drink before he asked, "Is it true your kind fears water?"

Asena pulled her hand away from his fingers, which were stroking her knuckles. "Of clear water, no." She loved soaking in a tub, even taking showers, guzzling from a spout, splashing in puddles, and sitting in the rain. "We avoid the oceans or murky or stagnant lakes, or even muddy rivers in the monsoons. Deep, unknown depths are—" She shuddered.

And he was the endless abyss itself that swallowed all light. She'd seen a documentary, and even through the screen, the unlit sea trenches sickened her.

"Yet you risk it all to arrive to these unknown lands through Eros. You, my lady, are a contradiction."

Her oscillating reactions to his presence were a contradiction, too. How she responded to his interrogation worried her, too.

"Isn't everyone?" she countered for the heck of an argument. The urge to share his suave overconfidence egged her on.

He mulled over her rhetorical question. Then he got up and walked to the cloche-covered trays on the sideboard. "The chef's done some research and produced a buffet of birds, reptiles, frogs, and insects."

His mischievous grin caused her hackles to rise. Yet it also highlighted his sharp jawline and cheekbones. His neat dark mane, swept in a smooth wave, strange pupils, and fair skin, accentuated his beauty. Yet she speculated how he looked with his hair mussed up and without the formal attire.

The Prince smirked. "Do you like what you see?"

Oh, she understood that double entendre. 'He is rather full of himself, no? Dude had no chill,' Moggie grumbled even as she ogled at him.

Asena's eyes narrowed. "Meh." Moggie's favorite vocalization slipped out.

Taken aback, the Prince stilled. "Ah, I guess I have to try harder." He folded his arms across his broad chest and studied her.

From under her lashes, she marveled at this flawless physical symmetry.

"Indulge me. Try this." He set his glass in front of her. "It's Ziad IV Dudognon Heritage Cognac Grande by Juan Marienies, the father of shifter alcohol. This batch has been aged for over a century in oak barrels. It's hors d'âge, 'beyond age'. The older an Armagnac is, the pricier it is. My brother and I are part owners, hence the logo. Calek designed the 24-karat gold and platinum bottle. The cuff's adorned with a thousand two-carat diamonds," he boasted.

"All that is pearls to a pig for Asena."

Asena gasped. Her beast had commandeered her voice to air her opinion. "Excuse me." She stood up and walked away. "Stop it!" she hissed, appalled by Moggie misbehaving.

'Meh! He deserved it,' argued an unimpressed Moggie.

His humble brags got under her beast's skin, but it also broke the thrall he cast on them.

'Lets try not to stare at him... such a waste.'

Asena didn't notice him come to stand behind her until his shadow fell on the gigantic, fanning leaves of a creeper.

As she tried to move away from him, she stumbled. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her.

The Prince chuckled at Moggie's show of teeth. "Now I seemed to have displeased your beast," he muttered, staring at her.

"She... It's n-nothing." His touch, too hot through the vest, made her tremble.

"I beg to differ. It is not nothing. Tell me where I slipped up. I am trying..."

Asena slipped out of his tightening grip. "Don't try; just be yourself. This is not your authentic self."

She had an epiphany. If she were smarter, she would've adopted Duma's style of using broken English, mishmashing tenses and pronouns. Though she'd uttered much more than monosyllables, she kept saying all the wrong things. Worse, she was awestruck.

To distracted herself, she counted the stripes on a fond.

Undeterred, the Prince placed a finger under her chin to lift her head.

As he bent, his fierce expression reminded her she was a cornered prey. 

"Ah, we aren't at the stage yet, though Attor is eager."

Asena's chest vibrated, and she hissed. "Sor—" Then she remembered her lessons. "Beg your pardon. Moggie tends to act out in unfamiliar situations. Doesn't... Attor?"

 "We have an accord. Also, dragons don't talk, they roar. Rest assured, you have no cause to fear us. Not one." He led her to the table.

After she sat down, he served her some delicacies. She sampled a roasted grasshopper. Even the crisp cricket wasn't bad.

The Prince pointed at his tumbler sitting in front of her. "Try it before you write it off. It represents the only worthwhile thing Calek has seen through. Few can afford century-old cognac. It is the emperor's favorite, reserved for his esteemed guests."

To be polite, she tasted it and almost spit the burning liquid out. Somehow, she swallowed and coughed. "Nope!" She chugged down her mocktail to wash away the bitterness. "The expensive packaging does not maketh the drink."

The Prince threw his head back and guffawed. His booming mirth filled the greenhouse. "Pardon me. Most aren't this candid in my presence. It's refreshing though Calek's ego might not endure such criticism of his pet project, but he'll live."

Asena rolled her eyes. It was a problem when she spoke her mind, and a problem when she didn't. She didn't have the patience for pretty white lies, and endless formality. Most said so much and nothing at all.

She hadn't anticipated he'd find her artless comment amusing. Her heart beat faster at the sight of his pointed canines and the dimple creasing his sunken cheek.

The Prince reached out and cupped her hand. His signet ring glittered in the candlelight. He stroked her wrist and settled over her racing pulse. "On a serious note, what do you expect from a companion?"

She'd been told to anticipate this particular query but she hadn't.

'Best he honesty. You have no clue.' Moggie said. 'It's not on your agenda.'

Asena sighed. Her beast better shut up. As is, she couldn't think straight. "I hope it's what my parents had..."

"I wish I knew what they had, but I don't. Do elaborate," he prodded. His heavy baritone ought to grate, yet was oddly seductive.

"My mother died soon after birthing me. My father rarely talks... talked of her... There was another, a single mother. They became friends, and so did her daughter and me." Except Nessi and Papa co-parented. "When we were six or seven, we decided they both were perfect for each other. I told him I wouldn't object if they..." Asena shrugged. "He'd laughed and told me he wasn't lonely; my mother's memories kept him company. 'She was it. There can never be another.' Even in death, despite her absence, she owned his heart and soul."

"Maybe he romanticized the past. I suspect he focussed on bringing you up, and educating you. You're exceptional, and were blessed with a decent father figure." She suspected the Prince refrained from voicing a savage assessment.

"Yes, we tend to put the dead on a pedestal." Yet Asena smiled. By his bedside, Papa had a framed photo of her mother watching a newborn version of her. Beastborn, Asena stretched out a paw towards her mother's chin. She sniffed and asked, "What about your parents?"

"My father was brave and strong, but an absent, authority figure. Then he failed to survive the political upheaval of the Great War, so he wasn't smart, either."

'Woah, that's cold, even cruel.'

Unsure of how to react, she said, "I am sorry for your loss."

"That's kind of you, but don't waste your breath on him. He was busy quelling the rebellion. After his passing, my mother mourned him, and so did Calek. I didn't. He was a stranger to us. Our mother eventually moved on. So did we. We're glad she's found solace in another. My stepfather was there for me, which was enough."

His dismissive assessment shocked Asena.

"You are rather naïve, my dear. While it is an endearing quality, it endangers you," he added.

He could be as judgemental as he desired. The implied criticism was water off her back.

"What would your father say about you doing this, Asena?" he asked when she didn't respond.

'That's a low blow!' Moggie howled.

Asena's nonexistent temper flared up again. "He isn't here, is he?" Papa could never know what she was up to. Never.

The Prince pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose. "I am told the tribes of Africa follow a rigid hierarchy. So do we. While I—"

She snapped, "I am after something different from all that. But it's the same. Someone is always telling me what to do for my own good." She couldn't bear the idea of living under the thumb of oligarchs or monarchies.

Europa was entrenched in unquestioning traditions. They had no desire to change their olden ways. Status and titles were inherited. The royals only cared about stuffing their coffers and strengthening their power base. They were propped by the commoners' blind loyalty and conditioned servitude.

Until the Berserkers. The conflict reached a stalemate until rebels migrated to faraway shores and built an egalitarian society. In the Americas, they were encouraged to question everything. The second and third generations were rather argumentative. While authority was respected, it was also challenged. A merit-based structure where a bulker could become a prime. The opportunity to grow and better oneself was provided to all. It wasn't easy, but a rough transition, but Papa and Nessi had succeeded; as have four major waves of immigrants from all over the world.

The Prince pondered over her outburst before he spoke again. "As I was saying, before your passionate interruption, while I play my part at court, I also value my privacy. Within my lair's walls you can be yourself. It is your playground, to recreate in a den for yourself. I intend to do whatever's necessary to keep you happy." He poured himself a rather large shot and scoffed in a deep draught. "Unlike our ancestors, we will not settle for an alliance, but a mate in the genuine sense of the term, which is why I'm curious. What is this 'something different' you seek?"

"I'll know when I find it," she insisted.

He didn't push further. Instead, he revealed a fish on a bed of greens from a cloche. The bottom sizzled and steam rose from the heated wooden tray as he poured some gravy. "The chef cooked it especially for you."

She'd eaten a simpler version of the sauce feuilles—of pumpkin, cowpea, and eggplant leaves—during her travels. But the aroma of whole spices ignited her appetite. Coupled with the crunchy fried wild mushrooms and eggplant, it was perfection on a plate.

The Prince was having the same dish. She watched him handle the silverware with unexpected elegance. He cut and skewered the mains and sides in a balanced forkful and took unhurried bites. Asena almost giggled. He was rather proper.

When Papa cooked curry with rice or flatbreads, they used their hands to eat. Often they sat on the counter, even cross legged on the deck in the backyard with their plates. She couldn't imagine him in their open kitchen and living room.

"Is it to your liking?" he enquired.

"It is. There's almost a hint of... home. Do you enjoy it?" she asked, having tasted it during her travels across the Old Country.

"I could get used to it. The condiments are unusual. What's your view on our traditional fare?"

"The dishes use too much butter, cream, starch, and cheese and not enough grains or greens. Even the potatoes are so bland." She nibbled on a piece of the cassava. "Did the chef make the rub here?" Papa complained he couldn't source the right ingredients, but his cooking was finger licking good.

Asena hadn't encountered food scarcity until she arrived in South Africa and ran out of funds. Every halfway decent meal she had since imprinted itself on her psyche. But on the bad days, even dried bread mixed with water, dehydrated vegetables, or boiled grains, were palatable when the locals sprinkled the seasoning on it. They carried it in little packets in balls of paper or plastic. This was the same recipe.

"No, I believe he imported it. I can inquire."

"Don't. It's fine." She ended up enjoying herself, more so because he stopped badgering her. From time to time, she caught his lingering scrutiny. Despite his indulgent encouragement, his predatory glint in his eyes worried her.

She set her cutlery in the center of her plate. "I'm full."

"There is desert too." Disappointed, he asked, "Dare I put you out. I'd like to finish—"

The Prince continued to encourage her to try this or that. So, he too thought she was too thin. She'd lost weight in the last two years but always had been lean due to her metabolism. Moggie was a witness, she stuffed her face every opportunity she got.

'He's sly,'  her miffed beast stated. 'And wooing you with the spread and alcohol.'

When he rang a bell on the side, two servers entered to clear their plates. They returned with trays with a bowl of steaming water. Within floated slices of lemon. Beside it lay a folded napkin. She mimicked him, rinsing her fingers in the water and wiping them. After dabbing his mouth, he waved them away and offered her a shot of mango and red pepper sorbet as a 'palate cleanser'.

She wasn't averse to the savory sweet flavor at all.

After the staff left, he suggested a walk. When he held out his crooked arm, she took it. His bare skin, dusted with hair, warmed her calloused palms and she was very aware of the clenching of his hard muscles. They strolled and paused for him to point out the rarest specimens.

He told her about the plants, such as the blood orchid, from the Lanyu island in Taiwan. Or the variegated pinned magnolias, the oldest living flowers known to them. His enthusiasm surprised her. He paused by an olive tree in another arid section. The five-hundred-year-old stunted evergreen had been brought here by Napoleon. As had the Sarv-e Abarkuh from Abarkooh, Iran.

Seeing them trapped here, so far from their native habitat, saddened her. The royals stole whatever they wanted.

'Well, them trees are alive,' Moggie mumbled. 'That's something.'

He directed her to an area that inspired many Japanese paintings with cherry blossoms and bamboo groves. They stopped in the middle of the arched bridge over a pond. Massive koi swam around lilies and lotuses.

The Prince opened a porcelain jar and gave her a wooden scoop with some pellets. She tossed them in. The fish swirled and splashed while they fed.

"I vowed to witness my wyvern's decimation before I stepped into Eros' auction halls or used their services. Now the fates mock me. I suggest you disassociate from them. Money is no object." The Prince ran his fingers through his hair. "Let me take care of you, Asena."

Asena ignored how his shiny mussed strands fell over his forehead and focused on the blooming lilies.

"You don't need them. I will ensure they aren't exploiting your ignorance and square off your debts with them. It's folly to trust Eros. Do you understand how precarious your situation is, or could become at any moment?" Even his hoarse, almost harsh tenor was hypnotic.

She appreciated the sentiment. Cognizant of the pitfalls, she wasn't willing to trade masters. Eros was driven by profits. The Prince's motives were far more insidious. She wasn't keen on handing him the reins of her life, either.

Again, he grasped her elbow to turn her to face him.

"I strongly urge you to accept joining me at my lair," he declared. "Eros is no place for the likes of you."

She had to exert considerable effort to study the orange and white koi instead of him. "That's too forward. I'd be stupid... too trusting to accept. Their intentions are obvious. But I can't say the same about you." Uttering the words hurt like burrs in her throat, so she didn't even try to window-dress it.

"Hmmm," he rumbled. "May I?" He glanced at her ears. "Can I—"

"No!" Her panicked yelp echoed through the greenhouse.

The Prince stumbled as he backed away from her. Red tendrils from his pupils spread into the glittering black irises. "My apologies," he bit out through gritted teeth yet he curled a finger around a curl. "I have to see you again."

'We better not,' Moggie yowled. He spooked her, despite his appeal.

Asena wondered if he'd drugged her. Squaring her shoulders, she met his disconcerting gaze. "Depends. It's said draco mates have perished under mysterious circumstances. Or during childbirth?" Many even claimed the dragons often killed their partners in a fit of rage. "Why is it said you shouldn't breed with their species?"

She hadn't intended to broach the topic, but he had to be kept at bay.

Much to her confusion, he grinned. With his fists tucked in his trousers' pockets, he rocked on his heels. "Finally, you address the proverbial elephant in the room. I'd be concerned if you didn't inquire... We are monsters, but not the sort that lure females to their beds, where they meet their death. It's metaphorical... death by pleasure, and a rebirth." He ran his thumb along her neck. "Accept my invitation. How else will you decide how dangerous I am when you're concerned?"

'He is dangerous. Run.' Moggie was already itching to race out. Servals did not hunt or fight large predators like him. They outran and outwitted them.

"Your species is also endangered. I am not ready for kittens... or eggs yet, which is—"

"You are seeking a companion. So am I. Someday I might want young ones too. It is my duty, but it takes two to produce and rear a hatching. But there is no rush, but we can discuss it. My partner would have to be comfortable with what that entails. Usually, my word is enough. Do I have your permission to call on you?" It was a demand dressed as a request.

Her muddled thoughts confused her, and he affected her. Moggie, too, was torn between escaping and staying. She shouldn't have looked at him, yet she did so almost against her will. 

Their eyes met and Asena was lost.

She rubbed the round scar on her palm with her thumb. If she succumbed, a moth to his flame, she'd get burned. The Prince, a dragon, would hurt her. It was in his nature. That was the only possible outcome. She had learnt her lesson as a kitten fascinated by a lit candle.

More importantly, she had to avoid him at any cost if she were to find Vic. But then, she knew that even before meeting him.

Though she had misjudged the effect he'd have on her, but not her assessment of him. In his case, the stereotype was true—all royals were cut from the same cloth.

****

So, as far as dates do, what's your opinion about this one?

 Is Asena being paranoid? Or are her qualms justified?