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Chapter 7

ANOTHER WEEK PASSEDbefore March found himself with a free afternoon again. Though he'd barely had a spare moment to himself, he was grateful for all the distractions. Casual lunches and meetings alongside Beritz and Neroki with diplomats and politicians were nerve-wracking, but he was more suited to the polite and formal small talk than he was to the awkward, stringent silence that sizzled in the air when he and the prince were alone.

He could tell that Neroki had gotten over their argument rather quickly, but why shouldn't he have? He was the one who'd caused it all anyway, March reasoned caustically. It was unfair to expect him to sit across a table from someone who'd been intimate with the man who was currently courting him. Pretending to court him, the noble corrected himself quickly, furrowing his eyebrows together. A distinction of immeasurable proportions.

Sighing, March pushed his chair back away from the desk in his room, rising. He'd been staring at the same page in a history textbook for an hour, and hadn't absorbed a single word of it. He knew what his mother and motra would tell him. That he shouldn't be cooped up in his room studying on a day off, that he should be getting fresh air. Not that they would have had any idea that he'd done so- he'd been deliberately vague in the letters he'd sent to them about his time so far in the castle, making sure his enthusiasm for learning and absorbing the culture was the focal point.

Fresh air, he mused, glancing out of the balcony doors he habitually kept open. Summer finally seemed to have muscled its way through the last delicate layer of spring gossamer, pulsing balmy warmth in the air. He'd kept to his morning run in the enclosure, but hadn't had time for anything else, really.

Glancing down at the book he'd borrowed from the royal library on Ikronia's local flora, March picked it up, thumbed through it a bit, trying to ignore the prick of self-consciousness he felt holding it. The botany lecture he'd attended before the cursed tea party, and perhaps the way the prince had pointed out particular plants to him in the forest before that, had sparked an interest in his brain that he'd been surprised to discover he couldn't shake. For a reason he couldn't quite articulate, the interest embarrassed him somewhat.

Annoyed with himself, and unable to determine what about the interest gave him discomfort, March kept the book clutched to his chest as he exited his room, and made his way down the steps to the main hall.

HE'D DO THISmore often, March promised himself, hugging his knees as he crouched down to inspect a patch of bright yellow flowers. Flipping through the book, he located the glossy photo that matched the distinct cup shape. Smiling to himself, he stroked a careful finger down the velvety petals, enjoying the soft feel. He could buy a book in town, he thought excitedly. A book to press flowers and plants from all around the castle into. He could keep it forever, and add to it as he discovered new ones in other places.

Shifting his attention to the oddly-shaped, long-stemmed pods to his right, he meticulously scoured the book for a matching photo. There was something so satisfying to him about the process of locating the information to absorb and process. As he became more familiar with the book, it became easier for him to navigate through the pages, so it didn't take long for him to flip to the page describing the plant. The pods were filled with seeds that could be used to add a spicy flavor in cooking. The sentence dampened the excitement of discovery he'd felt, and March instantly understood why he'd felt a distinct discomfort in pursuing the new interest.

Why was he letting himself get wrapped up in some silly hobby like pressing flowers when he could be spending time honing a craft that was actually practical and useful, like cooking? It wasn't as if having a book of preserved plants would make him a better husband or father, when that time finally rolled around. Sighing, he frowned as he recalled his attempts to learn that particular skill.

It wasn't as if he was completely inept, but it seemed no matter how many times he practiced a particular dish, it didn't improve. He could perform the technical tasks, follow recipes to the letter, and anything he made still only came out mediocre at best. When he'd whined about it to his mother, she'd tried explaining to him that cooking wasn't only about following recipes, that he'd have to develop a sort of instinct for flavors and tweak the process to fit his personal tastes. He'd given up then, frustrated with the very idea, but he supposed he should try again. Even if he didn't enjoy it, learning to cook was an infinitely more functional skill than trifling about with flowers.

Though the idea twisted a knot of nerves in his guts, March vowed that as soon as he was back home, he'd keep trying to improve. He knew he'd choose a suitor and be married within the year, but in the meantime he'd make as much progress on that front as he could. And hopefully his future husband could be patient with his continued education into their marriage. If the unappealing thought hadn't occurred to him, if he'd still had his nose buried in the field guide, he might have missed the bright flash of movement in the distance.

Jolting up into a standing position, March squinted as a chill snaked up his spine, his enhanced eyesight allowing him to sweep over the area before him quickly and efficiently, analyzing for anything out of place. Too big for a woodland creature, too small for a dragon, the noble thought uneasily, wishing he'd thought to bring his bow with him. Sweat prickled over his skin as a dawning of awareness washed over him. He was being watched.

"N-Neroki?" When his voice faltered, humiliatingly, March cleared his throat and tried again. "After all that about trying to get along, now you're trying to scare me? You're really immature, you know that?" But even as he forced the words out, his intuition made it clear that it wasn't the prince who he'd seen.

Another spark of movement, then another. They seemed to dance just outside his vision, disappearing when his eyes shifted toward them. They were light and bright, like… fire? Yes, that was it, March thought, trying to desperately to keep his composure while his heart pounded against his ribcage, terror racing through his veins. It was like bursts of light.

For March, fear typically came in the form of anxiety over a social function, or public speaking. It had been a rare occurrence in his two decades for him to feel true fright, so it hit him hard, clogging his throat and fogging his brain.

Backing up from the direction of the strange light, his heel collided with a root. He stumbled, but hit the ground firmly, hard enough to rattle the bones in his back and elbow. Hissing in pain, he sat up, shaking his head to clear it. Then, a sound he could only think to compare to giant stampeding hooves fired off like an army of gunshots from behind him. He whirled around just in time to see a dragon barreling toward him. It leaped, and as its massive body rose over him, blanketing him in shadow, March covered his face with his hands and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

IDLY MUNCHING Astalk of the wild onions that grew freely and haphazardly around the lake, Perrin tilted his head to watch Nero dart like a sleek otter under the clear, cool water.

You are not looking forward to this year's jousting tournament as you have in previous years.

Surfacing, Nero tossed his head back to keep his hair out of his eyes, sending water droplets flying. "That's because I'm not going to be able to participate in the, er, festivities the way I usually do, Perrin."

He couldn't care less about jousting, or the tournament that his father insisted on hosting each year, gathering the best in the sport from even neighboring kingdoms and housing them in the castle. The foreign highborn enthusiasts would stay the night before, having traveled so far to watch their preferred jouster, and aristocrats from all over Ikronia would show bright and early the morning of. It was a chaotic time, not that Nero had ever minded the chaos.

The part that he looked forward to had nothing to do with the sport itself, and more to do with the influx of distant nobles, many of which were young and generally attractive, as nobles tended to be. As far as the prince was concerned, there was nothing better than sex with someone you were guaranteed not to have to see again for an entire year, and perhaps not even then.

So you plan to abstain from your normal behavior then, even though March is unhappy with you regardless.

As always somewhat amused by Perrin's poor understanding of human social constructs, Nero smirked a little as he relaxed, letting his limbs float up on the surface of the water, basking in the warm sun bathing him.

"The goal is to coexist peacefully, not piss him off to the point where he runs to my dad and gets me shipped out to be tortured."

It doesn't seem as though he wants to coexist peacefully with you.

"He's high-strung," Nero agreed, sighing. "Probably why my dad picked him for this thing in the first place."

You think King Beritz intentionally picked a mate for you that you would be unhappy with?

"No, no, I don't mean it like that," Nero clarified quickly. "It's not because he wants me to be unhappy. I'm pretty sure he thinks that I would be happy with someone like March." As the words left his mouth, floating along the placid surface of the lake like a clear fog, he frowned, blinking as he considered the idea.

Why did his father think March would be a good match for him, anyway? Sure, on his own the noble was an obvious choice for a royal spouse, but their personalities couldn't have been more different. But Beritz had gone out of his way to make it clear that the pretty male was a good match for him. Was the king really just that out of touch, or was there something he was missing about the whole situation?

It's interesting, Perrin mused as he shifted his large body a bit, laying his scaled chin down onto the ground in a supremely relaxed position. His thoughts come to me so clearly, even when I am not listening for them. It is much like how your thoughts come to me, Nero.

"You're saying he thinks like me?"

Not remotely. Your thoughts are loud and self-assured, while his are timid and anxious, generally. But the way I hear them is very distinct. It is a difficult phenomenon to explain to a human.

"I get that," Nero said slowly, though he wasn't entirely sure he did. "Maybe it just feels similar because he's the only other human around right now?"

A good theory, but I've been in the presence of many humans through the years, some many times, like with your friends and the friends of your father.

"Do you think there's a reason for it?"

There are many things I do not know, nearly all of which are related to humans. For now I can only speculate.

"I guess that makes sense," Nero said, lazily making his way to the shallower end so he could rise up onto the bank, naked as the day he'd been born. Never one to fall victim to the curse of self-consciousness, especially when it was only he and Perrin, he stretched, letting the lake water drip down his lean form in interesting rivulets. Though he preferred skinny-dipping in the steamy hot spring up in the mountain range in winter, he had to admit there was something particularly lovely about laying in the grass, letting the sun rays dry the clean lake water from his body.

Even now, I can hear him as clearly as if he were beside us, though he's deep in the forest.

Intrigued, the prince hooked his arms behind his head, settling down beside Perrin's taloned claw. "What's he thinking about?"

Sezlyth says I shouldn't communicate the thoughts of one human to another without consent, even for my bonded companion.

Nero smirked, tilting his head in acknowledgment. Sezlyth was an older female who had played faithful companion and friend to his father, and was still the king's favored dragon. She was a no-nonsense sort, and like Beritz she wasn't one to mince words or struggle with a code of ethics or morality.

"It's a fair thing to say. And consent is important."

He's unhappy and conflicted. That seems to be his default emotion, though.

"Because of me?" Nero guessed, though the thought sent jabs of guilt through him. As annoying as the stuck-up noble could be, the prince didn't relish the thought of his misery.

He wants to pursue an interest in botany, but worries that such a hobby won't make him more valuable in the eyes of a potential companion. He's decided to learn to cook instead, a skill he has already shown a lack of proficiency in, and doesn't enjoy.

Nero rolled his eyes up to the sky, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "God, Perrin. How can anybody that looks like that, with all those brains and all that talent be so damn worried about getting someone to like him?"

Perrin was silent for a bit as he rifled through the pretty male's mind.

He has a complex about being raised outside Ikronia.

Nero shrugged a shoulder to indicate he still didn't really get it. "Noble is noble, no matter where you end up living, right?"

From what I can understand, it seems he's logically aware that he's well-bred and educated, but he suffers from something like imposter syndrome.

Still frowning, the prince ran a hand through his still-damp locks of thick hair. "Bummer."

He imagines marrying someone of high status, so that he would be perceived of high status as well, and so that their children would be highborn, and of especially noble blood.

"What kind of 20-year-old thinks about stuff like that?" Nero groused, annoyed now that he'd asked. "So, what? He's just going to marry whoever has the most distinguished title or family name? What if the guy is just, like, a total prick? What if they're bad together?"

I have a hard time believing someone with such inflexible standards would settle for a husband who creates an unpleasant atmosphere for he and their offspring.

"Unpleasant atmosphere," Nero repeated with a scoff. "No, of course he wouldn't settle for anything unpleasant." He was feeling something particularly unpleasant at the moment too, but struggled to name it or understand it. He was only painfully aware that he didn't care for it.

Are you concerned for his wellbeing?

"No," he denied instantly. "I mean, not really. Not because it's him specifically. It just sounds like a recipe for disaster. That's all."

Why was he so irritated anyway? It didn't matter to him what March decided to do once summer was over and he left the castle. He supposed on some level he was probably just annoyed that the noble was so insecure, despite having no rational reason to be so. And then that someone so pitifully self-conscious would have the gall to look down on him like he was a complete waste of potential or something.

Borderline seething now, Nero vaguely heard Perrin's sound of confused observation in his head, followed by the dragon's muttered musings of another presence, a strange one, in the woods with March.

Sure, he didn't spend every waking moment studying or pursuing practical interests, but at least he could look in the mirror without obsessing over his appearance. At least he could have fun without worrying about if he was immaculate and flawless enough for some random aristocrat.

A very unfortunate sequence of events, to be sure.

"You mean if he marries some stuck-up highborn tool that only cares about him because he's pretty and well-bred?" Nero asked, still half-stuck in his stew of black thoughts.

No. Bryndr has, for the moment, escaped Athyna's line of sight and intends on investigating the scent of the unfamiliar human in the woods.

"Oh, god." With a groan, Nero pressed his palms to his eyes. He'd promised March that the dragons would steer clear of him while he was in the enclosure.

Athyna, a young adult, was the proud mother of the clan's most recent and only current hatchling, Bryndr. And though the dragons possessed incomparable intelligence and wisdom, Bryndr was far too young to understand human speech. To her, March was just an interesting deviation from her normal day to explore. Nero knew from experience she was sweet-natured and playful, though he supposed a playful baby dragon could register as dangerous to someone who was already frightened by the idea of them in the first place.

Ah, she's reached him now. He is, without question, terrified.

Already yanking his pants up his legs, Nero let out another exasperated sigh. "Will you take me over there, quick? The last thing I need is for him to die of a heart attack while he's under our care."

NEARLY IN TEARS, March curled into himself miserably as the dragon nudged at him with its long snout, sniffing at his hair and clothing. The breath had been knocked from him by the collision, and the way the scaly beast propped its claws onto his chest to stare down at him with large, yellow eyes wasn't helping the oxygen situation. He'd been told by Nero that they were intelligent, that they could read minds and communicate telepathically, but when he'd audibly begged for his life, he'd gotten no response.

He remembered that one should play dead during a bear attack, but he didn't have a clue what the protocol was for a dragon attack. When it took his sleeve in its mouth, clamping the cloth between its teeth and tugging insistently, he idly wondered if he was being toyed with or if he'd really be ripped apart and devoured. And if the prince would feel any guilt for having lied to him that he would be safe to spend time in the forest.

When another dragon soared overhead, March felt his heart stop in his chest. It was slender, dark, and gargantuan, many times larger than the pale, rounder one pinning him to the forest floor. When it maneuvered down through the dense canopy with some obvious difficulty, March never thought he'd feel so relieved to see Neroki, clinging to it, straddling its broad back. Dismounting with practiced technique, the prince rushed to him, while the most terrifying creature March had ever laid eyes on tilted its head and watched them, as if entertained.

"Bryndr!" Nero's voice was firm, commanding, snapping the young dragon's attention to him. Though she was the size of a small horse, he hooked an arm around her neck, dragging her back and off March's body. In a way that reminded the noble very much of an overeager dog, she wiggled with excitement, as if participating in a game. "Are you alright?" He finally asked, leaning down and holding out a hand.

"I'm fine." Forcing out the lie with as much conviction as he could muster, March allowed the prince to help him up into a standing position.

"I'm sorry," Nero apologized smoothly, though his expression was strained.

I will apologize on behalf of the young one as well. Her mother is on the way to collect her.

"O-oh!" March had known of the telepathic connection, too, but he'd assumed it to be like hearing a thought in his head. Instead, it was a feeling he'd never had before. As if the voice came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. He felt his already pounding heart stumble a bit as the sleek, dark beast lowered its head to meet his gaze at eye level.

Hello, March Cesari, mate of my favored human.

By the time he had adjusted to the jarring sensation, the dragon's words sank in, giving his heart another hard knock in his chest.

"Perrin," For the first time since March had known him, Nero sounded somewhat embarrassed as he knelt down next to the smaller dragon, evidently holding her in place. "You've never heard me call him that."

My apologies if the phrase is inappropriate for your relationship. Humans have many words for their companions, while we dragons use very few.

"It's alright," March stammered out, red, though Nero looked less than amused.

"March, this is Perrin. He's my bonded dragon."

"I-it's lovely to meet you," March said, though the hesitance in his eyes was blatant and obvious. The creature was undeniably beautiful, with scales that flashed rainbow in the shafts of sunlight that dappled in through the gaps in the treetops, but his fangs were massive, protruding from his mouth. He had a pair of horns that were longer and thicker than any sword March had ever seen, serrated on the edges.

I'm sorry that you find my fangs and horns frightening, young March. Rest assured that I would take great care never to harm the mate of my dear friend.

"Perrin!" Nero snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Stop calling him that!"

"I'm sorry," March apologized, guilt creeping into his words. With the shock of everything, he could hardly even process the way Perrin seemed to insist that he was, or should be, Nero's mate. "I didn't realize you could, um, hear my thoughts."

This revelation is often uncomfortable for humans. But with time, the unease should fade.

"I didn't mean to make you think I'm frightened of you. I'm sure you're very nice."

It is an undeniably human reaction to feel fear in the face of a dragon. If you weren't afraid, at least initially, I would be concerned for your intellect. Or perhaps your sanity.

Athyna arrived then, her flustered apologies ringing clear in Nero and March's head as well.

"She's a baby, she's meant to be curious," the prince assured the distraught mother, watching in slight amusement as Bryndr made her way back over to plop her butt down behind Athyna, obviously without a lick of guilt or repentance.

Once they'd gone, Nero turned back to March, frowning a bit. The irritation he'd felt just minutes before seemed to fade as he finally had a free moment to take in the noble's chaotic appearance. His glossy cap of dark hair was uncharacteristically mussed, his clothing tugged and tousled out of place.

"Here." Without much forethought, Nero reached out, cupping March's chin to hold his face steady as he examined the dark stamp on the noble's otherwise perfect cheekbone. After quickly licking his thumb, he smeared it over, relieved to see it partially fade with the minimal effort. "Just a smudge. Wouldn't want that pretty skin getting messed up, would we?"

Heat rose in March like a geyser. Knowing his reaction and impending blush would be immediately and obviously visible to the prince's seeking eyes, he swatted the man's hands away, backing up a bit. "I'll take care of it."

Understanding that he probably felt like he'd suffered enough humiliation for the moment, Nero gave a nod, raising his hands up in what he hoped was a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, my fault. I didn't think that the new hatchling could smell you and be curious about you."

Ironic that you wouldn't, Nero, considering that you've made your own observations about enjoying young March's distinctive scent as well.

After letting out a choked sound from his throat, Nero slapped a hand down onto the back of the obsidian dragon's neck with an extra bit of force. "Don't worry, he's just messing with you," he insisted, grinding each word out from between his teeth. "Aren't you, Perrin?"

With the prince's curse-riddled warnings beaming out and loud and clear from his thoughts, Perrin gave a slight nod. My apologies, I was hoping to lighten the mood with a joke.

Blinking, unsure of what to say next, March could feel that he was red all over. "I-it's okay, Perrin. Thank you. I should go now."

"Yeah. Well, yeah." Nero glanced up into the canopy, pulsing with an awkwardness he wasn't at all used to feeling. Not wanting to leave it feeling so uncertain, he cleared his throat. "Sorry again. I swear what I said before is true, you're safe here. And even Bryndr wouldn't hurt you, she's just…"

"I get it." Mentally begging the prince to stop talking so he could leave politely without embarrassing himself even further, March's eyes darted for somewhere to settle. To his absolute dismay, he found them settling on Nero's perfectly defined chest and abdomen, the skin fully exposed from where the prince had tugged on his shirt and hadn't bothered to button it.

Following the raven-haired male's line of sight, Nero glanced down at himself, only now remembering his rushed attempt to get dressed.

"I was swimming," he explained, somewhat unnecessarily. "Over at the lake. Perrin could, uh…" Nero stopped, rearranging his words in his head, hoping that March wouldn't put it together that they'd been listening to his private thoughts. "Perrin picked up on that Bryndr was missing, and that she'd be looking to investigate you, so we headed over this way in a hurry."

"Right. Thank you." The mental image of the prince leaping to his defense had March's pulse stumbling inside him.

Silence was like an ocean between them, the snapping of twigs and tweeting of oblivious birds punctuating the graceless stretch.

"I could walk you back, if you want," Nero offered, unable to stand it any longer.

"No. I… You've done enough," March stammered out, wringing his fingers together, eyes lowered. Though his tongue was tied in knots, there was a part of him that felt like he'd die if he left it like this, with his feelings unspoken. Another part warned him that he'd die by letting the words fall from his mouth. "You've been very patient with me, and I only seem to cause problems for you. Even when I try to stay out of your way, it only seems to make everything worse, and still you've been kind and I haven't been grateful at all."

"We're both just doing our best. You don't have to be grateful to me."

March gave a nod in response, and started to leave. After a moment he turned back, eyes shimmering like jewels in the shadows. "I would give so much to be more like you, Neroki."

Nero watched the pretty noble race off, fading into the forested distance until he turned a curve in the path and disappeared from sight.

Letting out a labored breath, he carded his fingers through his sun-streaked hair and marveled at his own stupidity. Only a moron and an emotional masochist could catch feelings for someone who cursed his existence and counted the days until they could go their separate ways, no matter how alluring that person was.

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