Meya found it difficult to decide which was more gratifying; Lady Jaise marching into Tyriel's cave gallery to demand him hand over his hidden accounts and ill-gotten relics (which included Meya's eye), or her declaring to the panicking Elmund Herzin that Atmund would henceforth be placed under her wardship, ceasing his tyrannical control over his son for good.

Interluding the two events was yet another treat; as they rode together in Winterwen's carriage back to the castle, the Lady proposed to Coris that they postpone their departure for a couple more days, so Meya could visit the Library of Eyes and learn more about dragons.

To Meya's immense delight, Coris promptly agreed. Yet, even first light tomorrow couldn't have come quickly enough for her. The combined euphoria of her triumph, and the prospect of unraveling the mystery of her kind, had purged the tire from her limbs and the drowsiness from her head.

"Could've taken us there straightaway. The night is still young."

Grumbled Meya to her Lord Hadrian, arms folded over her ample bosom, as she lounged against the stone wall of the small bathing pool, filled beforehand with steaming spring water by masked chambermaids.

Coris shed his silken bathrobe then sat down on the edge. One by one, his feet cleaved slowly through the water, like butter knives through thick molasses.

"Patience, my dragon lady. Remember, she has to investigate Wert's finances and help Atmund settle in, too."

Meya turned and glowered up at him in petulant annoyance, to which Coris smiled in satisfaction. When his gaze fell upon her restored eye, however, his smile sagged under the weight of guilt in his silvery eyes. He lifted a hesitant hand, pausing halfway, then caressed it with the barest tip of his fingers.

"Does it still hurt?" His timid voice reminded Meya of her little brothers whenever they had upset her and were trying to edge their way back into her good books. Even as her heart shuddered at the memory of Tyriel's Lattis cloak, and the blood market, Meya hitched up a brazen grin, as she served his rehashed quip right back at him.

"Peace, my human lord. I'm fine."

Coris narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. And Meya heaved a weary sigh in surrender.

"Very well, I'm not." She mumbled. Coris slid down beside her. She leaned her head against his bony shoulder as he looped an arm around her back,

"It was a good start, but now the road seems much longer than I'd first thought."

"You also gained allies. They'd make your journey speedier and smoother." Coris reminded her with a little squeeze on her arm. Meya didn't hold back the slight smile that had crept up on her lips, as she tried to snuggle up against his flank. If only he'd had more flesh over his ribcage.

"Sorry. For not confiding in you beforehand." She murmured. Coris's sigh caressed the top of her head. It also could have been the draft from the gap in the drapes. One could not tell from the similar lack of heat.

"It's all very well. I understand." So he said, but Meya felt Coris gathering her closer, and her heart writhed with guilt, "You needed my genuine reaction to convince Winterwen you're Lady Hadrian."

"And you delivered flawlessly." Meya hid her cheeks behind her damp hair, as the inkling brought color to her face. Coris shrugged.

"I was scared out of my wits. I truly am." He said laughingly, as if he hoped it would distract from his trembling, tense hand on her arm, "I was furious with myself. I've failed to protect my wife."

"I'm sorry." Meya repeated. She coiled her arm around his waist, reassuring him that all was well, then steered the topic away to lighten up the discussion,

"Things turned out much different from what I'd expected, though. Better, even—Who would've thought Winterwen's a secret champion of Greeneyes? I was thinking I'd threaten that bastard with a usury charge or something, if I couldn't get Winterwen to budge."

Coris gave a few deep nods of acknowledgment.

"Now you've learned your lesson. Gather as much information as possible before making a decision. So you wouldn't have to improvise."

Meya rolled her eyes in equal parts annoyance, affection and amusement at the airy lecture, then blinked in slight surprise when Coris pulled away and spun around to face her full.

His silvery eyes beaming, his cheeks rosy from the water's heat, he looked awash with happiness. For perhaps the first time since she had known him, the lingering air of decay and melancholy around him seemed to have thinned somewhat. And she simply stared, mesmerized by the semblance of vigor and life before her, as he reached forth and tucked away a lock of wet golden hair dangling before her eyes.

"Anyway, you were marvelous." He breathed, shaking his head slowly in awe. His fingers trailed absentmindedly to caress her jawline, yet his eyes never left hers, "I've seen how remarkable you could be, but you keep overwhelming me. I...I..."

Coris's voice died in his throat, as his lips continued to mouth words he just as soon decided not to utter. In his excitement, it seemed as if he was on the verge of letting it all out, but his good sense overrode him and held him back.

Meya knew she shouldn't hope for the impossible. Yet, she had a vague idea what that slip could have been, and could as well become. And that certainty rendered it all the more difficult not to wait with bated breath.

And so she stared, and waited, and searched his wavering eyes, his blanching face, as the young man continued to falter and fluster. Looking to all the world patient and unassuming, even as the cynic and the daydreamer battled for dominance within her, and her heart hammered like raindrops in a storm.

At long last, Coris's vacillating lips settled upon his usual empty smile, and the vulnerable depths of his eyes were shielded by the customary devious glint. He leaned in and blew her a secretive whisper.

"I have a gift for you."

"A gift?" Meya blurted out, her voice strangled, forced through the bitter lump of disappointment she must now swallow as the price for daring to hope. Coris had ascended from the pool and was striding towards their bed as he toweled himself dry. Blinking back rebellious tears, she spun around and hollered after him. "Why? What for?"

"Nothing. Could be to commemorate your victory, if you'd like."

Coris turned and called back over his shoulder. As Meya frowned in bewilderment, he came to a halt before the heavy wooden chest at the foot of their bed, and knelt down to undo the clasps.

He duck his head under the lid he had propped up with one arm, scanning the chest's contents he was tossing around with the other. Meya heard thuds and rifling. They sounded like leather and paper—heavy books. And she threw her head up towards the heavens with a cry of terror,

"Oh, Fyre. Don't tell me..."

"I have no choice but to." Coris straightened up, a brick-thick leather-bound grimoire in his hand, along with some blank papers, and Meya moaned and clawed at her face as her worst fears were confirmed.

Every night before tucking in, Coris had made it his foremost duty to hone Meya's vocabulary and spelling, using a list of words he had curated from one of his multitude of books. Afterwards, they would discuss the meaning and background of each word, during which Meya would glean invaluable knowledge and understanding about Latakia's inner workings.

Meya immensely enjoyed the latter half—and what usually came after that, of course. But that would be only if she survived the endless lines Coris would punish her with for every misspelling.

"Coris, it's already late!"

Meya lamented as she slid like dead weight down the wall of the pool. Coris spun around to what appeared to be a submerged crocodile with glowing green eyes flaring from behind a curtain of yellow vines. His grin widened, undaunted even as he stood stark naked save for a towel on his shoulder, in the face of imminent dragon fireball.

"Haven't you just said the night is still young?"

A burst of bubbles foamed before Meya's nose as she cursed underwater. Exasperated, she propped herself up and retorted,

"But I don't want to study now!" She flipped over on her back, stirring up a water tantrum with her flailing limbs, "I'm lounging naked in a hot tub, for Freda's sake! And you're doing runes instead of me?"

Coris looked up from where he was crouched, setting down the book topped with stationery beside the pool. His fair maiden lie splayed just underneath the surface, the rippling, ice-clear water revealing and distorting her bare form, as if to tantalize and seduce. Yet, he retained his smile even as the beast within him was furiously rattling its cage, raring to feast.

"Fear not, my lady. We'll get around to that later." He reassured her with a smirk and a wink, then settled down cross-legged on the damp flagstones beside the pool. He retrieved his bathrobe and slipped it on.

"But education comes first. It's in the royal decree. You won't get to see your gift until you have completed your daily required study, as assigned by yours truly—"

"—Coris Hadrian, the Pompous Donghead."

Meya drawled. Coris merely chuckled as he tied the sash at his waist. The length of the remaining rope was a chilling sight, and Meya gritted her teeth against grief as her resolve solidified, as she was reminded that he was doing this solely for her. Her and her future. For, as far as her little Lord Hadrian was concerned, he himself no longer had one.

Despite her melodramatic objections, Meya obligingly ascended from the water, toweled and robed, then planted herself opposite him, before the pile of linen paper and charcoal pencils he had just laid out for her. And Coris couldn't resist reaching across to muss up her hair at the adorable sight.

Instead of swatting him away or swiping at him as she usually did, Meya snatched Coris's invading arm, holding it hostage, and childish squabbling ensued between human and dragon. It took a while before study could finally commence.

⏳

Two notches of the candle clock, countless lines, a pile of linen paper, and one aching wrist later, Coris was finally satisfied with the amount of knowledge he had imparted to Meya, and she was freed from her study.

Meya had pretty much forgotten about the promised reward by then. She was kneeling before the mantelpiece, absentmindedly feeding spent papers to the ravenous fire, listening to its happy burps and cackling, when Coris's pale hand slipped into her field of vision, his spider-leg fingers obscured by the thin rectangular box of reddish-brown wood he was offering her. She blinked, nonplussed,

"What? Ah..."

Her lips burst into a smile of delight as she recalled their deal. Coris chuckled to himself as he settled down beside her, his silvery eyes twinkling in the firelight followed Meya as she undid the crimson satin cord without dawdle,

"It's a famous Jaise export. And I know you have a liking for rose crystal."

As if to reaffirm his claim, the lid fell away to reveal the gleam of smooth, clear pink, peeking out through the gaps in the lace of the drawstring bag. Meya scooped the trinket up from its stuffed velvet bed and undressed it, rolling the rod of gum on her palm. She noticed the curious indent sculpted all around the tip, and ran her finger over it. Her concentration was so intense, she didn't notice Coris trying his utmost not to burst out laughing.

"Oh, Freda." She gasped, her voice shrill with pure joy, even as she had yet to know what the thing was, still turning it lovingly round and round between her caressing fingers, "It's so pretty it's hard to eat."

"Understandable; you're not supposed to ingest it. Least not in the literal sense."

Coris concurred, his voice suspiciously trembling with torrents of suppressed laughter. Meya glanced up, eyebrows raised, then back down at the deceptively candylike wand. She stripped away the lace bag to reveal its entirety, and the remainder didn't look as savory as she had assumed.

"Eeeeeeeeeeek!"

Coris exploded into a fit of cramp-inducing laughter as Meya shrieked her lungs out. The hideous creation pirouetted through the air and landed with a bounce on the bed bursting with goose-down, rearing its unholy head as if to smile at its intended mistress. Meya kept two unblinking eyes on it as she took heaving breaths, sputtering out in gasps,

"What the...what in the three lands..."

"They call it The Substitute." Coris suppressed his fit of hilarity just long enough to make room for a hoarse explanation. He smiled wider at the sight of Meya's tomato-red face when she whipped around and glowered at him, gesturing with his hands as he continued lightheartedly, "As in, whenever the lord is away, the lady could pleasure herself and remember him by—Ow!"

Meya had snatched the object of pleasure and utilized it to inflict pain on her cheeky husband instead. Brandishing the gum-dong like a whip, she whacked at every inch of Coris she could reach as he cowered and strafed and ducked.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Meya! Please! Mercy! Ow!"

The flurry of blows abruptly ceased after one last resounding thwack smack on Coris's crown; Meya seemed to have paused mid-swing. Coris lifted his head from under his shielding arms and chanced a look,

"Meya?"

Meya was panting heavily. The dark circles in her eyes swallowed her glowing irises as she stared back at him. The Substitute rested its bulbous head on the floor before her knees, its shaft clutched tightly between her trembling fingers. The absurd sight sent a church's worth of bells clanging in his head.

"Goodly Freda, it's working." Coris breathed. Meya glared.

"Don't give me that. You know it's going to work." She hissed through grinding teeth, struggling in vain to calm her ragged breathing. Coris shook his head, eyes agape and jaw slack,

"I didn't know you could absorb it even when it's powdered and mixed in gum—"

That was as far as Coris could go; next moment, his back was already chafing against the warm, rough face of the woolen carpet. The cool silk of his bathrobe pressed down on his torso as Meya moved above him—then it was her bare skin on his, like hot metal on cold stone, their hearts drumming in tandem, forceful as a blacksmith's hammer yet rapid as an army of galloping hooves.

Her nails dug into the hollows of his cheeks as she held his face firm, strands of her damp hair trapped between their lips like bars of a cage, then her tongue rammed its way through to taste his. She was waiting for him. But he wasn't yet ready. And, judging from long experience, he likely would not be for tonight.

To Coris's horror, Meya felt him tensing up. She broke away and propped herself up, then glanced down. Coris gritted his teeth as he closed his eyes; he couldn't bear to witness her disappointment. As he lie panting, his cheeks now burned in humiliation instead of desire, especially when her enveloping heat drew further away. He opened his eyes to find Meya kneeling down by his side, her glowing eyes alternating between his stricken face and the source of his shame.

"You're not ready." She muttered, her voice wooden, then pointedly averted her eyes from the abomination, her gaze blazing holes into the carpet, "Am I doing something wrong?"

Coris's heart gave a painful lurch at her conclusion, which was proof of how far he still had to go in fostering confidence in Meya. He shook his head, mustering his courage and his voice,

"No. It happens." Meya spun around, wide-eyed, and he reached his hand feebly to cover hers,

"Sorry. I'm sorry. So sorry. So sorry. Sorry—" He rambled, his cracking voice choked with sobs.

"—Stop sorrying, will you!" Meya snapped. She cradled his hand gently between her rough palms,

"You're probably just tired. It's been a long day. On the road and off. Looks like a quiet night for us, then."

There was steel in Meya's voice, and in her arms now supporting him up—figuratively and literally. She was the strong one. His protector and savior. Time and again. Whereas he was the weak one. Impotent. Lacking. Even when he should be the man. Although he knew Meya had never minded, he couldn't shake this aching desire to be the one to shield and provide, just for once.

As he sat upright, Coris noticed the pink gum wand rolling unattended on the floor nearby.

"Perhaps we could make use of The Substitute?" He suggested. Meya's gaze flicked up to meet his, and he cocked his head towards it.

Meya didn't spare it the merest glance out of the corner of her eye. Her blazing eyes were steady and contemplating, then she wordlessly stood up and walked off, leaving Coris to call unsurely after her,

"Meya?"

Meya picked up her bathrobe and slipped the sleeves over her arms. She tugged the lapels together and cinched the sash at her waist as she crouched back down. After retrieving his robe, she slid her arms under his shoulders and urged the still nonplussed Coris to his feet.

"I'll sing you to sleep." She offered, reverting to her lovely birdsong voice in preparation, "Which song would you like?"

Coris sighed and shook his head moodily as he staggered towards their bed, slipping on his bathrobe as he went. The instant his big toe touched the bedframe, he keeled face first down on the black satin blanket, limbs akimbo.

"It's fine, May Queen. A wee nightcap and I'll be out cold in a blink."

Coris pointed blindly towards the bedside cabinet, upon which sat a pot of valerian tea, two teacups and, to Meya's dismay—a cork-stoppered vial of clear, dark brown liquid; laudanum—then pushed himself up and clawed his way towards it.

What little remained of Meya's good cheer from the day's triumphs vaporized, at the sight of her beloved reaching towards the bottle she now knew was malignant. Flashes of her heated discussion with Arinel coursed through her mind like rapids bursting through floodgates, and she clenched her trembling hands as she recalled her reluctant promise to the Lady.

"Um, about that, Coris..."

Meya began hesitantly over the clink and tinkle of crockery; Coris was stirring honey into his good-night's-sleep tea. He paused and turned to her, silver spoon aloft and eyebrows raised. Meya drew in a deep breath before continuing,

"Could you leave out the laudanum? I was talking to Arinel today. She said it could be dangerous if you got addicted to it."

There was a brief pause. Meya held her breath as she held Coris's gaze. There was a blink of surprise in that moonbeam gray, followed by a flash of annoyance, which just as soon dissipated and settled into weariness.

"It's a cure, Meya. It would be dangerous if I don't take it regularly." He rebuffed with a sigh, then turned away and resumed stirring, "Trust me, I've tried. My stomach would act up and I'd have a burning fever, among other things."

"Maybe your body just needs time to get used to not having it." Meya persisted. This time, however, Coris did not bother turning around. Desperate, she bounded onto the bed and crawled briskly to his side, then tugged at his arm, "Try taking a few drops less tonight and see what happens. I'm right beside you. Just wake me if there's anything."

Coris heaved another sigh, his voice growing less patient by the second, "Meya—"