Page 172 of Nine-Tenths

"I can feel you panicking from here," Dav says gently, lifting the arm between our extremely plush chairs to turn it into a loveseat.

I snuggle into Dav's side, and take as many deep, slow breaths as required for my heart to stop racing. As the flight attendant wheels in a cart to dole out hot towels, alcohol, and a snack, I explain what has me worried. If she's a spy, it'd be good for her to hear me talking about meeting the fam. It'll solidify our alibi.

Dav rubs my back. "You'll survive whatever disaster comes, I expect."

"What, no reassurances that I'll charm them, and everything will go smoothly, and I have nothing to worry about?"

Dav snorts. "I've met you."

I blow a raspberry.

"So long as you don't harm the egg, there's little you could do that would actually make my parents dislike you," Dav says gently, once we're alone again. "They're pleased I have a Favorite to introduce to them at all. After Charlie, there was worry I would never, ah…" He swallows hard. "At any rate, they know I love you, and that will be sufficient for them to do the same."

"Will they still love me when they learn we're coming to upend their way of life?"

Dav shoots a glance at the tasteful briefcase of notes that Pedra dropped off during my Long Dark Night, stowed by his foot.

"We still have to figure out what we're actually gonna propose in that thing," I remind him. "Handing the Parliament a jumble of papers without an actual plan isn't smart."

"Agreed. How did you work out your thesis presentation?"

"Working backwards. The desired end game is a decentralization of governance, and breaking up of the oversized, unwieldy territories, right?"

"And a return of land to Indigenous dragons wherever possible. We want dragons encouraged to—no,enthusiastically participatingin the daily lives of those humans on their territories," Dav says, warming to the topic. "Moreover, theyoughtto be laboring alongside and in service of those humans. And, importantly, using their fire to cook, without punishment or derision."

"Yes, yes," I say, already falling down the essay rabbit-hole. "Gimmie my laptop, babe. I'm gonna start outlining."

I stop, and slap my hand over my mouth.

"What, Mine Own?"

"Oh my god. I actuallylikewriting essays when it's not for school."

"You’re surprised?" Dav kisses my temple. "When you've got a topic between your teeth, I've heard youspeakin essays. It's charming." He presses another kiss to my check, then a more insistent one to my neck.

"Okay, okay," I relent. "Joining the mile-high club now, outlining later. Lock the door."

I'm not gonna lie about this, either.

I was kinda expecting something a little more… castley.

When your boyfriend-husband-whatever-the-hell-we-are tells you his parents live inSt. Ffagan’s Castle, you expect turrets and a moat, right? At the very least, it should be up on a craggy cliff. Instead, it's a quick half-hour drive from Cardiff Airport, and the house itself is kind of like a charming cottage on steroids. It's three stories high, with white-washed walls and regimented rectangular windows, the gray-slate roof is lined with wickedly pointed dormers and red-brick chimneys. The castle-iest thing about the place is the saw-toothed medieval wall and the neat round well in the centre of the drive ringed in rose bushes.

"I see where you get your modesty."

"It's notmodest," Dav protests. "The frontage is public. Mother would much rather spend her attention on the back gardens—"

"I'm winding you up," I reassure him. "Deep breaths, babe."

Dav follows my suggestion, shoulders unwinching only slightly.

He's been tense since we landed.

It's been two years since he’s been back, and he'd said he's anxious to see the egg. But he'd said it while staring out the window at the gray November mist, and squeezing my hand for dear life.

He's as nervous about introducing me as I am to be introduced.

Doesn't help that we're coming here with ulterior motives.