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"Oh." I guess I'm surprised? He'd agreed to try it out readily enough when I'd made the joke, but then again, Dav doesn’t seem real big on standing up for himself. Shit. "Have I put you in a bad position? Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"You haven't," Dav says, in a rush. "I wanted to try it. However, my family is quite against using our, ah, genetic advantages in menial ways. Trivializes us, you see? Makes dragons look like a tool or a beast of burden, not a person."

I take a second to process that. "Does every dragon think that?"

"Most of what Elizabeth-dragoun Virginium Bonum Magna Tudor sets down as best practices for her court, others adopt. Or were forced to adopt, under British rule."

"I don't get it," I say, leaning on the table with my left arm. My right still itches, but the stitches have dissolved. "I'm not trying to be combative here, but using the advantages you were born with, surely that's not ‘unseemly’?"

Dav’s eyes drop to his hands, which he carefully folds before him in what appears to be an attempt to keep himself from fidgeting. "Do you know who Thomas Seymour was?"

"No," I admit.

"He married Katherine Parr, Henry Rex's final wife, after Henry's death.

Seymour had a little dragonblood himself, but it was much weakened by intermarriage with humans.

He was also maternal uncle to little King Edward, and so Seymour felt he ought to be closer to the crown than he found himself.

He, ah… was unsavory toward Elizabeth Regina when she was still a princess.

After Edward Rex died so suddenly, under such mysterious circumstances, and Lady Parr passed, Seymour attempted to marry Her Majesty.

To rule her, and through her, the country. "

I scoff. "You can't rule a dragon. Everyone knows that."

Dav looks up at me, sunflower eyes meeting mine with surprising intensity.

"You can rule a dragon. There are ways," he says earnestly, but doesn't elaborate. His whole body sways toward mine, then back again, like he's become momentarily dizzy.

"Seymour groomed Elizabeth Regina to obey him," he goes on.

"At first he asked small things—fetch that candlestick, wear that blue gown.

But then he asked for bigger, more uncomfortable things.

He encouraged her to light household fires with her breath, dig fields with her claws, provide transport on her back as she flew.

When she wore her dragonshape, he spoke to her as if she was a dumb beast. As if she were less than human. "

"Fuuuuuck," I breathe. "That's uncool."

"Indeed," Dav hisses out. "If she were nothing more than a beast, he could take her crown. There was even rumor that he meant to challenge the tradition that dragons shepherd their human hoards. He thought humans should rule humans."

"That's stupid," I chuckle. "It never works. Hello, look at America. They had a whole failed revolution about it."

"Indeed. What Seymour did, it was…" he shudders, chest rising and falling rapidly. "What's worse than 'mortifying'?" His jaw clenches so hard his teeth squeak.

"Hey, breathe." I touch his elbow gently, making sure he can see me coming.

Dav blinks hard, and shakes himself out. "Only when she took the throne did Elizabeth Regina understand what Seymour had been trying to accomplish. He was executed for his audacity, and his suspected involvement in the death of his nephew."

"Hold on, I thought Edward Rex got sick? That's why he died."

Dav gives me an 'oh come now' look. "There are very, very few diseases that can touch a dragon."

He's admitting more than he should, I realize. "Okay. So then, if Seymour is dead, then why can't you make coffee?"

"It became unspoken and unwritten law that we were never to use our draconic abilities in service of humans. But this is dragon knowledge, so you mustn't spread this around, Colin. I should not have told you."

"I promise to keep it secret." I offer up my pinky finger.

Dav cracks a small smile and wraps his own around it, accepting my childish vow.

We shake briefly before his fingers skitter away.

"So I get it. I'd be pissed too. But it's been, like, five hundred years.

I'm not saying it’s right to treat you as if you're lesser than boring homo sapiens .

But I guess I just wonder… if dragons can do things humans can't, I don't see why they shouldn’t, if it makes everyone's lives easier? "

Dav snorts. "You sound like Onatah."

"Who?"

"She holds the territory next to my own." He gestures gently to the east, toward Niagara Falls.

"Oh, you do have friends!" I tease. "Did you meet her when you were sent out from Elizabeth Regina's court? Did you wear a ruff? "

I can't help my curiosity, okay?

"Oh no," Dav huffs, like I've said the funniest thing he's heard in weeks. "That is to say, yes, I was sent from court and we met shortly upon my arrival here. But not that long ago, not in a ruff . Heavens, Colin, how old do you think I am ?"

"I don't know!" I laugh. "That's why I'm asking."

"Perhaps I'll make you guess." And just like that, we're back to happy, sassy Dav.

The Dav I like best.

"That's not fair," I whine, gathering up the sign-making stuff. "Your name is Tudor, isn’t that an old family?"

"My mother is a thrice-removed niece of the royal Tudor line. My grandfather was Welsh, descended directly from Y Ddraig Goch himself."

"You say that like I'm supposed to know what it means," I throw over my shoulder, stashing everything away.

"The Great Welsh Dragon," Dav says, following after me. "They say he was King Arthur's wisest counselor."

"Now you're just talking shit. King Arthur wasn't real. It's a fairy-tale to explain why human-only Round Tables are a shitshow, and we need draconic monarchs."

"Wasn't he?" Dav raises a mocking eyebrow. "Don't you think a draig would know?"

"Stoppit," I laugh, then gesture to the carafe beside me. "We open in ten minutes and that’s empty."

"Sir, yes sir," Dav tosses out with a lazy salute, and gets grinding.