Page 29

ALICE

I sit down at the table as Fenrother does his usual and throws himself into the throne chair at the opposite end.

The Duegar have outdone themselves on this occasion.

Not only is the table groaning with food, but it’s all presented in the most pleasing manner.

Fenrother watches me closely from the far end.

He’s waiting to see what you do on date night .

Given the way the last one ended, I suspect he is hoping for more revelations.

“Why don’t you come up here?” I call out to him and point to the empty space beside me.

He doesn’t need asking twice, dragging the huge chair behind him like it’s a matchstick until he is next to me, and he sets it down, dropping back into place.

“Eat.” It’s my turn to exhort him.

A creature his size must need a lot of feeding.

I don’t imagine the pig went to waste after all.

Plus, even though there’s plenty on the table, none of it is in Fenrother proportions.

“My lady first,” he says.

I snort out a laugh.

“Where did you get that phrase?”

I know exactly where, but I’m going to make him tell me.

“My texts…” Fenrother narrows his eyes.

“Do you not like it?”

“I’m not a lady,” I say, spooning a large dollop of mashed potato onto a spare platter, followed by some thick slices of rare roast beef, a large Yorkshire pudding, and some greens, which look like they’ve been boiled to within an inch of their life.

“I’m .” I hand the platter to him.

“What if you’re my lady?” Fenrother asks as he pours out gravy.

His attention has turned to the food and away from his odd books.

“I thought I was your mate?”

He grunts, stabbing a two-pronged fork into the roast beef then folding it into his mouth.

I add beef, potatoes, and vegetables to my plate, but in a lesser quantity, and dig in, the nausea from my period having finally left me.

Just in time too. The beef melts in my mouth in an orgy of meaty goodness.

I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this, especially given I’ve eaten so little since I arrived here.

Fenrother and I eat in relative silence.

It feels…familiar and somehow nice.

Just me and this monster, enjoying a meal together like an old married couple.

Behind Fenrother, the fire crackles, the light from it flickering over his scales and giving him a glow in the relative gloom of the great hall, lit by many candles and yet hardly lit at all.

I could be at any point in history, only I am in the Yeavering where no rules apply.

Fenrother finishes the food on his plate and picks up a small roast bird, a partridge I think, and eats it in a single bite.

I think we’re back to normal.

Or whatever passes for normal around here.

Once I’m done, Fenrother pulls an apple tart across the table to me and looks hopeful.

“Are you going to try some this time?” I ask, holding out a clean fork to him.

He shifts on his chair, looking doubtful.

“Sweet,” he says, as a terrible explanation.

“You don’t like sweet?”

He wrinkles his nose, and it may well be the absolutely cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Even if it’s on a Wyrm the size of Fenrother, with his fangs, claws, and ability to turn into a dragon.

“Why not try some, see what you think?” I cut a chunk out of the pie, spear it on the end of my fork, and hold it out.

Given I already know he is partial to a bite of tart.

In a move I didn’t see coming, Fenrother leans forward and captures the chunk in his mouth directly from my fork.

A strange double beat rocks my heart.

He chews, considering what I’ve just fed him.

Then he swallows with a slight wince.

“You didn’t like it?”

Fenrother shakes his head, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Never liked sweet, until you,” he says.

“But you like it. You eat.” He hitches a lip over a fang, which is a Fenrother smile, as far as they go.

“I can’t eat the whole thing.” I dig in with my fork.

“Although I’ll give it a good try.”

Given this tart is as good as the last, I will very much attempt the eating challenge.

Fenrother consumes another couple of small roast fowl and then pours himself out a goblet of wine, swallows it in a single gulp, and pours out another for himself and one for me.

He sits back in his big throne and throws one leg over the armrest, leaning back as he cradles the goblet in one large clawed hand.

“I finished the text,” he says.

I pause, a fork full of tart on its way to my mouth.

“You did?”

“I did.”

“And your verdict?”

“It’s better than my other texts.”

“Even without diagrams.”

“I don’t need diagrams if I have the real thing,” Fenrother counters with a smile bordering on the sinful.

“But I need more of the real thing.”

“And what do I get?” I query.

“Out of this arrangement?”

He looks at me, an innocent look.

A look which tells me he has no doubt I belong to him and that is enough.

“My protection.”

“And what is the dragon going to protect the damsel from?” I ask with a laugh.

“All the other monsters,” Fenrother growls.

“The ones who also need mates.”

“Believe me, Fenrother, you are all the monster I would ever want.” I chuckle as I put more tart in my mouth.

He growls low in his chest, his wings flexing behind him, the fire still visible through the delicate membrane which stretches between the individual struts, like fingers.

They have an ethereal shine which draws me.

“Can I touch them?” I ask.

“Touch them?” he echoes.

“Your wings.”

“I…” Fenrother hesitates, his stunning eyes searching my face.

“My wings are sensitive.”

“I won’t hurt you,” I say quietly.

“I think you know that now.”

Fenrother unfolds himself from his chair and turns to the fire, leaning one hand against the great stone mantle.

I realise he’s turned his back so I can touch his wings.

But also because he wants to prove he trusts me.