A date was set to discuss the garden expansion after Yheor was properly settled in and had a chance to get her own feel for the gardens. In the meantime, Jurao was happy to listen to his partner recount the ideas the pair had come up with so far during the afternoons in his office.

Before that could occur, they had another social event to attend a few days after the chefs’ duel - the infamous book club attended by Lord Goyl. Jurao was quite surprised that the location of the meeting was the weapon smithy - and that it was suggested they dress appropriately for the space.

“Your highness, good evening,” Goyl greeted with a bow, waiting outside the entrance - indeed dressed in rougher clothing suited for a smithy.

“Good evening,” Jurao nodded back, less uncertain about the man after seeing him and Malson being so comfortable around each other for the past few weeks.

“I believe Lordis Gavven already said it,” Goyl said as he rose, “But I’d like to ask for your discretion regarding our members once again. Both of you.”

“Of course,” Jurao said, “Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Yes,” Braelin sighed, “Even Malson won’t say anything…”

Goyl smiled, opening the door, “Well, he’s unlikely to find another club quite like this one in the Demon Realm.”

Jurao stepped into the smithy and took stock of those in attendance.

Ierge, the Head of the Weaponsmiths, made the location make sense. He was a giraffe beastly demon a little over nine feet tall with mint green hair and lilac eyes, the rest of his coloration matching a typical giraffekin. A mismatched assortment of couches and chairs had been arranged in the clear area between all the forges, and the older man offered the King a nod.

Jurao respected the man, even though he could be prickly - Ierge and his aunt were often found arguing, but Jurao knew that at this point, they found the insults amusing. At least, their actual ire for each other had cooled ever since Ierge had found Feyl in the civil smithy and realized the young noble was his son.

“No safety lecture for the King?” one of the other attendees scoffed - as it turned out, Lord Halvern, Gaele’s father and Head of the Administration Branch.

“I don’t need to tell another smith not to fuck around in the smithy,” Ierge rolled his eyes.

“That seems fair,” a third member said - Gavven’s parent, Exkelm. The Jiesoedis family was known for their loyalty to the King - the position rather than the individual holding it. Which was why it had been an upset when Jurao had faced the eldest daughter, Gnael, during the Royal Trials. Not that Jurao had minded much - it was anyone’s right to participate, of course.

“Braelin won’t touch anything either!” Malson declared, leaning into Goyl as the demon noble sat beside him.

“Whatever,” Meyn, an older conservative noblewoman, sniffed, “I just thought this group was above political maneuvering.”

“I think the King has made it very clear his relationship is not a matter of politics,” the last member, a progressive older noblewoman named Carmes, rolled her eyes.

“The goal of these events,” Jurao said, finding a couch large enough for himself and his partner had been left open, “Is to familiarize the court with my partner and lessen the view of our relationship as political.”

“It’s difficult for me to be the center of attention of large groups,” Braelin added, eyes focused on Petal in his lap, “So Gavven thought small groups would work best. Sorry for the intrusion.”

“What are you even complaining for!?” Malson demanded, “If you’re going to have an entire book club for human romance novels, you should be happy to have another human in attendance!”

“He has a point,” Exkelm smiled.

“Oh, you’ll just agree with whatever makes the King look better,” Carmes waved a hand, “But it doesn’t matter because we’re here about this!”

She held up - unsurprisingly - a book with two figures on the cover and a title that read: Death of Althur.

“This is, without a doubt, the worst book this club has inflicted on me!” Carmes huffed, slamming the book onto the central table.

“You love House Babbiny!” Malson replied, “You don’t get a say on bad literature!”

“Emoret Babbiny is a protagonist with a clear voice and purpose,” Carmes crossed her arms, “And even if the prose was inelegant at times, the tragedy of a woman stuck in an unhappy political marriage-”

“Is codswallop!” Malson scoffed, “The way it’s portrayed in that book, at least - oh no, your husband buys you whatever you want but ignores you sometimes! Ooooh! So tragic! And then you end up with the man you love in the end! Ugh! That’s why I recommended this, so you can read a real tragic romance!”

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“How can it be a romance if the leads both die?” Carmes demanded.

“I believe that is why it’s a fucking tragic romance,” Ierge snorted, “And I, for one, think we should read more of these… subgenres - this was new! I liked it!”

“Yeah, like it would be weird if your everyday romance didn’t end happy!” Malson agreed, “But tragic romances all end that way! That’s why I said Babbiny isn’t a tragic romance, it’s a regular one! And not even a good one!”

“I certainly agree that Althur is actually tragic,” Meyn snorted, “But Carmes just likes Babbiny because she sees herself in the lead, so let’s move on from it.”

“I beg your pardon!” Carmes gasped in indignation.

“Oh, come on, Mes,” Ierge scoffed, “You literally complain about your wife ignoring you at every meeting. Just divorce her and stop waiting for your Sir Ket.”

Meyn snickered.

“I did wonder,” Exklem cut in, “This seems to be the first romance from the Northwestern Reaches where the leads were not a man and a woman.”

“Oh yeah!” Malson nodded, “It’s frowned upon for relationships to be anything but man and woman in my home region, so the only popular romances you’ll find with it are the tragedies! The tragedy is kind of meant to be because the leads are in love with the same gender, but most of the people who write it like the same gender!”

“It certainly didn’t read like the tragedy was that Althur and Lancelon were in love,” Goyl mused, “More that it was tragic that they couldn’t just be together.”

“There are happy romances with couples that aren’t man and woman,” Braelin offered, “But they tend to be more underground so the writer doesn’t face backlash.”

“That’s true!” Malson agreed, “Would be hard to locate one all the way in another realm, though! Could barely even find them in Asalban!”

Halvern hummed, “We’ll see about that…”

“Oh, Halvern’s on the case,” Meyn snorted, “Soon, we’ll be drowning in them.”

There were chuckles and snickers from the rest of the group in response.

“I don’t know if there are that many…” Braelin said.

“Sure there are!” Malson replied, “You just didn’t read a lot of romance novels cause you never had an inclination before Jurao!”

“Technically, it should still be his highness,” Goyl snorted, “But I suppose this is a private enough setting for it…”

“Most of it still seems… exaggerated,” Braelin shrugged.

“What do you mean?” Ierge asked.

“That it… feels exaggerated?” Braelin frowned, “Like someone being so… caught in the ‘throes of passion’ they lose all reason, or…”

“I have not read romance myself,” Jurao admitted, “But people have also described kissing as being more… dramatically pleasant than it really seems to be.”

The group didn’t seem to know what to do with their answers.

Except Malson, who scoffed, “Yeah, because it’s different for people inclined towards sex and romance than those that aren’t! It’s like eating when you’re hungry versus eating when you’re not! People who like sex and romance are already ‘hungry’, so when they get it, it’s more satisfying - but even though you can eat when you’re not hungry, it’s not as satisfying, whether you like the food or not!”

“Oh, yeah,” Braelin nodded, “That makes sense. Where did you come up with that?”

“I didn’t!” Malson replied, “Jaevve isn’t usually inclined either; it’s how she explained it!”

“Is your wife a romance reader?” Exkelm asked.

“She prefers plays to books in general!” Malson said, “Said the letters tend to dance around the page too much!”

“Then we’ll just get Gaele in here to perform the book,” Ierge snorted, kicking at Halvern good-naturedly with his full-sized leg. His other leg was much smaller, and, Jurao knew, had been since he was born - often seen as a sign that a child was destined to be a smith, as Soken shared the same shortened limb.

Halvern rolled his eyes, “Fos isn’t much for having an actual audience.”

“The plants like fos performances,” Braelin said.

“So I heard,” Halvern sighed, “I’ve never been against fos being an actor, for the record - Gaele just didn’t tell me fos wanted to be one.”

“Fos had to tell you?” Ierge snorted, “It’s kind of obvious, Vern.”

“Hindsight can make fools of us all,” Halvern replied dryly.

“Only those of us who…” Ierge paused, then held up a hand, “No, that’s going to come back to bite me someday if I say it.”

Halvern raised his brows pointedly in agreement.

The conversation returned to books, and Jurao thought it was quite comfortable for such a guarded group – though perhaps that was what allowed the members to be comfortable. Meyn’s fellow conservatives would undoubtedly frown on her interest in human romances, and the at times passionate debate of the subject from Halvern and Goyl clashed with their usual public images. Blacksmiths had long been seen as romantics, but Jurao imagined Ierge preferred an older group not looking to him for advice. Jurao was actually a bit startled when he realized he and Braelin were the youngest attendees – in relative ages – compared to the other demons.

It prompted him to ask during a lull, “Malson, how old are you.”

“Fifty!” Malson replied, then shortly added, “Which is the demon equivalent of two thousand or so!”

“My word, I was about to say something quite untoward,” Meyn sighed, “But I suppose that makes Goyl not much older than you are – relatively speaking.”

“Not like us elders, eh,” Carmes snorted, elbowing the other woman.

“Elders?” Meyn scoffed in indignation.

“Meyn, you’re nearly three thousand years old,” Ierge rolled his eyes, “That makes you a fucking elder.”

“Even by the strictest of definitions,” Halvern agreed dryly.

Meyn scoffed again, turning her face away from the group.

“Well,” Exkelm said, raising with a yawn, “I think that should bring tonight’s meeting to a close.”

“Need to get home to your spouses?” Ierge snorted, “Well, it is getting late, so yeah, meeting adjourned. We’ll discuss more Althur next week, and bring your recommendations for next month’s read.”

“Thank you for having us,” Jurao said, getting to his feet.

Ierge waved it off – apparently the leader of the club, “Malson had a point – and a lot of shit makes more sense with actual human context.”

“Obviously!” Malson snorted.

Once they’d made their farewells and stood in the hallway outside, Jurao asked, “Did you enjoy yourself.”

Braelin chuckled, “I missed hearing Malson talk about his latest read – but romance novels are not an interest of mine. Still, it was fun.”

Jurao smiled, “I feel the same,” then he paused, hearing the distinct sound of hammer falls on metal, “Hm.”

“Hm?” Braelin asked.

“It seems the smithing spirit is at the forge,” the King said, then asked, “Would you like to see.”

“Yes,” Braelin replied, brows rising, “If you don’t think… they’d mind.”

Jurao shook his head, and started leading the way to the civil smithy, “Not when someone already knows.”