“What’s wrong?” Ambervel demanded without even looking up.

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong!” Apple squawked, freezing with teapot in hand. It was Ambervel’s favorite, and he was terrified of dropping the whole thing and spilling it all over the thick, lush carpet.

Ambervel lowered the paper and glared. “You’re walking. You never walk. I wasn’t aware that you knew any mode of movement other than a desperate, skidding lunge. Therefore: what’s wrong?”

I’m hopelessly in love with you, thought Apple automatically, but that wasn’t exactly something he could tell his Overlord of Darkness, so instead he said, “Sheliob’s gone into labor.”

“She has?” asked Ambervel, perking up. “I should go to her. She will likely try to bite my arm off, but she’ll appreciate my being there. Besides, I wish to the first to meet the little dragonette.” He held up a hand, darkness pouring out of his palm to consume his body in a whirlwind of shadows. “Reschedule tomorrow’s meeting with the Imperium, will you?” he called to Apple, before he winked out of existence.

Apple sighed, and turned around to dump the freshly brewed pot of tea down the drain.

~

“Apple!” yelled Ambervel, appearing in Apple’s personal alchemy lab in a swirl of twisting shadows. “Apple, where are you?”

“My Lord,” said Apple, hurrying around the corner with a foul-smelling beaker in hand. He found it ironic that the most potent healing potion he’d managed to concoct smelled of dead fish. “Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not! Come, I want you to meet Sheliob’s spawn.” Ambervel held out a hand, gently removing the beaker from Apple’s grasp and placing it with a slight grimace on the closest table. “I trust your potion can wait?”

Apple nodded and let himself be reeled in to clutch at Ambervel’s shirt, thick and warm against his fingers, and hid his face against Ambervel’s shoulder as they were swallowed by the darkness, cold harsh winds tearing at their hair and clothes. There was a brief moment of vertigo as the shadows faded, but Ambervel was there to steady him before taking a step forward to croon, “There’s a beauty, pretty girl. I’ve brought someone to admire your kit.”

Over ten feet tall, the crimson dragon towering above them lowered her head to nuzzle at Amervel, bumping him gently and snorting smoke.

The Avery was immense, with a vaulted ceiling and solid stone columns, and in one corner, a heaping pile of golden knickknacks, fine weapons, and expensive baubles. Ambervel liked to spoil those in his favor, and Sheliob was no exception. He always brought her back something when he went on trips.

And no, Apple was absolutely not jealous of his Dark Lord’s pet dragon.

Not at all.

“There she is,” announced Ambervel softly, breaking into Apple’s thoughts, laying a solid hand on Apple’s shoulder as Sheliob uncoiled in a snarl of scales to reveal her kit.

“She’s gorgeous,” he breathed without thinking, and felt the vibrations of Ambervel’s silent laughter. Sheliob’s spawn was so tiny - the size of a small, bright red house cat, it was hard to believe that someday she’d grow up to be as big as her mother. Her green eyes were half shuttered as she dozed sleepily at her mother’s side, tiny wings folded up as her claw flexed absently against the stone floor. There were a few scales across the delicate ridges of her face - she’d grow into her harder, darker scales with age, though Apple suspected she’d still be brighter in color than the deep wine-red of her mother.

“See, I told you he’d appreciate her,” Ambervel informed Sheliob proudly. “Apple, why don’t you name her?”

“What?” cried Apple, and would have recoiled if Ambervel hadn’t been grasping his shoulder. “My Lord, I couldn’t!”

“I insist,” said Ambervel, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Dragons have no need for names, so Sheliob doesn’t mind, and you are clearly enamored of her. Besides, we all know I have eyes for only one dragon,” he added, and Sheliob purred a great rumble of smug agreement.

“Must I?” whined Apple, because he had no business naming dragons.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Please,” insisted Ambervel, as if Apple could ever truly refuse a request from him. Apple frowned in concentration, bouncing on his heels and thinking. Names were important.

Finally, he said, “What about Asvarial?”

“Asvarial...” repeated Ambervel, sounding contemplative. “Why is that name so familiar?”

“She was the chemist who first discovered liquid fire, my Lord,”

“And used it to defend her island homeland against invaders,” said Ambervel, nodding in approval. “It is a fitting name for one born with her mother’s strong fighting spirit. Thank you, Apple.”

“My Lord,” demurred Apple, almost dizzy with relief, and spent the rest of the day tripping over boxes in a happy daze.

~

As a general rule, Dark Overlords didn’t do romance. But Ambervel has always been rather forward thinking, so Apple didn’t think it impossible.

Still, Apple couldn’t imagine his Lord falling in love with anyone who wasn’t his equal or better. Lord Ambervel deserved the best, after all - someone who was smart and strong and graceful, armed with witty social banter, a battle axe, and devastating beautiful.

The problem was, Apple desperately wanted to be that person. But his only smarts were related to alchemy and managing scheduling conflicts, he lurched everywhere like an excited puppy, and his social manners involved hiding behind punch bowls. His face wasn’t a disaster, but his mottled complexion and mud brown eyes didn’t exactly make him shine.

It was rather bothersome.

~

The fifth time Apple brought him tea in the same day, Ambervel watched him as he filled the cup with narrowed eyes.

“Are you afraid of losing your job?” he finally demanded.

“W-what?” stammered Apple, sloshing a little tea on the shiny mahogany desk.

“Are you afraid of losing your job,” Ambervel repeated, looking annoyed. “You’ve been acting strangely. You seem distracted, and you’re doing-” he waved a hand at the teacup. “You know this is housework, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” said Apple, worrying the hem of his shirt. “I just... wanted to.”

“You wanted...” Amberbel paused, a strange expression crossing his face. “Apple... you know why you’re here, right?”

“Because I’m your Hand?”

“No, I meant -” Ambervel paused, steepling his fingers and squeezing his eyes shut briefly, before starting over. “Who is allowed to enter this tower?”

“You.”

“And?”

“The... silent servants?”

“And...?”

Apple thought for a moment. “Me?”

“Yes. You. And why is that?”

“Because I’m your secretary? You trust me with your schedule, and managing-”

Ambervel sighed. “Trust, Apple. You have access to my tower because I trust you. It has nothing to do with your job, which you are incidentally quite good at, so much as your loyalty. You are the first Hand I’ve ever allowed to enter when not accompanied by me.”

“Oh,” said Apple.

“And,” continued Ambervel, with an almost embarrassed-sounding cough, “If you were to ever have an interest in a different position, you’d only have to ask.”

“What - but I love my job!” cried Apple. “I don’t want to leave. Besides, I’m not qualified to do anything else, and you don’t have any openings anyways!”

“There is... one,” Ambervel pointed out tentatively.

“I manage your schedule,” countered Apple. “You haven’t scheduled any job interviews for seven months, and there have been no requests -”

“I don’t have a Consort,” broke in Ambervel softly, tracing the rim of the teacup with a long finger.

“Oh,” breathed Apple.

“Quite,” agreed Ambervel, now studiously examining the painting over his mantelpiece. “You are, of course, welcome to keep your current position for as long as you like. You could even hold both positions, if you so wished. I just... wanted to let you know. That that position was open.”

“I am,” began Apple, before clearing his throat. “Very interested, my Lord.”

“You are?” asked Ambervel, sounding hopeful.

“Very,” Apple assured him. “But I’m pretty sure there should be an application process -”

“We like to hire internally,” Ambervel reminded him.

“Well, there should at least be an interview,” insisted Apple stubbornly. “I mean, what if... what if I’m not what you want?” The thought twisted his gut, but it was a very real possibility, one that he had to consider as Ambervel’s trusted Hand.

“I know what I want,” growled Ambervel, leveling a smoldering look at Apple that made his mouth go dry. “The question is what you want, Apple.” He stood in one smooth motion, and all but prowled over to stand before his Hand. “We could have an interview, right here.”

“Right now?”

“Right now,” agreed Ambervel in a low, gravelly voice that suggested all sorts of sin. “If you’re interested.”

Apple, slowly, put his hands on Ambervel’s chest, dragging the pads of his fingers across the weave and marveling at the heat as he met Ambervel’s eyes.. “I’m interested,” Apple promised, and let himself be swept away.