I am going to give you a choice.

Words that compelled her to become his that night, led her to risk her life betraying Gillian. Meya clenched her trembling hands into fists. His pale lips moved,

"First: You remain Lady Arinel, and help me solve the mystery of those dragon riders. I will safeguard you with Hadrian's full might. You will not be punished. You will be rewarded for your service. You can even stay on and serve Lady Arinel if you like."

"Second: You go free. I will reward you enough for you to start a new life elsewhere. I will not persecute you."

Silence fell as they locked eyes. Coris clasped his hands at his back,

"Think carefully. Once you've decided, there's no going back."

Meya stared. He offered her the chance to stay, not as the scullery maid she should be, but as Lady Arinel—to help him? She? A peasant? How in the three lands could she be any help to him? What joke was he pulling?

Meya peered into his eyes. They betrayed no glimpse of mockery or deception. His lips were pursed to a line, his expression set in stone.

Meya reined in shivers as she backed away, eyes wide and fearful.

"Why are you offering me this? Why d'you want me here? What d'you see in me?" She rambled shrilly, "I'm just a stupid, useless peasant girl. I can't even read or write. I can't help you with nothing. Why in the three lands would you need me?"

He gained ground with every step she lost. Her foot bumped the leg of his wardrobe and she stumbled. She flung out her arms for balance. Coris stopped, but his serene presence still overwhelmed her. She felt small and cornered.

"Don't you want to know more about dragons, Lattis, The Axel? Don't you want to know why you were born a Greeneye? Don't you want to experience being a noblewoman, see if you have what it takes?"

"I'm just a peasant girl. I tried being Lady Crosset and it didnae work. You foiled me from the start!"

"I'm giving you the chance to try again, aren't I? You scolded me for letting my death decide my life. Now you're letting your birth decide yours."

His words knocked the breath out of her. Coris was right. She'd failed countless times in her life. Yet, she hadn't let any beating-up stop her from trying. Years she practiced in secret in the woods as the rain pummeled her and the winds batted her to perfect her mother's Song.

Still, the townspeople never allowed her to replace Mum as the Song of May Day. Her whole life, she struggled to win Dad's approval. She toiled in the fields, gambled, foraged—anything to be useful, but she could never become the daughter he wanted. Nobody had given her a chance.

Coris was willing to. And she must admit, she wasn't ready to let it all go so soon.

Not like this. Not just yet.

But could she really do it? Lattis. The Axel. Dragons. Riders. Hadrians. Latakia. Nostra. Everglen. They were all too grand for her.

Was she being too confident, too greedy, too reckless? Was she being a coward? A weak, indecisive peasant girl?

If she let this go, what else? If not now, when? Ready or not, she must give her all and succeed or die trying. There was no someday, nothing else to lose. Hadn't she decided?

"I want you for your loyalty, your bravery, your ambition, and your wit. You can be more than a servant, given the chance." Coris closed in, his eyes gleaming silver in the firelight,

"I'm giving you that chance. And I daresay you'll be hard-pressed to find a better opportunity elsewhere."

Meya scoured his eyes for a flicker of deceit. Coris tilted his head, his voice softer,

"You already know how dangerous this could be. I understand if you're reluctant to wager your life. Think carefully. A good strategist does not let insecurity nor pride cloud his judgment."

Silence fell as silver and emerald clashed, the scene set by the uneasy mixture of firelight and moonbeam. Meya pursed her lips, a grim line of determination, her quiet voice echoing in the gloom,

"I'm in, milord."

⏳

"So, what do I have to do?"

Meya broke the silence—Coris had simply nodded. Coris smiled, but there was no joy in his ever-calculating eyes.

"Learn. And fast." Meya blinked, puzzled. "You've just made your first fatal mistake, Meya."

Meya frowned. Coris sighed, his expression softening to a mix of worry and guilt.

"You're too trusting." He muttered, shaking his head, "I haven't offered anything as proof of our deal. And you haven't come up with any threats for me should I betray you. You have nothing but my word, and it's not enough. Always ask for something binding when you strike a deal, and make sure to learn as much as possible about the other party."

Meya struggled to comprehend. She? Too trusting? Of Coris? Why should she distrust him? Yes, he did lie to her before, but he hadn't meant her harm. And they were on the same side!

"You almost led twenty people to their deaths when your deal with Gillian fell through. You must be more careful."

" 'Twas different! I know you're a good man. You've been gracious and fair, and I trust you. I dun want to threaten you." Meya argued.

"But you should." Coris frowned in frustration, "Meya, you can't trust anyone just because they're nice to you. Or because they're a Greeneye like you."

Meya bit her lips, painfully reminded of her camaraderie with Gillian.

"You're Lady Hadrian now. You're responsible for the safety of The Axel, which means the safety of Hadrian, and perhaps the whole of Latakia. Your enemies are no longer locusts, floods or droughts. They're people. I appreciate your loyalty, but you need to think differently from how you're used to."

Meya breathed deeply, then sighed. There went that scary, alone feeling again. True, she lied to her family and broke the law daily, but playing mind games? That was out of her depth.

Meya nodded in surrender.

"Fine. If you betray me..." She paused, wracking her brain, "...I'll tell everyone where The Axel is, putting Lord Zier in grave danger?"

Coris smiled, satisfied, which was disconcerting, considering he'd just egged her to blackmail him, and she suggested using his brother's life.

"That's more like it, but I'd suggest you include Hadrian and Latakia for good measure. It's common knowledge I'm not exactly a loving brother."

With that pithy remark, Coris spun around and beckoned to her with a flick of his hand as he strode to his desk,

"I'll write down two copies of everything I said, and we each keep one. This should prevent both of us from reneging on our deal."

Having settled Meya on the chair facing the wall, he circled the desk and opened a drawer, from which he took parchment, a quill and an inkwell.

Meya propped her chin on her hand, watching Coris flourish lines of words onto the brownish parchment. The tip of his hawk-feather quill quivered and swung as he wrote loopy letters.

"Once we sign our names, the contract will become official." He surfaced, "Anything you'd like to add or set straight?"

Meya jolted, carried away following Coris's quill. She considered it, then blushed. Her eyes slid toward the four-poster bed,

"When...when you said I'll still be Lady Arinel, does that mean we're still going to, er...?"

Meya trailed off, simpering apologetically. Coris blinked, then he, too, colored.

"No." He declared firmly, then his voice softened, "Once all this is over, Arinel will be reinstated as my wife. I must start getting to know her, which means no sleeping with you."

Meya bit her lips, then hung her head. Though she had expected it, it pained her nonetheless. She impulsively gave him her virginity, but he was bound to marry another woman while she'd be doomed to spinsterhood for the rest of her life.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Coris rested his cold hand on her shoulder, his tender, sad voice consoling her,

"I promise. You won't need a husband to provide for you once you're done working for me. And why would you trade your name for a man who decides your worth by your purity, anyway?"

Meya raised her eyes to answer his beautiful gray, poring deep into hers in the calm silence. She forced out what she hoped was a brave smile,

"Thank you, milord."

Coris cocked his head, grinning.

"Least I could do for the fair maiden who saved my life, and shared her first night with me." He bowed, "I apologize for my lies, but I truly did enjoy our nights together. Thank you."

Meya twisted her dress, snickering to mask her shyness.

"I enjoyed them, too. So, thank you, too, milord." She mumbled coyly, then muttered to herself, "Though I reckon now the whole of Hadrian knows how unexpectedly big your ding-dong is."

"Excuse me?" Coris frowned.

"I was saying," Meya chirped, "The other thing is, I can't read or write. Not even me name."

Coris froze, then swore under his breath,

"Fyr! How could I have forgotten?"

" 'Tis all mighty fine, milord. You just sign it for me." Meya threw up her hands. Her smile sagged as Coris's sharp, scolding eyes drilled into hers,

"Has anyone ever told you that you're lazy, Meya?"

Meya blinked, miffed but too confused to blow her top.

"You're brighter than most people I've met. Yet, when I asked what you planned to do for a living, your first thought was of gambling and swindling. Because they're easy gold, aren't they?"

Meya slumped against her chair's backrest, pouting,

"When you're a Greeneye and a peasant and a woman, 'tisn't much you can do to earn bread and bed if you're not good at housework."

"Housework doesn't take born genius to be good at. It takes patience and diligence. Both of which you don't have a single ounce of," said Coris drily. Meya was thoroughly pissed,

"You're one to talk, milord! Why, you've never even emptied your own chamberpot!"

Coris blinked. Meya froze. She might have been a little too brazen.

" 'Twas very rude of me, milord. Please don't kill me." She squeaked. Her apology amused Coris. He chuckled and cocked his head.

"Fair argument. I cannot in good conscience reprimand you for refusing housework."

Meya slumped to a pathetic heap on her chair.

"While you're here, you'll earn bread and bed by doing lawful work for me. And, your first task..." Coris opened his drawer, pulled out a sheaf of linen paper, then set it down before Meya, "...is to learn how to write your name."

"Would be much faster if you'd just sign it for me." Meya frowned at the pile of rag paper. Coris's eyes narrowed.

"If you want to work for me, you must be literate." He said, sharp and curt, "If you want to go far in life, you must be literate. You just got caught because you can't read, and you still have the galls to be lazy?"

Coris tapped her head with a scroll. Shaking the blow off her head, Meya opened her mouth to retort, then closed it with a sigh. Ain't no coming back from that. Sure of victory, Coris dipped his quill in his inkwell and drew up a piece of paper.

"Tell me your true name."

Meya sighed.

"May-lah Awn-ya Hild." She recited dully, then heaved another sigh, " 'Tis in Glennian. You can't spell it anyway."

Coris smiled in good fun, having reverted to his good mood.

"Fortunately, I happen to be a Runes enthusiast, with an enormous..."

Coris twisted around to the bookshelf, running his fingers over leather-bound, gold-gilded spines. He hooked out a thick book, spun back and displayed it with pride,

"Rune Glossary."

Meya turned pointedly away, hoping her curtain of fake golden locks would hide her burning cheeks. Coris blinked, then hitched up a sly grin,

"You are one randy lass, Meya Hild."

Meya glared as the well-endowed lad snickered in triumph. Coris fell against his chair's backrest, selected another book, then straightened and laid them on the desk.

"Do you know the meaning of your name?" He lifted the thick cover of the glossary, trawling his forefinger down the index, his tongue sticking out between his yellowed, chipped teeth. It must have something to do with his damaged innards.

"Queen of May, and heavenly glow," grumbled Meya grudgingly. She puffed a moody breath, "Go with Meya, milord. 'Tis a lot easier."

"Since you're going to be learning all the letters, wouldn't it make more sense to go with the one with more letters?"

Meya couldn't argue with that. Sulking, she watched Coris rifle through the glossary, pausing now and then to scribble runes on the linen. He shunted aside the heavy glossary and pulled the second book to him, probably a Latakian-Glennian lexicon—now, he was writing Latakian letters underneath the row of runes.

Once the last rune had been transliterated, Coris spun the parchment to face Meya,

"There you go. Your name."

Meya peered at the trail of shining, dark magenta ink, joining and looping and rising and falling to form words she didn't recognize.

Maelaith Aine Hild

She touched her calloused finger to the damp ink, tracing the intertwined letters. She'd never seen her full name in writing before. It might just be Coris's penmanship, but it was beautiful.

"Perhaps you shouldn't be so harsh on it." Coris whispered, smiling as she met his eyes, "It's a beautiful name. With a beautiful meaning. Lovingly crafted."

Meya smiled back as warmth enveloped her heart. She'd always wished for a simple Latakian name anyone could say and spell, that castle clerks wouldn't complain loudly about, that didn't brand her as a Greeneye. But perhaps, having a unique, exotic name wasn't that bad.

Glennian must be a beautiful language with beautiful letters full of mystique. Meya wanted to learn more.

"Have you met any other Greeneyes, Lord Coris? D'you know their true names?"

Meya asked, absently caressing her name. Coris shook his head, downcast,

"Noble families aren't so noble in how they treat Greeneye children." He said gravely, "My friend Agnesia Graye has—had—a little sister—Persephia. She's a Greeneye. It's supposed to be a secret, so she's never given a Glennian name."

"A Greeneye Lady? What's she like?" Meya leaned in, eyes sparkling with interest.

"I don't think I could describe her properly." Coris frowned as he fidgeted with his quill, "We've never met at her nor my best."

Meya frowned as she deciphered his cryptic explanation,

"You mean to say she was bullied by her family, and you bullied her like you bullied Zier?" She guessed, smirking as Coris nodded in defeat, "What did Lady Agnes say?"

Even after all that had transpired, it was nigh impossible to be polite to Coris when they'd lain together numerous times. Luckily, Coris was sport—he shot her a wry smirk and a side-eye,

"You think I'd bully my beloved's little sister when she was around to see?"

"Good to know milord is definitely not a lying, cowardly bully." Meya stifled a laugh.

"Hence the need for a contract." Coris cocked his head with a grin. Meya reciprocated.

Their eyes met and did not part. She saw in his eyes their shared moments she was remembering, mourning they could not have been more. But if only he would allow it, perhaps there was hope. Was it shameful of this lowly peasant girl to dream? Why was she even dreaming? Did she imagine it?

For a breath, it seemed as if he would answer her call, but then he broke away. Meya toyed with a stray lock of hair, her heart writhing even as she chided it. Coris spun his quill between his fingers, distracted.

"Tell me about your siblings," He said.

"So you could use them as hostages?" Meya shot back, laughing as Coris shook his head, "I've got me two big sisters I'd trade for a hug-sized piglet any day, so good luck with that."

"And I thought I'd hit rock bottom when Zier said he'd trade me for a busty wet nurse," Coris joked.

"I can handle Morel," Meya shook her head, "She's got a rotten mouth, but pretty much everyone in Crosset fancy themselves some gum rot when they talk to me. But Marin..." Meya sighed, drained all of a sudden,

"I'd give anything to be as pretty as Marin."

"Anything?" challenged Coris. Meya surfaced to find his keen, mysterious eyes, "Would it actually make things better if you were prettier?"

Meya pondered it, then shook her head. She might have one thing less to complain about herself, but there was no telling if it would make any difference to Mum and Dad. Let alone the people of Crosset. What with her Song and her monstrous eyes.

"Well, if I were to choose, I'd rather not be born with glowing eyes, I guess." She sighed gloomily, then her eyes widened as she recalled her disrupted talk with Coris,

"You said King Edward and Maxus Hadrian wanted to protect Greeneyes from Lattis, so they announced the Mining Ban. And you think Greeneyes are dragon riders?"

Coris nodded. Meya shook her head,

"It dun't make sense, milord. Why would they want to protect people like me? We're nobody. And there are so few of us. Say, how does one even become a dragon rider? Is it inherited? Why am I the only Greeneye in me whole family, in me whole town? And Lady Persephia, too."

Coris twiddled his quill, deep in thought.

"Are there Greeneyes in your branch family? Cousins? Ancestors? Do you keep a family tree?"

"Dad did say there are Greeneye Hilds and Claridens in other towns..."

Meya trailed away, distracted by the chime of bells in her head. She snatched the paper with her name on it,

"Can I draw on this?"

Coris blinked, then nodded. He handed her the quill, but Meya had dipped her fingertip into his inkwell, painting on the margins.

"I found this seal on me Dad's old belt." She slid the paper to Coris, jabbing her maroon finger at the blotchy doodle, "A dragon. The sea. Our family motto. We Shall Return."

"Duty and Atonement." Coris murmured. He surfaced and met Meya's eyes, "You mean to say the Hilds came from Everglen, like the Hadrians?"

"Yeah, but it still dun't make sense." Meya mussed her hair, "If your ancestor Drinian hitched a ride on a dragon from Everglen, you should have Greeneye cousins somewhere, too. But you dun, do you?"

Coris chewed his lips, then shook his head,

"None that we know of, but they might have just been kept secret like Persephia."

"Besides, Greeneyes are more common in Easthaven and Damerel. Stands to reason most Glennians would've settled down near the eastern coast, and those in the far west are their descendants or stragglers."

"So all the dragons flew on to Nostra, while the Greeneye-Glennian-dragon-riders settled down in eastern Latakia?" Meya attempted to summarize,

"Why dun they all go to Nostra on their dragons? Or stay together in Latakia?"

Fed up with his quill, Coris had picked up Meya's Lattis coin to fidget with. Meya frowned,

"Say...Lady Persephia. How does she hide her eyes?"

Coris stared at the ceiling, wracking his brain. He gestured at his wrist,

"She's got this..." He trailed away, then his eyes widened in shock, "...bracelet."

Meya raised her eyebrows. Coris looked as if he was cursed to marble. She reached out hesitantly, then prodded his arm,

"Lord Coris?"

Coris snapped out of his trance. He spun the paper around, picked up his quill and wrote down large, separate letters.

"Here." He slid it back to Meya and handed her the quill, "Trace the letters one at a time. Write as large as you want. You can write smaller once you're better at it."

Meya didn't move, unsettled by the sudden change of subject and annoyed at his none-too-subtle attempt to keep her out of the know.

Coris nudged her arm, his face impassive. Sighing, Meya took the quill and hovered it above the parchment, unsure where to start or if she was holding it correctly. A dollop of ink splashed onto the parchment.

Coris spotted Meya's five-finger choke-hold crushing the feather and realized his mistake. He rummaged in his drawer for an old charcoal pencil, sprang up and circled the desk to her side.

"Start with the charcoal." He replaced the quill with the pencil, adjusting her grip,

"Start here. Drag up, down, up again, down again. Eh, not bad. Let's try again."

They covered paper after paper with large, clumsy letters. The candle burned low. Coris pulled his chair over and sat beside Meya, guiding her hand with his, their voices echoing as Meya recited each letter.

The light of dawn filtered through the curtains. Meya snored, the pencil held loosely in her hand, her head of golden locks resting on Coris's chest.

Coris stifled a yawn as he dropped the lid on the shapeless candle, putting out its dying light. He mustered the strength in his frail limbs but couldn't sweep the fair maiden off the ground and carry her to bed. With a disgruntled sigh, he fetched Meya's pillow from the bed and dragged along the red-and-gold blanket.

"You're not the rider, Meya." He whispered as he draped the thick down-stuffed silk over her shoulders, his furrowed eyebrows laden with the weight of the truth,

"You are the dragon."