It was hard to decide which was more gratifying—Lady Jaise marching into Tyriel's cave gallery to demand him hand over his hidden accounts and ill-gotten relics (which included Meya's eye), or her declaring to Elmund Herzin that Atmund would be placed under her wardship.

What was more, as they rode Winterwen's carriage back to the castle, Lady Jaise proposed they postpone their departure, so Meya could visit the Library of Eyes and learn more about dragons.

To Meya's delight, Coris agreed, but even first light tomorrow couldn't have come quickly enough. The euphoria of triumph, the prospect of unraveling the mystery of her kind, had purged tire from her limbs and drowsiness from her head.

"Could've taken us there straightaway. The night's still young."

Grumbled Meya, arms folded over her ample bosom. She lounged against the stone wall of the small bathing pool filled with steaming spring water by masked chambermaids.

Coris shed his silken bathrobe then sat down on the edge, his feet cleaving through the water like butter knives through molass.

"Patience, my dragon lady. She must investigate Wert's finances and help Atmund settle in first."

Meya glowered at him, to which Coris smiled in satisfaction. When his eyes fell upon her restored eye, his grin sagged. He lifted a hesitant hand, then caressed it with the barest tip of his fingers.

"Does it still hurt?" He whispered. Even as her heart shuddered at the memory of Tyriel's Lattis cloak and the blood market, Meya hitched up a brazen grin,

"Peace, me human lord. I'm fine."

Coris narrowed his eyes. Meya heaved a weary sigh of surrender.

"Very well, I'm not." She mumbled. Coris slid down beside her. She leaned her head against his bony shoulder as he looped his arm around her back,

"'Tis a good start, but now the road seems much longer than I thought."

"You also gained allies. They'd make your journey speedier and smoother." Coris gave her arm a little squeeze. Meya didn't hold back the smile that had crept up on her lips. She tried in vain to snuggle up against his flank. If only he'd had more flesh over his ribcage.

"Sorry. For not telling you first." She murmured. Coris' sigh caressed the top of her head. Or that could've been the draft from the gap in the drapes. One couldn't tell from the similar lack of heat.

"It's all very well. I understand." So he said, but he gathered her close. Meya's heart writhed with guilt. "You needed my genuine reaction to convince Winterwen you're Lady Hadrian."

"And you delivered flawlessly." Meya hid her blushing cheeks behind her hair. Coris shrugged.

"I was scared out of my wits. I truly am." He laughed, as if he hoped it would distract from his trembling hand, "I was furious with myself. I've failed to protect my own."

"I'm sorry." Meya coiled her arm around his waist, steering the topic away to lighten the mood,

"Things turned out much different from what I'd expected, though. Better, even. Who would've thought Winterwen's a secret champion of Greeneyes? I was thinking I'd threaten that bastard with a usury charge or summat, if I couldn't get Winterwen to budge."

Coris nodded deeply.

"Now you've learned your lesson. Gather as much information as possible before making a decision. So you wouldn't have to improvise."

Meya rolled her eyes in equal parts annoyance, affection and amusement. Coris pulled away and turned to face her full. His gray eyes beaming, his cheeks rosy from the water's heat, he looked awash with happiness. For the first time since she'd known him, the lingering air of decay and melancholy around him seemed to have thinned.

Meya stared, mesmerized by the semblance of vigor and life. Coris tucked away a lock of wet hair dangling before her eyes.

"Anyway, you were marvelous." He breathed, shaking his head in awe. His fingers trailed down to caress her jawline, yet his eyes never left hers, "I've seen how remarkable you could be, but you keep overwhelming me. I—I—"

His voice died in his throat. His lips went on mouthing words he just as soon decided not to utter. In his excitement, he was on the verge of letting it out, but his good sense overrode him, held him back.

Meya knew she shouldn't hope for the impossible, but she had a vague idea what that slip could have been, could as well become. It was impossible not to wait with bated breath.

So she stared, and waited, and searched his wavering eyes, his blanching face, as he continued to falter and fluster. She must have looked to all the world patient, unassuming. Yet, inside her, the cynic and the daydreamer battled for dominance. Her heart hammered like raindrops in a storm.

Coris's trembling lips settled on his empty smile, the vulnerable depths of his eyes shielded by a devious glint. He leaned in with a whisper,

"I have a gift for you."

"A gift?" Meya blurted out, her voice strangled through the bitter lump of disappointment she must swallow as the price for daring to hope. Coris rose from the pool and strode towards their bed, toweling himself dry. Blinking back rebellious tears, Meya hollered after him,

"Why? What for?"

"Nothing. Could be to commemorate your victory, if you'd like."

Coris called over his shoulder. Meya frowned in bewilderment, watching as he knelt before the heavy wooden chest at the foot of their bed. He propped up its lid, tossing around its content with much thudding and rifling of leather and paper—heavy books. Meya threw back her head with a cry of terror,

"Oh, Fyr. Dun tell me..."

"I have no choice but to." Coris straightened, a brick-thick leather-bound grimoire in his hand, along with some blank papers. Meya moaned and clawed at her face, her worst fears confirmed.

Every night before tucking in, Coris would hone Meya's vocabulary and spelling, using a list of words he curated from multitude of books. Afterward, they'd discuss the meaning and background of each word, during which Meya would glean valuable knowledge and understanding about Latakia's inner workings.

Meya greatly enjoyed the latter half—and what usually came after that, of course, but that was only if she survived the endless lines Coris would punish her with for every misspelling.

"Coris, 'tis already late!"

Meya slid like dead weight down the wall of the pool. Coris spun around to find what resembled a submerged crocodile with glowing green eyes flaring from behind a curtain of yellow vines. His grin widened, undaunted even as he stood naked but for a towel around his waist against the chance of dragon fireballs.

"Haven't you just said the night is still young?"

Bubbles frothed at Meya's nose as she cursed underwater.

"But I dun wanna study now!" Meya flipped onto her back, beating her limbs to stir up a water tantrum, "I'm lounging naked in a hot tub, for Freda's sake! And you're doing runes instead of me?"

Coris was crouched beside the pool, arranging the book and stationery. He looked up, transfixed by the sight of his fair maiden lying splayed beneath the surface. The rippling, ice-clear water distorted her naked body as if to seduce. He grinned even as the beast within him rattled its cage, raring to feast.

"Fear not, my lady. We'll get around to that later." He reassured her with a smirk and a wink, slipping on his bathrobe as he settled cross-legged on the damp flagstones.

"Education comes first. It's in the royal decree. You won't get to see your gift until you have completed your daily required study, as assigned by yours truly—"

"—Coris Hadrian, the Pompous Donghead." Meya drawled. Coris chuckled as he tied the sash at his waist. The length of the remaining rope was chilling.

Meya gritted her teeth against grief. He was doing this solely for her—her and her future. As far as her little Lord Hadrian was concerned, he himself no longer had one.

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And so Meya obligingly left the water, toweled and robed. She planted herself opposite Coris, before the pile of linen paper and charcoal pencils he'd laid out. Coris couldn't resist reaching over to muss up her hair at the adorable sight.

Meya snatched his invading arm and held it hostage. Childish squabbling ensued between human and dragon. It was a while before study finally commenced.

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Two notches of the candle clock, countless lines, a pile of linen paper and one aching wrist later, Coris was finally satisfied with the amount of knowledge he had imparted to Meya, and she was freed from study.

Meya had forgotten about the promised reward. She knelt before the mantelpiece, absentmindedly feeding spent papers to the ravenous fire, listening to its happy burps and cackling, when Coris's pale hand slipped into her field of vision. He held a thin, rectangular box of reddish-brown wood.

"What? Ah..."

Her lips burst into a smile of delight. Coris chuckled as he settled beside her. His eyes twinkled in the firelight as he watched Meya undid the crimson satin cord,

"It's a famous Jaise export. And I know you have a liking for rose crystal."

The lid fell away to reveal the gleam of smooth, clear pink peeking out through gaps in the lace of the drawstring bag. Meya scooped the trinket from its stuffed velvet bed and undressed it, rolling the rod of gum on her palm. She ran her finger over the indent sculpted around the tip, her concentration so intense she didn't notice Coris trying not to bust his gut laughing.

"Oh, Freda." She gasped with pure joy, even as she had yet to know what the thing was, still turning it lovingly between her fingers, "'Tis too pretty to eat."

"Understandable. You're not supposed to ingest it. Least not in the literal sense."

Coris's voice trembled with stifled laughter. Meya raised her eyebrows, then turned back to the candylike wand. She stripped away the lace bag. Its entirely didn't look as savory as she'd assumed.

"Eeeeeeeeeeek!"

Coris roared with laughter as Meya shrieked her lungs out. The hideous creation pirouetted through the air and landed with a bounce on the bed, rearing its unholy head as if to smile for its new mistress. Meya gawked at it, panting, sputtering,

"What the—What in the three lands—"

"They call it The Substitute." Coris explained, his voice hoarse from all the laughing. His grin widened at Meya's tomato-red face, "As in, whenever the lord is away, the lady could pleasure herself and remember him by—Ow!"

Meya wielded the object of pleasure to inflict pain on her cheeky husband instead. Brandishing the gum-dong like a whip, she whacked at every inch of Coris she could reach as he cowered, strafed and ducked.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Meya! Please! Mercy! Ow!"

The flurry of blows ended after one last resounding thwack smack on Coris's crown. Coris lifted his head from under his arms and chanced a peek,

"Meya?"

Meya sat panting. The dark circles in her eyes grew to swallow her glowing irises. The Substitute rested its bulbous head on the floor before her knees, its shaft clutched in her trembling fingers. The absurd sight sent a church's worth of bells clanging in his head.

"Goodly Freda, it's working." Coris breathed. Meya glowered.

"Dun give me that. You know 'tis gunna work." She hissed through grinding teeth, struggling in vain to calm her ragged breathing. Coris shook his head, eyes bulging and jaw slack,

"I didn't know you can absorb it even when it's powdered and mixed in gum—"

Meya launched herself at him. In a blink, his back was chafing against the warm, rough face of the woolen carpet. The cool silk of his bathrobe pressed on his torso as she moved above him. Then, it was her bare skin on his, hot metal on cold stone. Their hearts drummed in tandem, forceful as a blacksmith's hammer, rapid as an army of galloping hooves.

Her nails dug into the hollows of his cheeks as she held his face firm, strands of her damp hair trapped between their lips like bars of a cage, then her tongue rammed through to twist in his. She was waiting for him, but he wasn't ready. Judging from long experience, he likely wouldn't be for tonight.

To Coris's horror, Meya tore away his towel. Coris gritted his teeth as she caressed him with her lustful eyes, her burning hands, her hungry lips. He closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to witness her disappointment. As he lay panting, his cheeks burned in humiliation instead of desire. At last, she surrendered and retreated. He opened his eyes to find Meya kneeling down by his side, her glowing eyes flicking between his stricken face and his shame.

"You're not...up." She muttered, her voice wooden. She turned pointedly away from the abomination, her eyes blazing holes in the carpet, "Am I doing something wrong?"

Coris's heart gave a painful lurch. He shook his head, mustering his courage, his voice,

"No. It happens." Meya whipped around, wide-eyed. He covered her hand in his,

"Sorry. I'm sorry. So sorry. So sorry. Sorry—" He rambled, his cracking voice choked with sobs.

"—Stop sorrying, will you!" Meya snapped. She cradled his hand between her rough palms,

"You're prolly tired. 'Tis been a long day, on and off the road. Looks like a quiet night for us, then."

There was steel in her voice, in her arms as she propped him up, figuratively and literally. She was the strong one, his protector and savior, time and again. He was the weak one. Impotent. Lacking. When he should be the man. Although Meya had never minded, he couldn't shake this aching desire to be the one to shield and provide, just for once.

As he sat up, Coris noticed the pink gum wand rolling unattended nearby.

"Perhaps we could make use of The Substitute?"

Their eyes met. Coris cocked his head at the plaything. Meya didn't spare it a glance. Her blazing eyes were steady, contemplating. Then, she stood up and walked off.

"Meya?"

Meya retrieved her bathrobe and slipped it on, cinching the sash at her waist as she crouched back down. She slid her arms under his, urging the nonplussed Coris to his feet.

"I'll sing you to sleep." She offered in her lovely birdsong voice, "What song d'you want?"

Coris sighed and shook his head moodily. He staggered towards their bed, slipping on his bathrobe. When his big toe touched the bedframe, he keeled face first onto the black satin, limbs akimbo.

"It's fine, May Queen. A wee nightcap and I'll be out cold in a blink."

Coris pointed at the bedside cabinet, upon which sat a pot of valerian tea, two teacups and, to Meya's dismay—a cork-stoppered vial of clear, dark brown liquid. He pushed himself up and clawed towards it.

What little remained of Meya's good cheer from the day's triumphs vaporized. She clenched her trembling hands, recalling her reluctant promise to the Lady.

"About that, Coris—" Meya began hesitantly over the clink of crockery. Coris was stirring honey into his good-night's-sleep tea. He paused and turned to her, silver spoon aloft and eyebrows raised. Meya drew in a deep breath,

"Could you leave out the laudanum? Arinel said it could be dangerous if you got addicted to it."

Meya held her breath as she held his gaze. A blink of surprise crossed his moonbeam gray, followed by a flash of annoyance which dimmed into weariness.

"It's a cure, Meya. It would be dangerous if I don't take it regularly." He sighed as he resumed stirring, "Trust me, I've tried. My stomach would act up and I'd have a burning fever among other things."

"Maybe your body just needs time to get used to not having it." Meya persisted. This time, Coris didn't bother turning around. Desperate, she bounded onto the bed and crawled to his side, tugging at his arm, "Try taking a few drops less tonight and see what happens. I'm right beside you. Just wake me if there's anything."

Coris heaved another sigh, impatient now, "Meya—"

"Agnes was taking it for her burns, and for years she couldn't live without it." Meya leaned close, hissing in frustration, "She nearly sold herself off at the brothel, Coris! You try going on a few drops less for one night. See if you can make it. Then we'll know if you're addicted. Please!"

She rattled his arm. Coris made up for his lack of concern with much defiance. He rolled his eyes, huffing irritably,

"I'm taking a tiny dose, Meya. Just to soothe my stomach. Trust me, I know what I'm doing." He shrugged his arm out of her grasp, "If you suspect my performance is suffering because of laudanum, I assure you it isn't. I've always been like this."

Coris reached for the laudanum. Meya's temper reached bursting point. She swiped the vial out of Coris' hand. It fell onto the carpet with a plop, rolling back and forth. The lovers glared daggers at each other, but Coris's fury melted away when he saw the glistening tears burnishing the glow of Meya's eyes.

"For Freda's sake! You think that's all I'm worried about, you donghead?" She snapped, jabbing her finger into Coris' meatless arm,

"You're skin and bones! You're pale as a corpse! And clammy as one! You can barely scale the stairs back in Hadrian Castle!"

Meya flung Coris against the pillows, her shrill cry choked with boiling tears. As Coris gaped, speechless, she wiped them carelessly away with the back of her hand. Her jittering legs collapsed under her.

Meya reached for the cabinet, fumbling past the ruby brooch to the raw emerald stone—the symbol of hopeless waiting, tinged with fear of his impending death. She pressed it against her heart. Coris held his comforting hand just beyond her sightline, unsure, as she sat hunched and listless, rocking from the force of her stifled sobs.

"You have—no idea—how harrowing it is to share your bed, Coris."

She whispered. She glowered at him, her red-rimmed eyes gleaming with half-dried tears,

"Every morning when I rise, I pray to Freda and steel myself before I turn to your side of the bed. And I hold my breath until I'm sure you're breathing."

Coris shook his head, biting his lips against guilt. He rested his hand over hers and held tight.

"I swear by Freda, if I ever woke up to you stiff and cold, so help me Fyr I will climb up that caldera and kill you again."

"Meya—"

A scalding teardrop splashed onto his wrist. Meya fell limply into his embrace, shuddering with renewed sobs as he smoothed her hair down her back. Coris dug his chin into her shoulder, whispering into her ear,

"I'm sorry. Very well, I'll give it a try."

Meya froze. Coris bent down and reached for the phial, rolling just beyond the tip of his middle finger. He strained his back an inch further and coaxed the troublesome thing into his palm. He handed it to Meya. She gawked at him, puzzled. He pushed the bottle into her slack fingers with a sigh then fetched his teacup.

"You know how much I normally take. From now, you decide my dose for our experiment."

Meya blinked, then her lips unraveled into a thankful smile. She planted her lips salty with tears upon his, held on for a breath, then withdrew and fumbled with the cork of the vial.

Coris obligingly held out his cup. Meya tipped the bottle then tapped it five times. Five drops of opium tincture dissipated one after another into the glassy surface of the lukewarm tea, half the amount Coris usually took every night.

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The crescent moon floated on its back, perched on an invisible plinth. The cloudless sky was solid perse, littered with glittering constellations.

Meya slept soundly, her deep slumber hastened by relief and the headache that accompanied excessive crying. Her dragging, snorting breathing mellowed as the gunk clogging her nose dried, and the sound of Coris's shallow, rapid breathing swelled to take its place.

Droplets of sweat peppered his pale forehead where locks of damp hair had left bare. His eyes squeezed shut, his brows furrowed, Coris rubbed the back of his head against his pillow, searching anxiously for his sweet spot.

Alas, resolve succumbed to fear. Coris reached for the vial Meya had left unguarded on his cabinet, a glaring testament to her overly trusting nature and unwavering faith, despite his repeated betrayals and mountain of secrets.

Coris's hand trembled, spilling the bitter liquid on his lips and chin. Once he'd filled up on his missing dose, he returned the bottle soundlessly to its place.

Guilt weighed on him like a cloak of chains. He couldn't summon the strength to lug himself back to his pillows. He lowered his head onto his outstretched arm clinging to the cabinet.

"I'm sorry, Meya." He whispered through gritted teeth as he cooled his feverish forehead on the icy wood, "It seems I really am compromised."