“How do people go through with this?” Ranvir cursed to himself, pacing the length of his room. In the process, he kicked a few shirts, a pair of pants, and a coat out of the way. His wings rustled with agitation, intermittently tapping the wall.

“It’s really not that difficult,” Es said, kicking his feet in the air. He was sprawled on Ranvir’s bed, head resting on cupped palms. “Most people look forward to dates. They find courtship exciting.”

Ranvir gave him a nasty look. “Said the guy in a stable relationship of nearly five years.”

Es grinned at him, rainbow tinted eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “You think I don’t still get a little antsy when Kirs and I are going somewhere? A little nervous?”

Ranvir paused. “You do?”

Es shrugged, or as best he could in his current position.

“Then why are you still doing it? Purposeful torture. Mad man.”

“Emotional ass-wipe.”

Ranvir chuckled, then paused to reassess himself in the mirror. After a dozen outfit adjustments and changes, he was back to what he’d started with. What Pashar had suggested for him. He might not always like her, but her advice was — annoyingly often — good.

A loose white blouse tucked into a pair of gray pants. A blue overcoat lay on the bed next to Esmund, the shadows of his kicking feet playing across the strangely formed cloth. Dipping his fingers into his pocket, Ranvir retrieved the ring Pashar had given him as well.

A simple silver band, flecks of purple, the exact color of his eyes, suspended within. Occasionally, the gleaming particles would catch the light in a flash eerily similar to his eyes. He slipped it on his pointer finger, then shook his head.

“This is ridiculous! I can’t wear this.” It returned to his pocket.

Es sighed and rolled over, thankfully not onto his jacket. “Then don’t wear it, but fiddling with it isn’t helping.”

Ranvir sighed and pulled the ring out again. Pashar had apparently had it made, alongside the rest of his clothes, to fit him. He hadn’t even known she’d done it until he came asking for help. He had gone to a tailor to get the clothes fitted and slitted for his extra limbs.

Huffing, Es now lying on his back, kicked his feet over his head. Rolling to land on his feet, he stood up and did a quick pose. “Tada,” he muttered, then approached. “Just wear the damn ring. It shows you’re making more of an effort than normal. That’s a good thing, by the way. If you’re worried, mentioned you almost didn’t wear it to her. I’m certain Shiri won’t think you vain. And if she does, well, it was never meant to last.”

Ranvir snorted a quick breath. “Right…” then he shook his head and let out a soft laugh. “Thanks, Es. I… couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Nonsense.” His friend smiled wide. “You’d have just done it poorly.”

Ranvir shook his head and slipped the ring on his finger. “I think it’s time.”

Es nodded and grabbed the blue jacket, holding it by the collar for Ranvir to slip on. Then frowning as he realized how complicated the whole thing was.

“There’s a trick to it,” Ranvir said, grinning as Es’ attempts at helping only made things more difficult.

Finally, he got the coat on and tucked to fit. “Seriously, thank you.”

Es rolled his eyes. “Just go.”

Ranvir took a steeling breath, standing in front of the door to Shiri and Laila’s rooms. Then another and a third just for good measure. He could hear the muttered conversations going on beyond the door. Shiri and Laila were to be expected. Pashar, however, he hadn’t seen coming. He might understand why Kirs was there, though he didn’t think they’d interacted much. Ayvir’s presence made no sense, unless he was just there for the gossip. Grevor certainly was.

This is just making it so much worse, Ranvir thought, shaking his head. Forcefully subduing all the rampant and vividly colored emotions and thoughts, he knocked on the door. The room beyond fell quiet.

The tap of shoes.

“Ranvir?” Shiri poked her head around the door. Her hair had turned silky smooth and glossy, piled into an almost familiar bun. Except this time, much more elaborate than her usual fare. Colors and paints framed her face. Her eyes seemed huge blue oceans. Her freckles seemed almost highlighted, returning character to her face that could’ve easily been covered.

She stepped around the door, shutting it behind her, as murmurs started up. She wore a well-fitting green silk dress, highlighted with gold-threaded embroidery. It reached up to her throat and down to her ankles, yet fit snugly enough to drive the moisture from Ranvir’s mouth.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten help with their outfit.

“Hi,” she breathed, almost in a whisper. Hesitating, she hugged him. Startled, Ranvir’s mind, already having taking one severe attack, halted entirely. Her perfume, rich and flowery, filled his nose, yet underneath that the scent of soap and something distinctly human.

Finally, he hugged her back. She was small in his arms, fragile. If he was being honest with himself, there was a beauty in that. Attractive maybe because it wouldn’t survive rough treatment.

Say something! “Hi.” He sounded a little choked.

She stepped back, smiling, and Ranvir regretted the distance immediately. Focus! He blinked and smiled and nodded.

Shiri hesitated, then smiled, setting Ranvir’s heart into a rapid red flutter. “You look good, I like ring.”

“Yes. I mean, you look good as well. Amazing, really.”

“Thank you.” She took his arm. “So, where are we going? This isn’t really a traveling outfit.”

“And we won’t be doing too much of that.”

They traveled to Belnavir, the trip less than five minutes from setting off to arriving at their destination, not at the capital but a city close to their sea. Shiri filled the journey with idle chatter. Ranvir suspected she was attempting to put him at ease, and it was working.

Having cleared this trip with the butterfly king, Ranvir wasn’t too worried about him interrupting their date.

The restaurant, called the Singing Kostian, had a print of a bird on its facade below the name. The inside was made out in rich medium and dark woods, paired with equally intense and muted colors. Lit mostly by candlelight, it gave the place an intimate cave-like feeling. Paired with broad and high-walled booths that further isolated guests, the low music which drowned out chatter, and it was almost like they were actually alone.

Except for the servers.

“Table for Ranvir.” A gray translation orb translated his words for the young man at the entry. A well-maintained beard hid his whiskers and low ears vanished in his smooth hair.

He blinked, then coughing into his hand and bowed. Deeply. Guests in position to see the host stand, turned to look at him. “Your waitress, or would you prefer a waitress, will be with you right away, Your Highness.”

“Whichever,” Ranvir said, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t make himself look at Shiri as he cleared his throat. “Just take us to our table.”

“Of course, Your Highness. If Your Highness would follow her,” he gestured to the woman approaching. Her face pallid as she looked the two of them up and down. Shiri, saying nothing, followed, eyes boring into his back. Then the waitress took them past the tables and into a private room.

“May your glory enlighten our paths,” she said with a bow to match the host. “The rest of the staff will be by in moments.” Walking away, Ranvir gave her a bewildered look before looking into the dining room.

A gilded table of dark wood with gold filigree dominated. Each leg resembled a majestic and clearly mythical creature. One leg depicting a bird of fire rising into a bloom of flame that cupped one corner. A tiger running across clouds rose into another support. The next, a slithering and maned serpentine creature carried ice up its leg. A shark rose in a spray of stone to support the last corner of the table.

It was massively overdone, seemed to glimmer with gold and silver. Cautiously, Ranvir stepped inside, glancing around. The chairs, on either end, were just as horridly over done.

He looked at Shiri. She examined the room with a raised brow before turning to look at him. “If you didn’t look so freaked out right now. I’d think this was some overdone attempt at impressing me.”

Ranvir coughed into his hand. “I didn’t foresee this development—“ as he finished, a woman stopped in front of the door. She was formally dressed, towards the heavier end, and sweating profusely.

“I greet the god with my utmost welcome!” she said loudly, bowing so deep she huffed for breath when she straightened. “I am the owner of the Singing Kortian,” she smiled nervously. “We are pleased to be serving you tonight, Your Highness!”

Then in came the head chef. He bowed and intricately described the menu. Followed by the other cooks, each of them giving a long-winded description of what their favorite meal was and how it was prepared. Their waitress returned, serving them an array of drinks, enough for twelve people, at least.

Then came the rest of the servers. Each of them describing how they try to make the restaurant proud of their service. Then came the behind-the-scenes staff, accountant, grocer, even a few of their local food suppliers.

By the end, nearly forty members of staff and staff-adjacent passed through, proclaimed his holy high godliness and then praised some element of the Singing Kortian. It took most of an hour and their food hadn’t been served yet. Or even ordered.

“Whatever the head chef thinks would be best,” Ranvir said to their waitress, turning to look at Shiri. She leaned on the table, head in her hand. Sniffing, unimpressed. He sipped the wine. “At least the drinks are good.”

She looked over the glasses and bottles and ice set out for them, then downed the last liquid in her own wineglass. She sighed and sat up straight, stretching her feet out under the monstrous table. The glittering light reflected off the gold shifted slightly as she moved.

She had said little while they’d waited for two score people to present and adulate Ranvir. Annoyance had given way to boredom, then finally to what seemed to be apathy.

“I’m sorry,” Ranvir said, dragging his bird hand through his hair. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

“You know. When people call you a demi-god, I thought it was mostly figurative—“

“What?” Ranvir cut her. “‘Call me a demi-god?’”

“They say you did, after…” she shook her head. “One of you showings against the students.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ranvir said, annoyance bubbling caustic green within him. “This was actually super fun and not at all equal parts annoying and embarrassing. Who would willingly go through this shit?”

“So you didn’t…?”

“No! Do you honestly think I’d get anywhere if Esmund or Grevor heard I’d called myself a god? That parade was nothing! The yapping would never stop. All day and all night and all places. I’d never be free of it. If they died before me, they would rise from their graves to make one last joke at my funeral.”

Shiri gave him a considering look as the door opened. The waitress carrying two bowls of soup. She departed with a back-straining, flexibility-testing bow. Ranvir sighed and looked down at the yellow liquid. A garnish of a single green something was placed on top.

Shiri moaned, causing Ranvir’s eyes to shoot up. She leaned over the plate, eyes closed, spoon in mouth. “Worth it,” she whispered as she dipped the spoon once more. “Worth twice the wait, at least. If this is how they serve ‘gods,’ I don’t mind.” Then she pointedly peeked out from lidded eyes, a playful light in her blue gaze.

It was still soup, though. Good soup. But just soup.