Page 17 of Sugar & Dragon Act I: Temptation

Hera shook her head and walked over to the mirror, beneath which was a golden faucet in the shape of a cobra. Stopping herself at the last moment from touching it with her left hand, she performed a hastened but extended ablution. She only used cold water.

By the end, her cheeks weren’t as flushed and the area between her thighs wasn’t as sensitive. She splashed some water on the floor and mirror, but one flap of her fiery wing was enough to restore the original order.

Now she was ready to start negotiations.

***

It turned out that there wasn’t anything to negotiate. When she entered the living room—which, apart from the black of the furniture, looked strangely normal for its owner’s taste—a papyrus scroll waited for her on the round table in the middle, next to lemon cookies laid out on a snow-white plate and a cup of tea. Sitting directly across from it, Dago gestured for her to read it, and she accepted his invitation nobly, determined not to show that she found his silence and the attention he paid to her intimidatingly exciting. One glance was enough to tell that she had a marriage contract in front of her. One sentence—to be sure that it was prepared with alarming scrupulousness.

After reading the whole thing, Hera realized that she had fallen straight into the trap set for her.

There wasn’t a single point she wanted to argue with. True, emphasis was placed on the duration of the contract—three years—but it was also highlighted that the effort required to execute it should be mutual.

The spouses pledge that during the duration of the contract, they will do everything in their power to make their marital life satisfactory for both parties.

That was the most categorical sentence. The rest sounded gentler—Hera suspected it was intentional—because they mostly spoke about mutual communication.

Both parties will tell each other the truth.

Before making a decision that may affect the other party, one should talk to them about it.

Any disputes will be resolved through verbal communication.

And so on, until it became a list of rules that people generally knew about and often attempted to follow, but were not forced into…

At the end there were several business clauses regarding assets (each spouse had the right to exclusive property) and allotment (it was allowed but not necessary to share), which contained multiple references to the communication rules mentioned above. “Communication” was the keyword, the quintessence, the rule, and the privilege. Everything was based on it, and the possibilities it offered seemed endless…

“Until we publicly announce our engagement, consider contract negotiations open,” Dago said, apparently noticing her staring into space. “You can take the draft contract home. Or you can leave it here and think about it while we fly to the coast—provided that you want to go with me, of course.”

When she didn’t answer right away, he added, “I’m thinking three days. Two on the road and one to find koralion. Not too long, but longer than we’ve ever spent together. Enough to imagine the future. But you will have your own bedroom and unlimited access to the library. I have several books about transmutation I haven’t read myself. Even if you do not find my company pleasing, I think the time you spend here will be advantageous for you.”

Hera lowered her gaze to the papyrus before her. She would have to learn to do without this trick, but for now, the emotions she was feeling were too strange for her to simply ignore. She couldn’t look at Midais indifferently, knowing that the tingling sensation she felt on her skin wasn’t the result of his Charm.

He’d thought about so many things. Her comfort. That the time of the journey was not only optimal but also advantageous. About keeping her interested.

He even concocted a plot with the imp to intrigue her with his books and tempt her to go with him.

So many preparations… only for her to agree to be his wife.

In her entire life, Hera had never felt sowanted.

But what kind of objectof desire was she?

“You aren’t planning to convince me to produce gold from sugar for you, are you?” she asked lightly, raising her gaze.

For a split second, so brief that it could be considered an illusion, the man’s eyelid twitched.

Hera leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. “I’m not going to break the law, Midais, and I won’t marry someone who does.”

“The law doesn’t forbid producing gold from sugar,” he said.

Hera surveyed him carefully. Since he didn’t hedge, it probably meant he really intended to be honest with her, but the time it took him to answer—which could be called a tactful pause—suggested the man had been prepared for the question.

Both parties will tell each other the truth.

This was one of the main clauses of the marriage contract… but nowhere did it mention that certain information couldn’t be temporarily withheld.

“So you won’t tell me the whole truth until I ask the right question?”

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