Galateya plated the eggs alongside bacon that Xandy had not, in fact, consumed sixty percent of. Apparently the Wendigo had been too busy "working on stuff" to raid the refrigerator.

  Galateya knew exactly the Wendigo Commander was up to this morning.

  Her damned sensitive Omnid ears and Fractal Engine made sure of it. She didn’t hear the conversation through the thick brick and mortar mansion walls but she was far too aware of the hours of loud moans and swats, and felt the explosion of desire blossoming across the Astral like a nuclear detonation of pure love going off.

  Galateya had woken to it at dawn, her scales rippling through a cascade of brilliant colors she couldn't control. The sensation had crashed through the local Astral like a tidal wave of shared ecstasy, impossible to ignore. Her body had responded against her will, heart racing, scales and mane flushing red and hot pink.

  She'd buried her face in the pillow, mortified, feeling the Astral boiling, feeling her body responding to it in unexpected ways with each fiery wave igniting the Underside of the world, her clawed hand sliding between her legs.

  Commander Xandria, Marshal Nexxali, and Ashcroft had been conducting their morning activities with such enthusiasm that every Omnid within a mile radius probably felt the reverberations. The love bond between them sang across dimensions, looked like an infinite burning tree surrounded by an endless violet starscape. It was a three-part harmony of pure desire and fulfillment that made Galateya acutely aware of her own isolation.

  She wasn't invited to their room and didn't feel like intruding on their 'activities'. She wasn't part of their intimacy. She was the outsider, the blood-bound consort forced into proximity but not belonging. A Hearth Keeper, not a Prima. A servant role dressed up in fancy titles.

  The injustice of it burned.

  Now, plating breakfast, she tried to ignore the lingering emotional residue. Her mane kept trying to shift colors to red and pink flowers, betraying her inner thoughts as she kept picturing the liminal tree reaching out towards her with its endless branches.

  "Breakfast," she announced, carrying plates into the living room.

  The group descended on the food.

  "This is excellent, Teya," her ‘consort’ commented as he sampled the food. “Thank you!”

  "It's just eggs and bacon," she muttered.

  "Yummy eggs and bacon goodness. Nexxy and Shhh… Xandy can’t cook if their lives depended on it."

  Galateya ate standing, uncomfortable joining the casual breakfast circle.

  She was painfully aware of her role here. Fix things. Cook things. Provide structure. Don't expect to be included in the real bonds forming around her.

  "Hey Teya," Ash said, setting down his empty plate. "Want to go on a date?"

  Her fork clattered against her plate, all of her current expectations wobbling in their pre-determined frames. "What?"

  "A date. You and me."

  "When?" she heard herself ask, the question laced with suspicion.

  "Today. At noon."

  "Noon?" Her scales flickered through confused violets. "But I haven't finished… renovation work. The kitchen needs—"

  "The kitchen can wait." Ash stood, the muscles of the fabricated body rippling under the gray shirt. "Dax and Piotr can handle things. Right guys?"

  "Sure mate," Daxagon waved a hand. "We got this. Have fun."

  "Come on," Ash offered his hand. "Let's get out of this house for a bit."

  Galateya stared at the offered hand. Her scales Phase-shifted from violet confusion to suspicious orange. "Why are you asking me on a date?"

  "An opportunity for us to get to know each other," Ash said. His amber eyes held a warmth that felt genuine, even if buried beneath the ridiculous, fake, handsomified face delivering it.

  There was surface truth in his words, however her Taniwha senses detected more layers beneath. Hidden currents. Unspoken purposes. Plans within plans.

  Her chest tightened. Part of her wanted to accept. To believe this gesture meant something real. But another part recognized the pattern: orchestrated intimacy, calculated bonding, strategic relationship building. Just another piece in whatever game he and Commander Xandria were playing.

  "I don't understand you," she said stoically.

  “Think of it as an opportunity to understand me,” he said.

  “Will I even get a chance to understand the real you?”

  “This is the real me,” he insisted. “The me who wants justice for humanity. The me that has to spin like a hamster in his wheel, trying to make everyone happy. That includes you, by the way.”

  Galateya sighed. Again, this was the truth but not all of it.

  Ash lowered his hand but didn't retreat. "What do you want me to say, Teya?"

  "The truth." Her claws flexed at her sides, sharpening into elongated, obsidian blades. "The actual reason. Quit screwing around with me."

  He sighed. "The real reason is to provide a nice show for your great-grandmother."

  The words hit her harder than expected. Galateya's tail curled tight against her leg, scales darkening to coal black shot through with angry crimson veins, mane and tail spine turning into jagged obsidian spikes.

  "Right." She turned back toward the kitchen. "Of course. Everything's theater."

  "Teya, wait." Ash followed her into the kitchen. "Yes, part of this is performance. Your grandmother will review what Keiy sends her. She expects to see her Baroness building a relationship with her consort. Here's the thing though: even if most of my current appearance is fake, we're still spending time together. Doesn't that matter?"

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Galateya's jaw clenched. "Spending time together under false pretenses."

  "All relationships start somewhere," he shrugged. "Arranged marriages, political alliances… blood bonds forced by Legates. The beginning doesn't define the ending. We could actually get to know each other. Talk. Hang out. Have fun."

  “Fun?” Violets and grays warred across her skin as Galateya's inner compass spun. Every angle of this situation registered as unjust, unbalanced, weighted toward outcomes she couldn't fully see. But beneath the anger and suspicion lived something more dangerous: hope.

  She knew that she was being fucked with. Knew that a chasm of mistrust existed between her and the others and yet…

  She wanted to go out. Wanted to hold hands. Wanted to talk to him.

  You damned desperate dragon idiot. This is definitely some kind of a trap. Why do you keep falling for these things? She mentally chided herself.

  "Fine." The word came out as sharp and jagged as her current mane appearance.

  Ash turned to the gun unit observing the couple from the doorway. "Keiy, want to join us?"

  The symbiote's triangular eyes brightened. "Join? Me? On your… date? Really?"

  "Sure. You can catalog interesting human behaviors or whatever it is you find fascinating about us primitives. Send the video summary of our best moments as a couple to Galya’s great-granny’s scrapbook or whatever."

  Keiy laughed, a pixelated smile manifesting below the red eyes. Galateya stared at her gun. Guns weren't supposed to have animated smiles.

  "I would be... honored?” The gun unit nodded. “Yes. Honored. That's the correct emotional response for this scenario, right?"

  "Good enough." Ash headed for the stairs. "I'll see you at 11:30 okay?”

  “Okay,” Galateya let out.

  . . .

  Ash arrived in the kitchen wearing dark jeans and a loose button-down shirt and leather jacket that mostly hid the excessive musculature. Reflective sunglasses perched on his nose. He carried a garment bag.

  "Here, Kawathra made you something too," he said, offering the bag to Galateya. "You don't have to wear it if you hate it."

  Galateya unzipped the bag, exhuming the outfit.

  Pink. The dress was pink. Vibrant, unapologetic pink Gothic Lolita styled with layers of ruffles, black lace trim, and bows. The fabric felt unnaturally soft, some kind of fancy Corpse-Seeker-manufactured material.

  She held it up, torn between mortification and curiosity. Every romance novel she'd ever read featured heroines in beautiful dresses. It felt... undeserved.

  Only successful, top Commanders could afford to print dresses like this in their Corpse Seeker fabricator.

  Her scales and mane flushed pink to match the dress. Traitors!

  "When did Kawathra make this?"

  "About twenty minutes ago," Ash shrugged. "She thought you might like it."

  Galateya held the dress up. It was pretty in a way that made her chest ache. The exact kind of a pretty, gothic-romantic thing she'd just read about in the last night. She could scarcely imagine wearing such things herself since she grew up wearing a single, self-adjusting hexasuit her entire life. The same damned, generic, black hexasuit she was wearing now.

  "You can change in the bathroom down the hall," Ash said.

  She clutched the dress and walked to the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her.

  “Fold hexasuit to thigh,” Galateya ordered, tapping her outfit. She idly watched as the plates retracted into a single ‘storage mode’ hexagon line wrapped around her thigh. The dress slid over her head easily. The fabric moved with her scales, adjusting as they shifted colors. She looked in the mirror.

  The dress fit perfectly, conforming to her curves, leaving her arms bare to show off the scales she'd been so self-conscious about. The skirt fell to just above her knees, short enough to show her digitigrade legs. When she moved, the fabric moved too, adapting as her body shifted textures from scales to bark to flower petals.

  Galateya stared at herself in the mirror. She looked ridiculous. She looked… beautiful. She looked like someone playing dress-up in feelings she didn't know how to process.

  The reflection showed someone she barely recognized. Not the military-trained Knight. Not the disposable spawnling. Just a young Taniwha woman in a pink and black bow tie dress with violet eyes and flowery mane that practically glowed with uncertain, desperate hope.

  Romantic idiot. She mentally criticized herself. Stop blushing with blossoms, this is all fake! You know it’s fake!

  Her dastardly mane and tail bloomed with even more cherry blossoms.

  “Ughhh,” Galateya rubbed her face. “Leviathan’s tits, why can’t I get myself together?”

  She emerged from the bathroom. Ash waited in the hallway.

  "You look lovely," he said simply.

  "It's just a dress."

  "You look nice in it." He paused. "Oh, hey. Did you think of a name for me?"

  "A name?" She blinked, still mentally preoccupied with the damned pink dress.

  "Yeah. For Mr. Gigachad here." He gestured at his fabricated face. "Can't exactly introduce myself as Ash around town when I look almost nothing like Ash. Well, maybe an Ash who spent ten years at the gym excessively working out and chewing protein bars for breakfast, lunch and dinner."

  She studied his overly manly face. The build that screamed action hero.

  "Constantine," she said finally.

  "Constantine?"

  "Constantine Belthys." She lifted her chin. "It sounds appropriately masculine and has gravitas. Plus… my half of my last name there… because you’re my… consort."

  "Constantine Belthys." Ash tested the words. "I like it. Sounds like someone who could date a dragon without embarrassing himself."

  "Don't push it."

  He grinned. "One more thing. Can you come as yourself? Your dragon self?"

  "You want me visible as an Omnid? Why?"

  "Yep."

  Galateya huffed, crossing her arms.

  "I know it's asking a lot, but if we're going to sell this relationship to your great-grandmother, she needs to see you comfortable in your Omnid body. Not hiding behind a human disguise."

  "The humans will stare."

  "And? They've all seen aliens on TV." He offered his arm. "Besides, you're gorgeous. Let them stare."

  Galateya's mane traitorously bloomed with even more cherry blossoms. She took his arm after a moment's hesitation. "Fine. But if anyone hostiles us, I'm blaming you."

  "Eh, you’re immortal and I’m… mostly bulletproof, if Kawathra is to be believed. Also, I'm pretty sure that 'hostile' is a noun not a verb." He said.

  "In Omnithornia it is a verb," Galateya stated. "I hostiled, he hostiled, they hostiled. A deadly dungeon hostiles you."

  "Ah, I see." Ash said. "That's kind of neat as a minor language quirk."

  They walked to the red Jeep parked in the overgrown driveway. Keiy bounded after them with magisteel gear clicks.

  Her Fractal Engine heart thrummed madly, backstabbingly pulling up the memory of the igniting Astral tree-fire from this morning.

  He opened the passenger door for her.

  Galateya climbed in, tail coiling around her feet. Keiy hopped into the back seat, settling on the leather with magisteel clicks of her leg gears.

  Galateya watched the Pacific Northwest forest roll past, thick with pine and cedar, contemplating things. What angle was he working? Where did she fit in the plans of his Circle?

  They reached downtown Cascade in no time at all. The familiar storefronts lined the main street, painted ladies in various states of weathered Art Nouveau charm. Galateya recognized the building they stopped at.

  “Same place, hum?” she asked. “Books and Nooks?”

  “You liked it there, right?” Ash asked.

  “Yes.” Galateya nodded.

  The Victorian building looked the same as before with its purple and black paint and cosy tower. Except now Galateya approached it as herself, not hidden behind her human Phase-shift.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  Galateya smoothed her pink dress. Her scales settled into soft purples threaded with silver. Cherry blossoms still dotted her mane. She probably looked absurd to the locals. A dragon in Lolita fashion. An outsider. A far-too-damn-vibrant alien, a target for hate and fear she really didn’t want to sense in the Astral.

  "As ready as I'll ever be," she muttered.