~FlorenceI nearly miss the meeting with Lord Trevor at the Vanil Court Coffee Cafe. Had I not seen someone in the css before with a thermos of the strange beverage, I think I would’ve forgotten about it altogether.

  Lord Trevor meets me inside and stands to greet me. He still wears tinted lenses, but these are much lighter than the ones he wears outdoors.

  Does he have a problem with his vision? I try to rake through my brain for any hints, but come up with nothing. Not that it matters. Besides, his spectacles give him a schorly air that suits him.

  “Thank you for making time for me, Lady Florence,” he says. “I know how busy you are.”

  How does he know that? I suppose my comings and goings are not exactly a secret, but I don’t share them with anyone unnecessarily, either. Perhaps he’s been keeping tabs on me for some reason. Should I pay more attention to him in return?

  “Curiosity has gotten the better of me,” I reply. “Just this morning, another dy came to css with a thermos of what I assume was coffee. It certainly smells simir. Do the smell and taste match?”

  It is a…strong scent. Unlike anything I’ve smelled before. Not unpleasant, but nutty, earthy, and somehow reminiscent of dark chocote.

  “Why don’t you see for yourself?” he asks, motioning for a waiter to take our order. I trust him to make a selection for me, since I know nothing about the beverage options on the menu, but I pick out a slice of cake for myself. My morning of csses has made me hungry and cranky, and the slice of blueberry-vender cake with lemon drizzle sounds too good to pass up.

  “Dorandians are still getting the knack of it,” Lord Trevor begins, “Depending on how it’s roasted, the taste and smell can differ quite a bit. In that regard, it’s somewhat simir to tea in how it’s produced, yet the end product could not be more different. Ah, here we go.”

  The waiter brings us two cups of steaming bck liquid, as well as a small pitcher of cream and a dish of sugar, what one would expect at tea time. I can sense Lord Trevor’s excitement as the waiter pces the rest of our order, including my decadent-looking slice of cake.

  “Well, Lady Florence,” he says, gesturing to my cup, “I suggest you try it pin first, to get the full experience. Most people do not like to drink it pin, but some do—it is quite…well, I should let you decide what it tastes like.”

  I pick up the cup and look at the dark liquid inside. It smells rich. Not light and sweet like the tea I am used to. Tentatively, I bring the cup to my lips, shut my eyes, and take a sip.

  It is unlike anything I have ever tasted! I take another sip and try to hold the steaming liquid in my mouth a moment before swallowing. It’s hot, bold, slightly bitter—yet full of a unique fvor that has me taking sip after sip, trying to compare it to the other tastes and smells I know.

  Before I know it, the cup is empty, and I stare at the bottom in confusion. Have I really drunk the whole cup already?

  Lord Trevor chuckles softly at my look of surprise. “Would you like another, Lady Florence?”

  “I suppose so,” I reply, “seeing how I have yet to try it with cream and sugar.”

  “You were concentrating rather hard on that first cup,” he says, and my cheeks darken. Had he been watching me savor it?

  After much experimentation, I find that I greatly prefer the pin coffee, at least while eating cake. There is something about the combination of the sweet food with the savory beverage that is immensely satisfying, more satisfying than tea has ever been.

  The coffee with cream and sugar, while delicious in its own way, is too heavy to drink while eating sweets. Perhaps alone—sipped during css, for example—it would be a perfect treat. But together, I find them…almost sickenly rich.

  The hour passes quickly while we chat about my csses and my first experience with coffee, and all too soon, it’s Lord Trevor who has to remind me of the time.

  I briefly contempte purchasing a thermos from the cafe so I can take some coffee with me, but Lord Trevor recommends against having so much coffee the first time I’ve tried it—indeed, I can already feel the increase in my heart rate and heightened sense of alertness that he’d warned me about.

  As I walk briskly to my next css, I already know what I’ll do immediately once I get home tonight:

  Dear Sir Thorne, I’ll write in the journal, Let’s set a time to meet and discuss the te-night cafe.

  ?????

  ~TrevorHe hadn’t expected her to like it very much. Most Dorandians weren’t fond of it at first—they liked it because of the stimuting effect, not the fvor, and tended to doctor it heavily with cream and sugar to cover the foreign taste. The fancier cafes even experimented with other fvors like cinnamon and chocote to win over those with gentler pates. But over time, he’d noticed, they tended to get used to it and rely less on cream and sugar.

  Still, everyone had their preferences, and it had been entertaining to watch Lady Florence discover her own. No, not entertaining.

  Endearing.

  Trevor sat up straight as the word cmored through his mind like a temple bell.

  Did he really think of her in such a way?

  True, when she’d asked him how one knew if they had feelings for another, his mind had instantly filled with thoughts of her, but she’d also been pressing against his groin in the saddle. Any man would’ve thought of the dy seated in front of him in that situation! Wouldn’t he? Trevor groaned and dropped his face into his hands.

  He was supposed to be catching a few hours of sleep so he could get through his nighttime activities without any issues, not thinking of Lady Florence! But here he was, recalling the sight of her with her eyes closed, sipping coffee.

  Had she written a reply to him yet? It had been a few days since she st wrote to him, and he’d already checked that morning, but just in case…

  She had!

  Dear Sir Thorne,

  Let’s set a time to meet and discuss the te-night cafe.

  -R

  “She must’ve really liked the coffee,” he muttered to himself, smiling without realizing it. “That's easy enough to manage, Ren.”

  He’d actually gone ahead and scoped out several properties with the help of his Hangman's Noose, folk he’d recruited from the worst part of town near Gallows Street with promises of good wages and housing in exchange for unquestionable loyalty and a willingness to do a variety of odd jobs. Some, like his seamstress Tali, had come with skills that Trevor readily employed. Others, like a boy known simply as ‘Ratface,’ who only knew how to pick pockets, would adopt new identities and learn new skills…though Trevor wasn’t above using a pickpocket when the need arose, for a good reason.

  Dear Ren,

  Instead of practice tonight, let’s meet at the crossroads of Flint Street and Rosemary Row. Wear something simir to what your maid would wear to market, and make sure your hair is covered. See you at 9 o’clock.

  - T

  He knew she needed money, that much was clear. Why she needed it so badly was still a mystery to him. As the daughter of a duke, she should never have to worry about money a day in her life, especially if she married well. For some reason, that thought made Trevor frown.

  Perhaps she'd open up to him, or rather, to 'Sir Thorne,' while they did business together. He wanted to help her—in fact, he was very likely to lose money in this te-night cafe venture. No, not likely. He was guaranteed to lose money in the beginning. They both would. But, he intended to soften the blow as much as possible by absorbing as much of that loss as he could, because he didn’t want her to start off on the wrong foot.

  He wanted her first foray into the world of business to be as pleasant as possible, especially if it was with him. Well...Sir Thorne, anyway. It would still be bumpy and disheartening at times. Saints! They might even fail, despite his thorough preparations. If it all went according to pn, however, both of them would recover after a few months and start making a little money by the second or third season.

  "Patience, Trev," he told himself, lying back down in bed. Would he be able to get any sleep now? His mind was full of Lady Florence and the te-night cafe, and she was only his first appointment of the evening. If he didn't get any rest now, how would he get through his other meetings, first with his Hangman's Noose, then Gavin Yarrow after midnight? "Well, there's always coffee."

  ?????

  ~Zari, Liutan?ia (South of Dorandia)“Why doesn't she move at all?” Emperor Rafael asked the keeper. “She hasn't moved from that spot for days.”

  Zari could hear them talking, but did not move. Their conversation was of little interest to her, just like everything else.

  “Dragons do not need to eat for days at a time after a rge meal, Your Greatness.”

  True, she had eaten the leg of the dunebeast carcass they’d dragged in several days ago and had yet to feel the pangs of hunger. Not that hunger felt like much anymore.

  “Yes, but she looks…dead. I don't want a dead female dragon.” He frowned. “When was the st time she transformed?”

  The barest shiver of annoyance began at Zari’s head and zipped down her spine, all the way to her lightly scaled feet.

  “I—I don't know, Your Greatness. It was before my time as her caretaker.”

  “But that was over a year ago,” said the emperor.

  Had it really been so long ago? The memory of that feeling, which she'd tried so hard to hold onto, was hazy.

  “I'm afraid so, said the caretaker. “Unfortunately, nobody knows how to take care of her best. We are working with what knowledge we have, which was not much to begin with. She is also, uh, uncooperative.”

  “Then beat her,” replied the emperor, his gaze ft.

  The caretaker's eyes grew wide, yet he replied, “Yes, Your Greatness.”

  Zari could hear their footsteps as they shuffled out of the rge stone and iron enclosure that had been her home for the past several years. The only home she had ever known. She had hatched here, alone, constantly feeling as if she was cut off from something important—as if a part of her was missing.

  Zari chose her name because the first human she encountered repeated it to her so often, she thought it must be her name.

  “Sorry, I’m so sorry,” he would say whenever he had to do something to her, like attach her chain or force her to eat.

  Later, she learned it meant ‘regret,’ but she kept the name all the same. If she was filled with anything, it might as well be regret.

  She knew she was a dragon and that this was only one of her forms. The humans called it her ‘human’ form, but she knew that they did not accept her as a ‘human’—why would they chain her and cage her if they did? Also, she had yet to see a human whose flesh was not some shade of earth or sand, unlike her own. She was not human, even though she stood on two legs and had five blunt cws on each hand and foot.

  Zari was the colors of peaches and dried roses, things she knew of because the human male that cared for her had brought them one time. She had tried the peach and found the flesh too soft, too easy to tear through, but the taste was sweet and pleasing. Before she had eaten it, she had noticed that the dark golds and deep pinks of the peach were simir to the lighter colors of her hide—her belly, inner arms, and thighs.

  The roses, which the male had performed some kind of strange custom to give her, had withered in a corner of her enclosure, fading as they dried. Zari had crushed one in her palm out of boredom, but when nothing else but a handful of dust transpired, she lost interest. He may as well have given her a weed; it would have been just as useful. The only nice thing about the roses is that she had now seen another thing in this world with the color of her 'hair,' as the humans called it, and the darker parts of her hide. Her 'skin.'

  These same colors were both deeper and brighter on her dragon hide. The one and only time she had managed to take on her dragon form, however long ago that had been, everything had looked much more vibrant. Much more alive, including herself. But she hadn't been able to do it again since then.

  She did not know time, only that it passed, and that the longer she went without transforming into her dragon, the more she felt like the rock that she liked to bask upon—solid, motionless, and empty.

  AUTHOR NOTE:Wait a second.....wasn't Raius supposed to be the st dragon??? Why does the Emperor want another one?? ??

  Hello, fam! I keep meaning to trim these chapters down a little...but what can I say, I'm a wordy girl!

  If you like what you're reading, please don't forget to like/heart/upvote the chapter! Every single interaction (I prefer positive, but I also encourage honesty) helps ??

  Thanks! Lots of love,

  xo??kb