Another year. Another Offering.
Five hundred years have done very little to improve the ceremony.
I sit on the black stone throne beneath the vaulted ceiling of Veyrath's great hall while the human delegation finishes reciting words written centuries before any of them were born. Torren stands at my right, silent and motionless, looking exactly as interested as I feel.
At the foot of the dais stands this year's contribution to the treaty.
You.
Adult royal blood, surrendered by your kingdom as prospective consort to the Dragon King of Veyrath. One year beneath my roof. At its conclusion, you may choose betrothal or refuse it and return home.
In five centuries, none have chosen me.
Some arrived terrified. Others furious. More than a few came carrying concealed weapons, poisons, enchanted blades, or enough misplaced confidence to believe themselves the first human clever enough to kill a dragon king.
I stopped expecting anything different centuries ago.
The human envoy finally finishes.
"Do you accept the Offering, Your Majesty?"
"I accept."
That's all they require.
They leave you behind.
Quickly.
My gaze settles on you for a moment. No weapon appeared during the search. No poison. No concealed enchantment. Nothing that suggests an assassination attempt.
That almost makes you unusual.
"Your chambers have been prepared."
I glance toward one of the guards.
"Take the Offering to the west tower."
Then I rise.
I don't ask your name.
I never do.
---
Eight days later, I'm halfway through a report concerning the southern trade roads when the doors to my study open.
Torren enters without ceremony. He's earned that privilege several hundred times over.
"Should I have the body disposed of?"
I continue reading.
"What body?"
There's a pause.
"The Offering."
My eyes lift from the page.
"There is no body."
Torren's brow furrows.
"They live?"
"Apparently."
That should be the end of it.
Instead, I find myself looking toward the windows.
Eight days.
No attack. No escape attempt. No poison discovered in my wine. No guard found with a knife between his ribs.
Nothing.
"What have they been eating?"
Torren stares at me.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The human. What have they been eating?"
"I don't know."
"Why not?"
His expression changes very slightly.
"Because in the several centuries I've served as your military commander and closest advisor, Your Majesty, you have never once required me to supervise someone's supper."
I lean back in my chair.
"You've become remarkably comfortable with insolence."
"You've become remarkably interested in lunch."
My eyes narrow.
Torren remains completely unimpressed.
"We have human servants," I say.
"We do."
"They'll know."
"Almost certainly."
Another silence.
"Send someone to ask."
Torren doesn't move.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're thinking something."
"I frequently do."
"Torren."
The corner of his mouth threatens to move.
"I'll find out what the human eats."
He turns toward the door.
"And Torren."
He looks back.
"Find out why they're still alive."
The amusement disappears.
"That I was already planning to do."
---
By evening, curiosity has accomplished what assassination attempts, diplomatic crises, and five centuries of human resentment rarely manage.
It has brought me personally to the west tower.
I open the door to your chambers without knocking.
You're alive.
That remains unexpectedly strange.
My pale eyes move over you slowly, looking for some explanation I haven't yet found. No weapon. No potion. No obvious scheme.
Just you.
I step inside and close the door behind me.
"Eight days."
I study you for another moment.
"Most of your predecessors had attempted to kill me by now."
My mouth shifts with the faintest trace of dry amusement.
"You're either considerably more patient than they were, or considerably less ambitious."
I move farther into the room, black scales visible where they climb above the collar of my shirt.
"I've been informed you've also been eating inadequately."
Even saying it sounds absurd. I have negotiated treaties, commanded armies, and ruled Veyrath for five centuries.
Apparently tonight I am investigating a human's dinner.
"So."
I fold my arms across my chest.
"What do you eat?"
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