"Old what—"
"Yami needs to learn combat, tactics. Don’t you Yami?" The dragon nods, licking his lips at our wine. "You see?"
Varis sighs, sounding very old indeed. "There are basics to be mastered first."
I take a sip of the wine, enjoying the sweetness of the drink, and make sure to keep it away from my rebellious dragon. "But I have fought with Yami before. Once, when Oren nearly killed me, Yami changed, grew larger than this room, and fought off Riku, the Fire Spirit, himself."
Varis sits down, closing his book. "Spirits can muster power when threatened. But it is a dangerous form."
Zyra, his silver owl who sits on a nearby shelf, nods.
"How do we access it?" I ask.
"You don’t. Not intentionally. Not unless it is absolutely necessary and awakened on its own. Like the time you describe."
I groan, closing the boring spells before me. "There must be a way."
"No," says Varis, not skipping a beat. "There is none." He glances at the book in his hands. Then back at me.
I study the volume. It is pitch black with a unique leather binding. Ancient Fae glyphs decorate the spine. "That one looks interesting."
"It’s not. Well, not for you anyway. It is a history of the fifth Air Druid and is primarily a description of his many political meetings."
Somehow, I just don’t believe him.
Varis clears his throat. "It is late. And time for rest. I will be in my quarters if you need me." He stands and leaves the library, Zyra on his arm. Though he tries to hide it, I see the black volume peeking out from under his robes.
Dean pours me another cup of wine. "Now, how about we have some fun?"
I glance between him and the mathematical tome before me. "Fun it is."
***
It's dark by the time we leave the palace, Dean dressed in a black vest, me in my two layers of white. "We should find Fen?" I say.
Dean raises an eyebrow. "And pull him away from training?"
"Right. Fen does prefer swords over… well… anything."
"Then let him have his fun while we have ours." Dean bows and offers me his arm. "Come, the games are about to begin."
"Games?"
"You’ll see, Princess." His eyes sparkle with excitement. "And then, you’ll wish you could stay here forever."
I chuckle, taking his arm and letting him escort me forward. On the way, various women wink and purse their lips at Dean, their delicate clothing revealing perfect bodies with long legs and smooth skin. "Come visit me later," they say in voices that remind me of song. "And who’s the new girl? Moving on already?"
Dean addresses them each by name, promising to… visit… with them later. If, of course, he’s not taken. He winks at me.
And I roll my eyes. "I see you get around."
"My realm has a very open view of sexuality," he says. "The focus is on enjoyment and consent, a beneficial experience to all parties. The things some of these women can do. You should see one day."
"Um. No thank you." I have no interest in his offer, yet a part me wishes my world was more like this one. Where woman don’t have to struggle with consent and assault throughout their lives. I’ve known a few, back at the Roxy, who fought every day to protect themselves from abusive boyfriends and nasty bosses. It scarred them. Perhaps, if they could have grown up here, things would be different.
We leave the women behind, and the streets begin to clutter with more people, all pushing toward one destination: An arena, at least ten stories high, built from white pillars covered in purple vines. Dean escorts me in, to the second level, and what appears to be the best seating, a private box overlooking the area below. "The perks of being a prince," he says, as we take our seats on a plush burgundy couch and slaves bring us grapes and wine on silver platters. I hate benefitting from the injustice, but I know I can do nothing yet, so I accept the food graciously, thanking the Fae and making sure they know they are appreciated. A part of me wants to resist, decline everything they bring me, but I know that will make them more worried than happy.
Plopping a grape in my mouth, I study the arena below. It is a pool of clear water, dotted with islands of white rock. An announcer calls out, "And here she is, lords and ladies, the unmatched champion of Moonlight, the Dancer of Waves, Callisia!"
The crowd, hundreds of men and women and children, roar in applause, causing the very sofa beneath me to shake. The energy is intoxicating, but I worry for what's about to happen. "These aren’t gladiator games, are they? Where people kill each other? Because if so, I’m not interested."
Dean smirks and gives me a wink. "Don’t worry, Princess. This is far, far more interesting."