Three whole sunny days locked in your bedroom could work wonders on the human psyche.

For all their differences, Coris Hadrian and Meya Hild had now arrived at the exact same state of mind: Crippling boredom.

Once Meya had agreed to let Coris tag along to her reunion with her folk, Coris had set Simon to fetch a venue for their meeting and write a reply to Jezia.

As Arinel would be occupied with her post at Muldor's lab, Zier with his sword practice with Sir Jarl, and Heloise and Fione with their daily torture session—embroidery with Baroness Sylvia, it fell to Christopher to help Jerald arrange a proper burial for the five fallen Crossetian guards, and notify their bereaved families, now that the truth was uncovered.

After the arrival of afternoon tea; a plate stacked high with rose-red syrup waffles, a tea set shrouded in rose tea-scented vapor, and a few rose-scented tea-candles ("Very subtle, Sir Apollon." commented Coris scathingly,); the bedchamber once again was left to the newlyweds.

In Coris's opinion, nothing worked better to humor a sour dragoness who didn't want any more reading lessons, than impressing her with your knowledge of the machinations of a fish tank/water clock, taking her for a tour of your vast gallery of canine portraits, showing her your expansive library of rune books, and letting her in on your dearest childhood pursuit...

"And this...is my rock collection."

Actually, all that was a lie; Coris was trying to overwhelm Meya with his niche interests, so she would succumb to reading before dying of boredom. Yet, it seemed his plan had backfired; Meya was quite attentive to his hobbies. That or she was bored enough by two days of reading lessons even admiring rocks had become a delightful pastime.

Meya stared unblinking at the various raw ores laid out on purple velvet in his glass-topped chest, from glinting coal to sparkling raw ruby, each neatly labeled and dated. Not by the day it was discovered by Coris himself, but by the day it was handed to Father to inspect by hopeful merchants and mining contractors, and given to Coris as a gift. Or given to Zier—then Coris, after Coris had thrown a mock-tantrum to annoy the governess into telling Zier to hand it over.

"Rich kid rock collection, you mean." Meya pointed out, as she examined an iron bead the size of her thumb. Coris raised his eyebrow, and she turned around to smirk at him,

"Most of my brother Myron's rock crate are riverside pebbles. With the occasional crapstone thrown in."

She rested the iron bead back upon its snug bed. Coris pouted, petulant. Pulling the heavy wooden box towards him, he argued,

"Not so fast. I'm sure I have one in here somewhere," He lifted out the stone-laden layers one-by-one, then finally found what he wanted.

"Aha."

Meya raised her eyebrows. Coris had offered her what looked to be dried dog poop. If said dog ate nothing but glitter and clay. Stifling a giggle, she jested.

"You do realize you're presenting the fair maiden a curl of fossilized dragon dung, Sir Knight?"

"It represents undying love." Coris joked back, undeterred. Meya shook her head in amusement. "As time goes by, roses wilt. Dragon dung grows stronger."

"Well, thank you, my liege. I shall cherish it. Tis a fine specimen of glittery doo."

Still snorting, Meya took the romantic gift and spun it between her fingers, examining it. Dragon crapstones were found across Latakia, but the real money lay in their bones, shed scales and abandoned eggshells, which were made of some kind of metal alloy.

It was believed dragons once lived here before migrating to Everglen, then to Nostra. Meya had often wondered why they left. Now she knew it must have been when the Latakians first learned how to mine.

"I've always thought it looks like powdered rock paste put through a sausage maker." Meya mused in the light silence, then turned to Coris for his opinion,

"What do dragons eat, anyway? They always burn humans to a crisp, so I don't think it's us. No, wait. Just you. I'm a Greeneye. And we ride dragons! Pssshaaaa! One well-done Lord Hadrian!"

Meya raised her fists, clenched around the dragon dung stone like a helm, jostling invisible reins and making fire noises while rotating her torso to imitate a slaloming eagle. Over to the badly-burned Lord Hadrian, Coris could only chuckle awkwardly as he fingered his lips, deep in thought.

"Simon's father has some books smuggled in from Nostra by merchants through the Zarel Pass." He finally replied, and Meya listened raptly as his silvery eyes flicked back to her,

"One I read said that dragons derive their energy from the sun, and absorb their nutrients straight from the earth. Like moving trees."

"So, they eat dirt like chickens. And take afternoon naps in the sun, like snakes?" Meya attempted a paraphrase. Coris shrugged with a small grin.

"I guess so, too."

"Huh." Meya nodded as she mulled it over, then concluded grumpily, "Must be easy raising dragons. Lucky Nostra."

"Or maybe not." Coris countered, his eyes unfocused and staring ahead. Meya stared as he raised a slim, pale finger,

"Dragons are enormous, intelligent and powerful creatures. They breathe fire. They fly. Their bones, scales and eggs are made of metal."

Coris turned back to meet Meya's eyes, solemn.

"We humans get our nutrients and minerals from plants and animals, and mining ores from underground. How much dirt do you think dragons have to mine through to absorb what they need for their bodies?"

Meya's eyes widened. An ominous premonition coursed through her, confirmed by Coris, who had begun pacing, his hand fingering his chin,

"Perhaps this is why dragons hoard precious metals in their caves and claim large territories. It's to feed their young. And perhaps, this is why Nostra wants to invade Latakia and claim Everglen. Their land and western colonies have been sucked dry. They're no longer able to sustain both their sprawling civilization and a dragon army."

"So, I guess we have to kill dragons off, then? There's no way humans and dragons can live together happily forever? Not even in Nostra?"

Meya concluded, her expression desolate as she slumped against Coris's desk, the glow of her acid-green eyes diminishing somewhat as she wondered in a low voice.

"Where does that leave Greeneyes?"

The excruciating silence closed in on Coris as he struggled with himself. Should he tell her the truth now? Should he console her with a hopeful, far-fetched solution? Or should he just leave her to wallow in despair?

Before Coris could decide, Meya knelt down and set her chin on the desktop. She dragged the rock chest towards her and began scanning the layers.

"You have moonstone in here somewhere? It calms me."

Coris blinked at her explanation.

"I didn't take you for the superstitious type."

Meya chortled, trying to cheer herself up,

"Me neither. But I'm a believer. Been experimenting with Jason's goods for years." At long last, she found a blob of polished, opalescent moonstone, and grasped it tight, feeling its icy smoothness pressing against her roughened skin.

"Moonstone makes me feel calm. Sunstone makes me lively. Lattis? Go drown in Fyr's Lake."

She removed yet another layer, then her eyes grew round with excitement.

"Goodly Freda, is that Rose Crystal?"

"Ladies and their love of Rose Crystal." Mused Coris with a chuckle, as Meya abandoned the moonstone for the tiny columns of pointy pink quartz shooting out from rough, black stone. Meya growled in amused annoyance as she scrutinized the crystals from every angle,

"Agh, shut your wisdom, my liege."

Coris smirked. His entertainment was short-lived, however, as he noticed a gradual change in Meya.

Her eyes were unfocused as her cheeks flushed to a rosy pink. Her breathing quickened. As if in a trance, she laid the crystal on her neck and slid it down to her shoulders, circled it around her breasts, then spiraled down her tummy—

"Meya?" Coris whispered in alarm. Half of his brain was not comprehending the absurd sight, but the other half was sure it knew what was going on.

Dragons absorb their nutrients straight from the rocks of the earth.

Rose Crystal was considered to be the stone of lust. It didn't have any effect on humans, but for Greeneyes—half-dragons—like Meya...

Oh, no.

Coris was jerked out of his reverie by the feel of Meya's burning hands on his back. Her feverish body pressed up against his.

"Meya, what in the—"

Meya's lips caressed his, and Coris's brain went blank for a moment. He gritted his teeth, focusing on the nauseating crunch of brittle bone to fight against the tantalizing feel of that burning tongue tracing the curve of his neck, begging through his teeth.

"Meya, give me the stone, please." He closed his trembling hand over hers and pried open her stubborn fingers.

"We've agreed on this. We can't do this anymore. Meya, wake up!"

The pink crystal plummeted to the floor with a chiming chink. Coris knelt down before Meya, who had crumpled to the floor.

He froze, because Meya was also frozen. Awareness seeped back into her glowing eyes. Her gaze focused on his, and her cheeks flushed a deep red, but not from desire.

"You promised." She whispered, her voice trembling, her flaring glare hard as stone yet brittle as fine glass, "You vowed I'll be your first and your last."

"And I will keep that vow." Coris responded without a barest pause, then shook his head,

"You don't actually want this, Meya. You're confused about your father. You're scared of leaving even further from your home. You're worried about the Greeneyes and the dragons. And those feelings are exacerbated by the crystal—"

"—And you."

Coris blinked, nonplussed. Meya hitched up a bitter grin, her eyes downcast as she shook her head,

"You're so good to me. So kind. So understanding. So patient." She chuckled, then glanced up to meet his eyes, "But you also lied to me. Manipulated me. Played mind games with me. Even while you were in bed with me. It's such that I don't know what to make of anything you do anymore."

For once, Coris was silent, lost for retorts, and Meya took the chance to ramble on.

"You promised I would be your last. Then you said you're gonna sleep with Arinel. And it's always Agnes with you. Agnes, Agnes, Agnes, Agnes—"

"That was before I knew Arinel and Zier are together." Coris tried to plead his case, looking pained as he forced out the rest, "And Agnes is gone, Meya."

"Well, I'm still here." Meya retorted, a sardonic grin on her lips, "And the only time you ever desired me was when I was Arinel."

At that, Coris grasped Meya's shoulders. He glowered straight into her flaring eyes.

"You were never Arinel." He whispered through gritted teeth, "It was you who shared my first night. You who saved my life twice. You who made that contract with me. You that I want by my side to solve this crisis. And you know that."

Meya couldn't stop her tears at those sincere words.

For her whole life, her burning skin meant she was rarely touched, let alone embraced, even by her own mother. When people do touch her, mostly it was to hurt her.

Dad would slap her, knuckle her forehead, drag her about, or push her away. Perhaps because she was strong and tough, he didn't feel the need to be gentle with her, like he did with her sisters. And, even when it did hurt, Meya didn't let it show on her face while he was around to see.

Coris was even colder than normal people, but he had tolerated her heat. That first night, he had held her so tenderly, so protectively, that even in his frail, clammy arms, she felt warm and safe. And less alone.

She longed to feel it again. To be loved. To be cared for. To be appreciated. To be desired. By his real self he had revealed that night, untainted by his layers upon layers of deceit.

With a shaky smile, Meya finally nodded.

"I do." She confirmed, then shrugged. "I just want to do it all again. Properly. No more secrets. No more lies. No more mind games."

She saw the force of her words against Coris. She saw it in his gritted teeth, in his flickering eyes, fighting to be free from his rigid code of lies, logic and duty. And she wondered if she should dare to hope.

"I know it's been mere days. I know I'm just a peasant." Meya shook her head, her voice choked with sobs,

"I know we might never become anything. I don't know how this will turn out. But I know we can make the most of it while it lasts. Figure it out as we go. And if you don't feel the same way, please, just give me the truth already."

Truth.

Truth was that they had more than mere days to their shared history. Truth was that this was a countrywide crisis much larger than falling roof beams and a stupid metal ball in his brother's guts. Truth was that he wasn't fit to be her mentor and friend. He was a spoiled, cowardly, selfish, lying manipulator and schemer with a dozen faces that had been atop his real face so long they had melded with his very skin, and he wasn't sure anymore where they ended and he began. He didn't even have the courage to tell her what she needed to know most.

But truth was also that she had always been his last and only rope to cling to. Even faceless, nameless, fleeting as the memory of her had been, the prospect of finding her again was what had kept him alive through nights while his body burned itself from inside out.

And he could at least let her know that.

Coris's shivering hands clenched tight on her shoulders. For perhaps a breath longer he held back, then, with a strangled whisper, he plunged in.

"I'll give you truth."

Meya closed her eyes as Coris's lips devoured hers. His clammy hands pushed her down on the desk then swept off the piles of papers, rocks, books and stationery to make way, sending them clattering to the flagstones.

The young lovers barely registered the mess in the usually spotless room. Coris slid Meya's nightdress over her head, and she flinched as the spring breeze trickling in through the open window dragged its icy sleeve over her bare torso. His open-mouthed kisses traced an ice-cold winding road up her body, and she bit back a moan of contentment.

Coris slid his hand down her middle, taking her sodden linens with him as he went. With fumbling fingers, he parted his way through tall grass and burning petals, following the shimmering trail of nectar to the crystal-clear lake at the heart of the rose. Meya writhed in mounting bliss, as her heart beat a tattoo on his palm resting over her breast.

As Coris continued to pleasure her, Meya groaned and twitched, impatient. Chuckling, Coris propped his hand on the desk then loomed over her, tucking stray sheaves of her hair behind her ear.

"Very well. Let's proceed. Don't forget to relax."

Meya opened her eyes when she felt Coris retreating. She watched, mesmerized, as he undressed at his leisure, backlit by the late afternoon sunshine streaming in through the open window. He must have felt the heat of her stare, for he turned around, beautiful silver twinkling back at her over his customary smile.

"'ope it dun 'urt this time." She whispered. Coris paused halfway through shrugging his shirt off his shoulders, then rolled his eyes in playful annoyance.

"That's why I insist on more preparation."

"It dun make no diff'rence wi' 'ow blessed you are. So why wait?"

At Meya's blushing, grudging retort, Coris's smile slackened in awe and surprise. He had never heard her true accent before. Her voice had also become much higher, much sweeter—the same voice that had echoed across the moonlit moor that night. The Song of May Day. He realized he was blessed indeed, to have been graced with such a heavenly voice.

Meya drew in a deep breath as she willed the tension in her limbs to unravel, closing her eyes once again. Steeling himself, Coris moved to close the gap. He had barely ventured inside when he must scramble back out with a yell.

"Fyr! It's so hot!"

Meya's eyes flew open. For a beat she stared, confused. Then, it hit her. She swore under her breath as she struggled to sit up, angry with herself.

"My Lattis!" She unknotted her legs from around him and sprang up, "Wait—I'll find it."

Coris watched as Meya edged nimbly off the desk. She dropped to her knees, rummaging among the scattered papers and whatnot for her medallion.

A sudden realization was dawning on him. If, even when disguised in human form, the dragons' high heat naturally kept humans from mating with them, then how had dragons managed to procreate with humans to create Greeneyes like Meya?

The answer was Lattis. Meya had had it on all the times they had lain together before this. The metal must have been around for much longer than they had thought. Known to mankind long before Rutgarth. Yet, who had been the one to discover its power against dragons? And how had that knowledge been lost?

Coris shook himself out of it. He could crack that Miracle Egg later. He wasn't trying to impregnate Meya. He just wanted to make love to her.

Meya was still searching desperately for her coin, and the sight rankled him. This was Meya's first time with him as her true self. She should be free to be just as she was. She shouldn't have to put out her fire so as not to scorch him.

As a Greeneye, she was forced to repress an essential part of her to blend in and survive. And it had led her to deride and reject herself. To think so lowly of herself. To throw her virginity away on impulse just to feel normal and appreciated. And he was perpetuating that cycle.

Coris took a deep breath, swept an unsuspecting Meya up into his arms, then toppled headfirst onto the desk from her weight.

Fyr, he couldn't even carry a normal lass. Let alone a dragon lass.

Cursing his feebleness under his breath, Coris grabbed Meya's hips and pulled her towards him.

"Coris, wait—You'll hurt yourself!" Meya protested, eyes wide with worry, "Coris—"

Meya's words melted away into a cry of pain and ecstasy as they moved as one. Over and over, her fire rejected his courageous advances. Yet, he relentlessly came charging back. As his fingers dug into her burning flesh, she dug her nails into his damp hair in tense anticipation.

Almost there. Almost there.

Yet, it seemed Coris was at his limit. A moment too soon, he fell onto her, panting.

Meya dropped back onto the tabletop. She took heaving breaths as she calmed down, swallowing the itching, tantalizing disappointment. As she had learned from their first night together, making love was beautiful, but not as simple and smooth as girls her age had imagined it would be.

Unlike Dad and Mum, who knew each other's quirks like the back of their hands, Coris was just as much a greenhorn as her, and they still struggled to reconcile their differences.

Having regained some strength, Coris peeled himself off Meya and raked back her damp golden locks, his eyebrows knitted in a concerned frown as he studied her rosy face shiny with perspiration.

"Did you finish?" Meya shook her head, and Coris's face fell. He slid off and slumped heavily down on his chair.

"I'm sorry. It's always like this. I couldn't last long." He muttered through gritted teeth, his face hidden behind trembling fingers. He seemed so distraught Meya couldn't help smiling as a rush of affection and gratitude whooshed into her heart. The lad had given his all. That was more than enough for her.

"Come now. You did pretty good; it's the heat. One more time with the coin?" She sat up and tilted her head, suggesting coyly. Coris looked dead on his cushioned behind as he shook his head, eyes closed, heaving rapid, shallow breaths, streaks of his dark hair pasted to his forehead with sweat.

"I'm sorry. I don't think I can go again 'til tomorrow."

"Don't sorry me. It ain't no biggie." Meya slid off the desk and climbed onto Coris's lap. He gave her a few tired, affectionate head-pats.

As Meya snuggled close, Coris realized his hypotheses was correct; her legs had dried. Not one human seed would survive that heat.

And yes, Zier. I had all these thoughts flying around my head every time I bedded my dragon girl.

And I couldn't tell her about any of them.

Not even the fact that I was lying most dastardly to her face this morning.

It isn't Jason Boszel I need to talk to. It's Draken Armorheim.

And it isn't the shortage I need to talk about.

Flashes of the night he was kidnapped by a dozen farmers and rescued by a dragon came back to him. As he stroked Meya's hair and felt her fevered breaths slowing down, Coris squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the crook of her neck, shame and anguish burning in his bowels.

It's you, Meya.