Huh. “That’s convenient.”
“It was necessary,” he corrects. “As the prince’s guard, it’s my duty to understand and communicate with the many species of Terrafeara.”
That’s… surprisingly practical. “Still,” I press, “English isn’t exactly common here. Did you, like, study it? Listen to humans speak?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, quietly—reluctantly—Kael mutters, “Books helped when I was being taught by the royal guard.”
I blink. “Books?”
Another beat. Another long, deep inhale. “I found… books.”
Holy shit. “You learned English from books?”
“… Yes.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic.” I shift slightly, trying to see his face. “What kind of books?”
Kael hesitates. He’s clearly regretting this entire conversation. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No, no, it definitely matters.” I grin, sensing an opportunity to get under his skin. “What kind of books, Kael?”
Silence.
“Kael.”
More silence.
I nudge him with my chin. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to assume it was something really weird. Like… cookbooks. Or, bloody hell, children’s books.”
He makes a noise—something between a sigh and a growl. Then, so low, I almost miss it, he grumbles, “Romance.”
I freeze.
Wait. What?
“Romance?”
Kael’s grip on my thighs tightens slightly, and for the first time since I met him, he sounds genuinely embarrassed. “It was from a human dwelling. Many cycles ago.”
I bite my lip, trying so hard not to burst out laughing. “So, you learned English from… romance novels?”
“They were well-written.”
Oh, this is golden. “So wait, you’re telling me you speak English fluently because you spent cycles reading books about… what? Star-crossed lovers? Forbidden passion? Torrid affairs?”
Kael makes another of those long-suffering sighs. “It was informative.”
I lose it. I’m shaking against his back, gasping for air, my entire body convulsing with laughter. Kael mutters something in Glowranth under his breath. Probably a prayer for patience.
When I finally catch my breath, I wipe at my eyes, still giggling. “That’s incredible. That’s—wait, hold on.” A thought strikes me, and I can’t not ask. “Do you, like, understand human romance? Or did you just learn the words?”
There’s a pause. “Both.”
“So, theoretically,” I say, fighting another round of snorting laughter, “if I described, say, a romantic date, you’d get it?”
“… Yes.”
I cackle. “That’s so fucking weird.”
