What Might Be
“SO THIS IS the lair of a seer?”
Edgar pulled himself from the dog-eared, used copy of a Regency romance he had purchased online and looked at the stranger in front of him.
It took some doing. Lady Prudence, a widow, had been in the middle of feverishly describing her encounter with a devilish man at a masked ball. Edgar loved a masked ball—in theory, of course, since Edgar rarely left this room, much less this house, and would never, ever, be able to hide who he was.
He focused on the figure at the library door, and did his best not to be disappointed to find an ordinary dragon of about Edgar’s age, with fiery red and orange scales, carroty hair, and freckles across his white cheeks.
The freckles were sort of endearing, although Edgar personally preferred a face without them. One particular face, in fact, but that was not meant to be, so he did not dwell on it.
Not in front of strangers, anyway.
“Hello,” Edgar belatedly greeted his newest suitor, as this dragon surely must be. Edgar’s mother was probably somewhere close by, embarrassingly hopeful on Edgar’s behalf. She didn’t understand that most dragons were unnerved by Edgar, and she loved him too much to see how even the dragons who did not tremble before a seer were still not interested in a dragon who spent most of his time in his pajamas.
Edgar’s current pajama set was purple silk, a gift from Justin, who thought the purple went well with Edgar’s emerald scales. Edgar wore this set often, while wishing that the purple would make the rest of him a little more exciting. Less mousy brown hair. Less squishy body. Less awkward social skills. Edgar was almost as awkward as Zarrin Xu, whose family, not at all understanding like Edgar’s, had allegedly shunted him off to a house in some remote part of the state.
Wearing these pajamas also meant Edgar had to resist the temptation to pretend that the gift had been something intimate, and not, as it likely was, something given and then forgotten about. Heespecially had to fight this urge around strangers who were dragons, because the dragon sense of smell, while not as refined as a werewolf’s, was strong enough to detect lust, and occasionally, longing.
He didn’t notice any scents out of place on his suitor, though he hadn’t expected to. Most of Edgar’s suitors were here at the urging of their families. Anyway, this one and Edgar barely knew each other. Edgar wondered if his suitor knew Justin, if he had also been one of Justin’s suitors, or one of Justin’s playmates, as the dragon elite sometimes referred to their casual sexual friends, and then shuddered to imagine what this dragon might have smelled on him atthatthought.
His red-headed suitor hesitated, likely because Edgar had not answered in a way that encouraged more conversation. Then he rallied and tried again. “Your lair is a library?”
It was not truly a library. Books filled the shelves, and the floor, and every available space except for the couch where Edgar sat, but these books were not for anyone to borrow. Printed-out fanfiction, arranged in binders, took up the space beneath the couch, done when Edgar was a child, before e-readers and tablets and laptops had made storage easier. Dead-tree novels, comics, and magazines gave the room the faint smell of aged vanilla.
A few movies, but only a few, could be found, alongside children’s stories and mass market genre fiction, and human young adult novels about werewolves that were so, so wrong but so, so wonderful.
Too many stories and not enough stories, thousands upon thousands of them in the room as they were in Edgar’s mind. But to others, the room was hushed, and the crackle of the fire was peaceful, so they would often come to sit on the couch and listen to Edgar talk about stories because they believed what humans did—that storytellers were seers. That was why Edgar was shown respect although he was a dragon with no treasure of his own.
That Edgar was a seer was the only reason he had any suitors at all. Dragons these days were very concerned that the world needed more dragons, so dragon parents went out of their way to try to make matches. It was not done to be cruel. Dragons were welcome to find companionship, or sex, or love, with anyone they fancied,if they fancied. But having a few hatchlings with another dragon was the preferred outcome for many anxious parents. Hence, playmates. Hence, this dragon in Edgar’s house who might know Justin in a way that Edgar would never know Justin, and now was pretending he wanted to woo Edgar when really, he was after an answer.
If the answer was regarding Justin, Edgar had a feeling he was going to do something novel, and perhaps awful.
But he belatedly remembered he had been supposed to speak.
“My lair ismylibrary,” he corrected. “I keep stories, you see.”
“That’s what I was told,” answered his suitor, coming into the room. He looked around but respectfully did not touch anything.
Edgar sighed. They were always so very respectful. One dragon to another. One dragon to another dragon with an ambiguous and apparently terrifying power. They never tried to treat Edgar like… well, it was best not to wish for that, either.
“You keep stories and you tell them, that’s what they say,” his suitor went on, making Edgar’s heart sink, just a little. He truly hoped this one would not do what they all did at first. That he would not— “Should I ask you for my story?” his carnelian visitor asked him, light and teasing. Flirtatious, probably. Or he meant to be.
Like how a visitor at a carnival might ask for their fortune. Which was something Edgar had to imagine, since he had never been to a carnival. Crowds were too much for Edgar, especially for prolonged periods. Too many voices and stories and possible stories. Too much noise when his mind was already loud and colorful.
Too much, in general, for other dragons to tolerate when it came to matters of companions, or spouses, or dragons’ boys—who were, of course, sometimes anything but boys, but were always highly valued.
Another foolish thought. Edgar was not a dragon’s boy. Edgar was a dragon. He did not belong to anyone in particular. Nor would he ever.
Probably.
It was almost a certainty, but Edgar had never closed his eyes to consider his own future because he was wise enough not to. It was the romance novel making him careless and wistful, making him sigh and dream and… forget he had a visitor in the room with him.
Edgar frowned, although it was not the fault of this dragon that he had come here. Most dragons were forced into these awkward, potentially romantic interactions, and this new dragon was likely just trying to make the best of it. He couldn’t know that all of these encounters went the same, and that Edgar would have preferred being left to his book, or that light teasing could never be as delightful as boldness in the face of Edgar’s power. People who teased lightly and made jokes about prophecies and visions did not think Edgar was serious. Because of his oddness, or his pajamas, or the stack of yaoi manga at the end of the couch.
“You know my name, I’ll bet,” Edgar said finally. “But I don’t know yours.”
“Aiden.” Aiden dipped his head in greeting.
