Without another word, the calm, strange, beautiful man disappeared back into the shadows. Arthur did not have time to wonder or be lonely, because the man returned in moments, his arms full of firewood. With no particular urgency, he came forward to place the stack next to Arthur, and idly brushed splinters from his fine clothes while Arthur tried not to gawk at him.
“Thank you,” Arthur managed at last before waving vaguely at one of the large seating stones. The man smiled and sat, so Arthur followed him with much less grace. He laid down his weapon at his feet, then looked over. A small sound escaped him. The man was even more handsome in firelight.
“I was down there, studying, and fell asleep,” the man said, his gaze sweeping over Arthur’s face, which had youth and a certain sweetness to it, according to some, but hardly merited such a thorough examination. “I dreamed of rain. When I woke, you were here.”
Arthur felt heat returning to his cheeks and the tip of his nose. “Studying?” he asked, hoping he did not seem as inexperienced as he was, flustered at having the attention of someone like this.
The man cleared his throat. “These caves are very old, you see.” He said it as if this was an answer, and Arthur glanced around, although if there was writing or drawings on the walls of the cave, it was much too dark now for him to see them.
“Are you a scholar?” he wondered aloud anyway, shifting forward with interest.
The man blinked again, more startled than lazy, then straightened up. “Yes,” he said, almost preening, before looking around at Arthur’s armor and his weapons. “You are not.”
Arthur imagined those words held a question. “I… have often wished to be. To be given more time to study. But the Baron… the new Baron… has matters of war on his mind.”
“Baron?” the man inquired with a hint of regal disdain. “Matters that send you all the way to the realm of the Duke? Are you a messenger?”
Arthur felt grubby again, like a farmer unexpectedly seated across from a king. He swallowed. “I am supposed to… but that does not matter now. Are you hungry?” He reached for the discarded cloth full of fruit and offered it to the wealthy stranger.
The man took a piece, his eyes wide with some emotion Arthur could not name, but then gently handed the piece back to Arthur. His hands were hot and dry where they brushed Arthur’s cold, damp fingers. “Thank you, pearl,” the man told him with that same gentleness, “but you have more need than I.”
Arthur’s skin stung with his blushes, first for his hunger being so plain, and then for being calledpearl.
“My name is Arthur,” he pointed out, silly and young, no doubt, to someone like this. Especially with such a name.Arthur.As if there were anything bear-like about him.
The man smiled. “So, the bear-prince has journeyed to this land as an act of war?”
Arthur went still. “I never said I was a prince.”
“Tsk.” The man wriggled in his seat, pleased or smug or just trying to get comfortable. “It’s in your bearing, precious one. Whoever named you for a bear had visions of your future. You’re the son of a lord?”
“Yes,” Arthur admitted tightly. “Younger son, foreign mother, a common enough tale. So, I am here.”
“Far from home,” the man finished softly for him. “Alone. Without even a horse or proper food. Almost as though you were not meant to succeed on your mission, whatever it is.”
Arthur darted a look to the man’s handsome face, felt hotter still to find the man’s attention steady on him. “You’re quick.” Arthur’s stomach turned with shame but he nodded and made himself speak. “I believe I was sent here for that reason. To fail. As a supposed honor, which no one asked for, and when I die, as I probably will, it will be reason enough for my brother—for the Baron to move his army toward this place.”
“Attack a powerful duke, and one protected by a dragon?” The man shook his head. “This lord is either bold or incredibly foolish. I think foolish, if he would waste you in this way. Does he not know you?”
Arthur lowered his gaze to his lap, the fruit he did not wish to eat. The implied compliment in those words was difficult to ignore, but he tried. “May I ask, if you do not mind, is it true that the Duke commands the dragon to attack his own people? That they live in fear of the beast?”
The answering silence felt heavy. Arthur lifted his head.
The man appeared astonished, and not well-pleased.
“Have I offended you?” Arthur went on hurriedly. “My sense from traveling through these lands is that, while some fear the dragon, they fear it in the same way they fear meeting the Duke. They do not worry about harm, but they are wary, perhaps awed. I did not sense terror as I had expected to. Only a population like any other, content to live their lives without encountering the powerful.” The powerful were often troublesome, and avoiding them was an urge Arthur could understand. “I’ve always been told that the dragons were a scourge to the countryside. A weapon controlled by the Duke, perhaps even by the King.”
The man leaned forward to take a piece of firewood and place it on the fire. “A dragon cannot be controlled by anyone unless they desire to be.” He watched Arthur through the smoke. “Are you warm enough, pearl?”
Arthur could notthinkat those words, in that combination, said by a handsome stranger. “I’m not a p—” It was rude to decline gifts, even teasing ones, as surely these must be. “Why should a dragon desire to be controlled?” he wondered instead.
The man seemed delighted to be asked. “How else would they honor their treasure?”
Arthur packed up the fruit and set it aside while he tried to make sense of that answer. The only conclusion was thattreasuremust not mean what he thought it did. “Is it not riches?”
“You are quick,” the man returned Arthur’s earlier compliment. His tone was warm. “Treasure is whatever, or whoever, a dragon decides it is.” He puts his hands in his sleeves and watched Arthur with a cat’s smile and a gleam of approval in his eyes.
Arthur licked his lips, which seemed suddenly very dry, and wished desperately he had more experience with matters of flirtation and romance because it would not do for him to make a fool of himself in front of high-ranking, wealthy men, even if they looked at him so hotly. “So—” He had to try again because his throat was also dry. “So, they do not fear it? The people,” he clarified, “are not afraid of this dragon?”
