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“Your hair is getting so long,” Srei said as she combed out Esmal’s curls with her fingers. Esmal sat at the desk in his room—Srei helping him get ready for his dinner with Sisbul.

“I’ve actually never had it this long before,” Esmal said. “It’s miserable in this heat, but…”

“You like it?” Srei asked.

Esmal said, “Yes—ouch!” His head jerked back when Srei’s claw caught on a knot. Normally he was never allowed to grow it out farther than a few inches, but he had let it grow out to his shoulders.

“Sorry, about that,” Srei said. “It would be nice to have a brush, but, well, what use do we have for them in Srrket?”

“What about Tezz and Zairsh?”

Srei dismissed them with a click of her tongue. “Those hairs are too few to really get matted up like yours. So long as they bathe they’re fine.” She sighed. “I suppose I can ask around. Humans used to visit Srrket all the time—surely a hair brush or comb was left somewhere.” She pulled his hair back into a ponytail, using a ribbon to tie it off. “That will have to do for now. Sure I can’t convince you to put on any makeup?”

“Not yet,” Esmal said. “Little nervous to take it that far.”

“Afraid you’ll like what you see?” Srei teased.

Esmal knew she jest, but, strangely, the thought of liking it did alarm him. Such things were unthinkable in Savish—he was not allowed even the space to imagine it. Now, in Srrket he could look however he wished. A freedom that overwhelmed him if he thought too much about it.

“Something like that,” Esmal said as he stood and faced her, smiling. “Thank you, Srei.”

She took his hands in hers. “Remember what we talked about?”

Esmal nodded.

She squeezed his hands. “Don’t waste tonight. We need Sisbul on our side, so do whatever you can to court him.”

Esmal nodded and hugged her. When he released her, he said, “I should go.”

He made for the door, and Srei slapped his butt. “For good luck,” she said. Then Esmal shut the door, and his smile slipped away. A single, quiet hallway separated his room from Sisbul’s. He crossed it, stopping at the door to Sisbul’s chambers. It was a massive entryway that even Behesh could fit through. On the door was a relief carving of Shkhanna, staring down at Esmal. Shkhanna had been delicately painted to depict her ruby and gold hide. Its makers crafted the goddess as if she had reared up on her legs and outstretched her wings in order to be as large as possible.

Esmal stared at the carving’s eyes and whispered, “I wish you would do something about this. Why can’t you take that snake’s power from him, hmm?” More words bubbled up—worthless expressions of frustration he held in. He felt ridiculous saying what he had to a door, no need to try conversing with it.

So much that rode on a simple dinner. Their window to intervene felt impossibly narrow. Zysh had not told Esmal when he would attempt his coup, and if Esmal knew his father, Imad would be eager to retrieve his heir and end the charade of peace as quickly as possible.

He knocked on the door.

A silence stretched out. It was Zysh who answered the door.

“Oh, Esmal,” the python said, “You are early.”

Eager to be away from Zysh, Esmal said, “I can come back—”

“Nonsense,” Zysh waved inside. “Do come in. I will be leaving shortly.”

Feeling he put on a poor pantomime of normal, Esmal walked into the room. Sisbul was at a vanity on the far side of the large, open-ended suite. Esmal glanced down the open pit that led all the way to the baths as they walked past it. He idly felt the impulse to jump.

Ignoring that, they approached the steward while the cobra applied his makeup.

“He is just primping himself up for tonight,” Zysh told Esmal. He wished he took Srei up on her offer to put on some makeup—if only to avoid Zysh.

Sisbul grunted and tilted one side of his face to his vanity mirror to better apply a sharp line of golden eyeliner. “I am almost done,” Sisbul said. “Apologies Esmal, I do not want to keep you waiting a moment longer.” Sisbul set down one thing and picked up another, Esmal not exactly sure what the naga might be doing. While he brushed something across his dark, scaled snout, Sisbul asked, “How is your training coming along?”

Until now they spoke in Savish, so Esmal switched into Srrketch with practiced ease to prove his progress: “I am getting most of the language. I think I know enough that I might start learning magic.”

“Ah, and what of your lessons with Zairsh?”

After what happened with Zysh, both Zairsh and Behesh picked up on something being wrong. Zairsh threatened to beat it out of Esmal till the prince told his instructor that speaking might endanger both their lives. At that, Zairsh’s eyes had narrowed, “This is some shit with magic, isn’t it? Shkhanna’s slit, boy, what did you do? No—don’t tell me, we’ll leave it for now. When the time comes, just call on my blade.” After that, Zairsh proved very gentle and generous with his pipe and affection to soothe Esmal’s anxiety. The prince had trouble even holding a sword this morning.

Behesh had simply let the issue drop in the library as soon as Srei changed the subject.

Esmal told Sisbul, “Things are going well. I did not expect to train under such a great warrior while here, but I am glad to have him.”

“Word is you train almost as much in the baths as out on the grounds,” Zysh teased.

Sisbul was too distracted with applying his makeup to notice how canned Esmal’s laughter was. He said, “Zairsh is more charming than he looks, I promise.”

“I will take your word for it.” Zysh turned to his steward. “Done yet, love?”

“Almost.”

“There really is no need to go to all this trouble,” Esmal said.

Zysh waved off Esmal’s concern with a backwards flick of the hand. “Nonsense. This is a dinner between heads of state. And we so rarely get to have those.”

Sisbul snapped shut a small box of makeup and faced Esmal. “Indulge us, won’t you, prince?”

The dark scales of Sisbul’s face carried a glossy sheen. His golden eye liner had long wings to them, and his eyeshadow started purple and delicately worked up to a peach, like tracing the gradients of sky east to west at dusk. It added an extra layer of beauty: color and depth mixed to the masculine features of the snake’s face. Esmal’s mouth hung open for a second too long, which made Sisbul smirk.

Regardless of what he felt towards the steward now, Sisbul’s physical attraction still could not be denied.

Zysh broke the silence between the two. “I shall go get someone to send dinner up and take care of your nightly duties, love.” Before leaving, Zysh leaned down to Esmal’s ear and whispered, “Behave yourself, prince.”

Sisbul rolled his eyes, but Esmal knew the very pointed threat Zysh made. The python squeezed tight the shoulder of the arm he broke the night before. Then, he left, and as Zysh shut the doors to the suite behind him, Sisbul asked, “Are you nervous?”

Esmal could not look Sisbul in the eyes yet. “I am that obvious?”

“Your hands are shaking, Esmal. Come, have a seat with me.” Sisbul gestured to a sofa set out next to Sisbul’s bedding. The sofa must have been brought up for Esmal’s benefit, he realized. Neither the steward nor his consorts used conventional furniture. A dining table with a single upholstered chair had also been brought to the room and placed beside the open shaft that led to the public baths.

Esmal sank into the sofa while Sisbul reclined on his coils in his bedding. The naga said, “Relax dear Esmal. You are not in any danger here.”

Far from the truth, but Esmal pushed those thoughts aside. He cleared his throat and said, leg bouncing restlessly, “Yes, well, given the strangeness of our last rendezvous and your distance, can you blame me?”

Sisbul sighed. “No, truly, the fault is entirely mine. It seems as soon as you chose to embrace Srrketch I chose to adopt your place as palace hermit. I promise I do not normally ever find myself so cowed.”

“And this was because of some vision you had that evening.”

“Tezz and Zysh have not given you any details, I’m assuming?”

“None,” Esmal said. He stilled his bouncing leg after the sofa began to squeak.

“Well, seeing as it is not particularly exciting dinner conversation, I will tell you now,” Sisbul said before he described the vision. It made clearer for Esmal why Zysh had committed to making plans with his father. Esmal could not see any sort of future but death inside the vision. He still did not know how he might return here if he wanted to permanently curb the empire’s desire to conquer Srrket, and if Sisbul was supposed to be Esmal’s future then…

Esmal took a deep breath. “I can see why this troubled you. How much stock do you take in such visions?”

Sisbul leaned forward, close enough that if Esmal reached out he might touch the cobra’s face. “What do you mean?”

“Is this the future as written or can we change it?” Esmal asked. “I have seen seers all across the continent spin their craft, and they all have different answers.”

“Shkhanna sees time differently than we do, part of her privileges as a goddess. Her sight expands both forwards and backwards in what for us is an incomprehensible sea of events.”

“But what does that mean, Sisbul?”

The cobra’s brow furrowed. “It means I do not know how to answer your question. It is somewhere in the middle, and I do not believe we know what exactly that future is.”

Given his meeting with Zysh yesterday, Esmal had some ideas.

Sisbul took on a sympathetic look. “What I know, Esmal, is it was a mistake to keep you distant. I have no excuse, I was merely frightened by what I saw. Whatever comes, we will need each other. That is what I know.”

The naga had edged closer as he spoke. They almost touched, and Esmal suddenly had the image of Sisbul pushing him down into the couch while…

Now was not the time for such fancies. Esmal swallowed the lump in his throat. “I am still confused, though.”

“About?”

“Why did you kiss me back then?”

Soon as Sisbul opened his mouth to speak there was a knock on the door. Sisbul pulled himself away and called to the door, “Come in.” The naga began slithering to the entrance, and, as it opened, he engaged in pleasantries with whoever was on the other side. Esmal watched the long length of the cobra’s coils unspool from the bedding, bands of red and black, as thick around as a horse’s torso. Esmal idly reached down and placed his palm against the scales as they slid by, pleased by their touch as they roved across Esmal’s hand.

He wondered if Sisbul had been about to make an advance. Esmal certainly still found the naga attractive, but could he really keep Zysh’s secrets if Sisbul got too close? His feelings for the naga had long since passed, but stirrings of desire could become something else. Especially if he followed Srei’s advice and began trying to court the steward. Then there was what Sisbul said: “we will need each other…” Perhaps Esmal should just follow Sisbul’s example and lean into whatever might happen between them.

Esmal stood just as a lizard was being ushered out of the room. Left on the table was a wooden tray with dining implements, two cups and decanter, as well as a local dish that had been an acquired taste for Esmal. It involved some sort of game cooked in a mole sauce served with corn tortillas and several roasted peppers stuffed with a bean paste. Esmal decided to set the table, Sisbul smiling as he returned.

“So courteous, prince.”

“I have been working on my table manners, too. I would pull out your seat and scoot you in myself, but you do not seem to have need for one.”

“Heh, good to see your humor returned,” Sisbul said as they both sat opposite each other.

Esmal tested the heat of one of the peppers. They were warm but would not burn his hand to pick up. He did and bit down to the stem. Smoky, spicy heat muddled by the soft earthiness of the bean filled his mouth. It was a bit of bravado, steeling himself so when he swallowed his food, he could point out, “You did not answer my question.”

“Which one?”

“I think you know.”

Sisbul set his elbow on the table and rested his head in his palm. “Would you believe I am embarrassed about it?”

Esmal reached for the decanter and gestured to Sisbul’s cup.

“Please.” As Esmal poured dark wine into both clay cups, Sisbul said, “I was caught up in the last moments of the vision, and I thought if I threw myself at you I might find clarity.”

“And you did not.” Esmal finished pouring and pushed Sisbul’s cup to him.

“The only thing I was certain of was that I made a fool of myself, but because of the trance, I felt your feelings for me, so I did not see any trouble with trying.”

“Ah,” Esmal had wondered if Sisbul knew. They both took a drink, looking at each other over their glasses. Esmal set his down first and said, “You should know I have moved on.”

Sisbul stared a moment, then leaned away. “I guess I should not be surprised.”

“But you are?”

Sisbul’s hood winced inward. “You are… your tongue is sharp as ever, prince.” He shook his head, “It was wrong of me to assume you had not.”

Esmal idly grabbed the stem of the pepper he’d eaten and twirled it along the rim of his plate. “What did you expect to happen tonight, steward?” He was surprised that, in the moment, he felt some amount of anger. Not only did the cobra know his feelings, but he chose to ignore Esmal for nearly two months and then think they could just pick back up where they left off?

“I had hoped to make amends,” Sisbul said. “If we are not at the point where I can, perhaps dinner was a mistake…”

Esmal thought of what Srei would do to him if he turned and left now. He sighed and said while staring at his plate, “It is fine. I am… I am hurt. A strange thing for me to admit aloud. All our interactions before that night feel veiled in whatever competing motives drove us back then. And I only thought I loved you because I had forgotten what kindness even felt like.” Esmal met Sisbul’s gaze. “I know the difference now between true affection and simple generosity. As for tonight, I am willing to put all of our past aside and show you who I am today, if you are willing to show me the same.”

A smile peeked from the corners of Sisbul’s lips. “I would like that very much, Esmal.”

***

“If you told me what you were looking for perhaps I might help,” Behesh said while Srei scanned the titles on a row of scroll casings. She held up a chamberstick to each casing to read their title. It was tedious work, but Srei felt the need to do something while Esmal did his part.

Srei glared down the row of shelves where Behesh stood. “I told you I do not need any help, Behesh.”

Behesh grumbled and slid his way between the shelves. He needed to pivot his body so one winged arm rested on top of a shelf in order to fit between them. He ambled closer and Srei hissed, “Behesh!”

But the wyvern, coming into the candlelight, looked horribly distressed. He shook his head, nearly knocking his snout against the stone stacks. “No Srei! I know why you are upset and I just want to say that I am sorry.”

Srei blinked. “What?”

“I know, I am not one to admit mistakes, but it was wrong of me to say what I did about Esmal yesterday. He is a good person and deserves our faith, and I could tell whatever I said set off… something that has left you both unsettled since.”

Srei released a tense breath and set the chamberstick on the floor. “Behesh,” she stepped to him and hugged his head to her chest. “You sweet, silly wyvern.” Behesh made a pleased growl and nuzzled into Srei. She needed to plant her feet not to be pushed back. She added while still holding him, “Esmal and I did have a fight over that. But, for now, resolving it doesn’t really matter. Something else came up.”

Behesh pulled back a little to look at her again. “Something else?”

Srei considered what to say. She actually trusted Behesh. They were incredibly close, and right now Esmal and her needed some kind of ally. Slowly, Srei said, “Esmal and I are in danger, Behesh. There is a spell cast on us that makes it so we have to be very careful what we say and who we talk about. I am trying to see if I can find said spell so we might know ways around it.”

Behesh stared at her. In the darkness she saw the wyvern’s eyes shine with concentration. “I see…” his tongue flicked up to his snout a moment, “I see… you mean that—”

“Behesh be very careful with what you say around me right now.”

“Err, right. We heard about this spell yesterday, didn’t we? Just before we had our conversation alone together.”

Srei swallowed the lump in her throat. He got it. Thank Shkhanna Behesh had been there when they saw Zysh yesterday. “That is the one.”

“And you are in danger, Srei?” Behesh asked. “You know for certain?”

“Last night Esmal was beaten and his arm broken as a threat before it was magically mended. My life was threatened as well if Esmal did not comply,” Srei said, tail twitching behind her. They just needed to mark Zysh out of the conversation entirely. Behesh would understand.

“I see…” Behesh had been looking past Srei, but now he studied her. “Why?” his question was asked in a rasp. He shook his head, “I am sorry, I still need to think. Can we not talk here? Come with me to my den and let us speak there, please. Then I will help you however I can. Besides, the scrolls taken yesterday have not been returned.”

“Thank you, Behesh.” She turned and grabbed the chamberstick while he backed out of the stacks. Behesh’s den was a single large room he used for sleeping. In a previous life, it had been a community meeting space on the library’s top floor, but now it had been stripped of most furniture, its windows boarded up to keep out light, and a basin had been carved into the stone floor by Behesh’s claws so he might curl up in it. Srei grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it out before sitting down beside Behesh.

He spoke a little more loudly now, his frame silhouetted in candlelight. “You are in danger—Srei, I am so sorry.”

“You will be in danger if we are not careful.”

“Heh, I am a wingless wyvern, dear. I am not much threat to anyone.”

“Behesh…”

“We both know it to be true,” Behesh told her. “I am glad we are discussing this at night when my wits are more about me, at least. I still do not understand why, however.”

Staring at Behesh’s talons while they flickered in the low light, Srei said, “There were… plans being made in case Esmal is not up to the task of keeping Srrket safe. It seems those plans are now being prioritized.”

“I see, and the steward does not know, does he?”

Srei hugged her arms around her chest and wrapped her tail around the legs of her chair. “Sisbul was less cruel to Esmal when they were trying to kill each other on the field of battle.”

“Hmmhmm, and you have not told the steward anything.”

“Right now, we’re not sure Sisbul would take our word for it. And the steward is not exactly one to interrogate others.”

Behesh grunted again. “And where is Esmal right now?”

“Ideally, winning the steward over so we might tell him.”

“Then I wish Esmal all the charm Shkhanna might give him. The boy at least is good at winning others over. We are both evidence of that.”

Srei felt some of her tension ease at hearing Behesh’s words. “Then you mean you do see Esmal as a friend?”

“He is… almost as endearing to me as you were when you first arrived here. I can tell he is certainly just as lost as you were.”

Srei gave the wyvern a warm smile. “I am not sure we appreciate being called lost, but thank you Behesh.”

Behesh snorted, which nearly blew the candle out. “There is nothing to thank me for. My appreciation of you both is strictly based on qualities I believe anyone would be attracted, er, would find appealing.” Srei arched her brow, but Behesh quickly said, “Anyways, we are wasting time. Do you know whatever plan is being kept from Sisbul?”

“Just that it is some kind of coup,” Srei told Behesh. “Sisbul would be deposed. Savish would rule us but let us have our governor be one of our own. Supposedly no one would be harmed in this process.”

“Does Esmal think this is the case?”

“Esmal is worried the whole city will be burning by the end of the year.”

“I would trust his judgement.”

“We’re both desperate to stop this. We have no idea when it might come or how, so right now we are trying to get the resources we need to resist.”

Behesh nodded again. “Of course. I believe that is for the best as well. I know what scrolls were taken for that spell, the ones returned and the ones missing. We can start by pouring over the ones here then figure out how to get a hold of the scrolls still not returned.”

By the time he finished laying out how he would help, Srei was trembling with relief. “Oh Behesh…” she threw herself at him. The wyvern grunted as Srei hugged him at the base of his long neck. This turned into a pleased purr. He wrapped one of his winged-arms around her while she burrowed her face in his scales. Behesh’s hide was comforting and warm, and smelled like scrolls tinged with a slight earthy note of his species. She quaked against him and said, “I’m so glad I have you.”

Behesh growled gently. “Of course you have me, my dear. You are the most precious person to me in Srrket. I am honored you allow me to be so close.”

Srei squeezed him, unsure how to respond to that. She craned backwards to find him looking down at her. She placed a palm on his snout and whispered, “Behesh… y-you know that if you wanted me—”

“I do,” Behesh said, in almost a whine. He nuzzled her again, this time letting his tongue drag across her chest and neck. It made Srei gasp. He had never done that before. Behesh whispered, husky and trembling, “Now, more than ever, when you are in danger and so much is uncertain, I want you. Want to protect you. I want to be bonded to you Srei. But that commitment… it would be unfair for me to ask it of any but another wyvern.”

“Behesh…” Srei stepped back, hand rubbing his cheek. “Can we really not make it work?”

Behesh shook his head. “Wyverns… change when bonded, dear. I will grow possessive of you, and will have trouble letting you have time alone with others without getting anxious or upset. When two wyverns bond it is different because our bond ensures we are always there for the other. You… I could not ask you to give up Esmal.”

“And I would not give him up.”

Behesh rumbled. “You understand, dear.”

“I will not accept it, Behesh. There has to be some way…”

“Srei, this is not some spell you can work around. This is my biology. You cannot change it.”

Srei stared at the wyvern, now close to tears. She held it in. This was an old ache. Given how fraught everything already felt, it made it all the more painful, however, to say, “We are not getting anywhere—we should get a hold of those scrolls you mentioned.”

“You won’t concede, will you?”

Throat dry, Srei said, “I will never give up on you, Behesh. But if we don’t figure some way of stopping this coup we might all be dead anyways.” She opened the door to his room. “So show me where those scrolls are.”

***

They both ate their fill of food. Esmal turned the conversation onto Sisbul, pointing out that, while Sisbul seemed to know a great deal about Esmal, there was very little the snake had said about himself. This led to many different meandering topics about the lives of past stewards, and what Sisbul did with the seemingly endless amount of time he had on this world.

“Dueling, wrestling, poetry, play-writing,” Esmal counted off his fingers. “You make yourself sound like quite the genius.”

Sisbul scoffed. “It is just all the extra time I have. I grow older and learn more, but my health and memory never decline, and I am always energetic. Especially more than others in the evenings. Sometimes Shkhanna’s spirit runs so strongly through me I go days without needing sleep.”

“What about your consorts?”

“Don’t worry, they, and you will never be affected like that,” Sisbul said. He reached for the decanter. “More wine?”

“I believe we are out,” Esmal said. He knew they were, and felt a little warmth to his cheeks from the drink. Just a pleasant buzz, one he had not really enjoyed in a while. They had placed their finished plates on the wooden dining tray. It was, for two “heads of state,” actually a fairly humble looking affair. No fine gold or silverware or delicately painted plates of porcelain. The room was dimly lit by a few torches set into the wall. The sun had set half an hour ago, and a cooler than usual breeze pooled through Sisbul’s open windows.

“Ah, then I have something else to drink. A treat I’m not sure you have had yet. Srei certainly would not be familiar with the finer blends.” Sisbul went to a chest against the wall next to his vanity and began to rummage through it. He returned with a corked bottle and two crystal glasses and set them on the table.

“Now, Esmal, more important than my magic lessons, may be the lesson I’m about to teach you.” He uncorked the bottle. “This is how you drink finely blended mezcal.”

The smell of floral smokiness cut by alcohol hit Esmal. He asked, “Is it a spirit?”

“The finest in Srrketch, made from the agave that grows here in the valley. There is a family of lizards who perfected its craft and make it for the rest of the valley.”

Sisbul poured a finger’s width of liquid in each glass before handing one to Esmal. He held his up, and instructed, demonstrating each point, “First, take a smell of it. Let the floral notes fill your palette, taste the hint of smokiness on the back of your tongue…. Then pucker your lips like so and leave a pocket of saliva there. Sip the glass so you can smell the mezcal as you drink. Let the sip settle in your saliva a moment, then allow it into the rest of your mouth so your mouth can be warmed and enjoy its flavor, then swallow….” Sisbul did all this then looked expectantly at Esmal.

He eyed the glass dubiously. “Seems like a lot of work…” but he did as told. The spirit did smell enticing: floral, smoky, and sweet. Like a blended version of a kiss from Srei then Zairsh. A thought that seemed far too intrusive at the moment. He let the spirit slip into his mouth, no more than a spoonful, and set it in the pocket of saliva, diluting it a moment before allowing it to spread through the rest of his mouth. The usual burn of a hard spirit was a soothing warmth that tasted just as it smelled. It was… almost an erotic pleasure to drink. He swallowed, the smokiness lingering on the back of his tongue.

“Rapturous, isn’t it?”

Esmal licked his lips, getting just another touch of the flavor before he said, “If you serve this after every dinner I’ll be coming over a lot more.”

Sisbul laughed, head and hood craning backwards. Esmal let him have his mirth. The prince was busy going through the ritual to have another drink. Sisbul beamed at him as he set down his glass. “Sadly, I cannot promise more than a few glasses. This bottle needs to last me through the summer.”

“Bah!” Esmal raised his glass. “Then we take what we can tonight, hmm?”

“Hear hear, prince,” Sisbul clinked his glass to the prince’s and they each took another drink. This time, an over-eager Esmal simply swallowed the remaining fluid in his glass. The spirit’s barking burn hit him full force, and Esmal gasped as he swallowed. Sisbul laughed again and poured Esmal another glass. “Easy prince! Savor it! If you want to just get drunk I will go down to the kitchens and get you something else.”

“Heh, sorry, a little too excited, I suppose,” Esmal scratched the back of his head and gave Sisbul a rueful smile. “I can behave, I promise.”

Sisbul’s brow arched.

“You know what I mean!” Esmal snapped, too buzzed to be embarrassed. “Anyways, how long do we have? When will your consorts be returning?”

“After the storm passes.”

“Storm?”

“Can’t you feel it?” Sisbul held out his arms and let the cool breeze roll past. “The first rain of the season.” He hissed. “It is a good night to do this, you know. Our dinner is blessed by Shkhanna.”

“Was that planned?”

“Ha! You flatter, prince, but even I cannot control the weather.”

From the window came a flash of lightning. Sisbul gave a pleased hiss eventually drowned by the chasing thunder.

Esmal observed, “I did not know you liked storms so much.”

“You could take my arms, my eyes, my tongue, most parts of my body and I might live, Esmal. But none of us live without water. Even here it is precious, so the rain is a thing of joy.”

He grinned. He never saw Sisbul so overjoyed before, and since the source was such a simple one, Esmal found it infectious. They each took another drink, Esmal sure to be more careful this time. While Sisbul poured himself another glass, Esmal observed, “I noticed the first time I came in here the instruments hanging on your wall. Do you play?”

Sisbul grinned. “Would you like to find out?”

Esmal laughed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Merely offering to entertain you. It’s just, with the rain and my playing, some might construe it as a romantic flourish on my part…”

“I could sing to you to keep us even.”

Sisbul actually gawked. “Sing?”

“Yes!” Esmal snapped. “Why is it no one seems to think I can?”

Sisbul took a drink from his glass, and Esmal decided to mirror the gesture. “I just never expected your father to let you.”

“It is something I mastered on my own time,” Esmal said. He stood, scooting his chair backwards. He puffed out his chest and sang a few basic notes without any sort of words behind them. When he finished, he noticed Sisbul had gone very still for him. “Well?”

“Count me pleasantly surprised. We must play together, then! I do know some ballads from outside Srrketch,” Sisbul excitedly went to one of the stringed instruments hanging on the wall. Esmal watched him, taking another drink, as Sisbul took down a mandola. In the snake’s hands, the larger instrument looked like its cousin mandolin. Sisbul returned to the table, already giving the instrument a few cursory strums.

While he began to tune it, he asked, “Do you know any ballads from Ruskerrat?”

“Er, no, I don’t even speak Rusker,” Esmal said.

Sisbul grumbled. “We will need to teach you songs from here. It would be a riot to hear you of all people sing ‘The Little Lizard Caught Sneaking Into the Drake’s Den.’”

Esmal took a sip from his glass and considered what songs he picked up in his travels. Sadly, a general leading the Savish army rarely had encounters with bards. There was one song that stuck out, however…

Esmal asked, “Do you know the Gilean ballad ‘Mother the Sons Are Gone Away to the Fields’?”

Sisbul sipped some more mezcal, considering, “I may… is it the one where at the end it turns out the singer is actually—”

“Yes!” Esmal blushed and added quickly, “We can skip that verse. Gilean’s have a very poor sense of humor.”

Sisbul laughed. “I imagine we both remember it because of the twist. I do not know all the words, but the melody is something like this, yes?” Sisbul played a sequence of notes and the ballad became even more concrete in Esmal’s mind. Lyrics once opaque became clear and he nodded eagerly. Even if it was for this awful song, Esmal had not had the opportunity to sing with musical accompaniment since he was a boy. Marching songs could be enjoyable, but this was an opportunity to explore his vocal range like he’d not been allowed in years.

Esmal drained the rest of his glass and beamed. “That’s it! I can’t believe we’re about to do this…”

Sisbul let out a snickering hiss. “You’re adorable, Esmal. It is not like we are performing for anyone but the rain.”

Another flash of lightning and louder hammer of thunder. The wind had picked up and Esmal now felt the cool moisture on the air as it ran through Sisbul’s window and paraded around the suite.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t know all the lyrics.”

Sisbul chuckled and poured them both another glass. He held his up for Esmal. “To help you remember.”

Esmal did not question that logic. They both drank the mezcal in a wasteful, hardy gulp. Sisbul started strumming, finding a set of chords he liked before he fell into the melody. Face flushed and now definitely drunk, Esmal started to sing.

Ooooooh, Mother the sons are gone to the fields

Let’s pray this year sees a bountiful yield

And while they’re away, let my heart be healed

Hike up your old dress, let me sow your field

Those sons of yours never give us our time

Always whining, crying, when your ‘sposed to be mine

The harvest can’t come soon enough, Mother,

Cause each day not bedding you is a crime

Oh, Mother the sons are gone to the fields

Let’s pray this year sees a bountiful yield

And while they’re away, let my heart be healed

Hike up your old dress, let me sow your field

Sisbul added his voice to the chorus as the rain started to come down in sheets. It poured through the window in wet waves, misting the entire room as more poured down through the shaft in the pyramid’s center. Rain, life giving and furious, doused some of the torches in the room, and Sisbul’s shape turned into a dark outline. While Esmal’s eyes adjusted, he sang even louder for the storm.

Those bastard boys of yours got no respect!

I want to wring every one of their necks!

Oh Mother, when’s the day ‘sposed to come?

When they leave you lone so no one suspects?

Oh, Mother the sons are gone to the fields

Let’s pray this year sees a bountiful yield

But while they’re away, let my—hahaha fuck!

Hehe—Hike up your old dress, let me sow your field!

Pleasure and adrenaline surged through the prince. This felt stupid and senseless and fun. He could not remember the last time all those things collided like this inside him. Between lines, he jumped up onto the table to use it as a stage. He wobbled once, but Sisbul stopped him from falling over by pushing his head against Esmal’s back. Laughing and marring the chorus with laughter, Esmal went into the third verse.

They feed me tablescraps at the inn’s, Mother

Treat me like a mangy mutt and mother fucker!

But I know the harvest round the corner

Will give you the chance to treat me like no other

Oh, Mother the sons are gone to the fields

Let’s pray this year sees a bountiful yield

But while they’re away, let my heart be healed

Hike up your old dress, let me sow your field!

Aside from a trio of torches on the far side of the room, the light in the suite had been snuffed out. Esmal had closed his eyes, swaying and dancing while he sang. He kicked the tray off the table but neither of them cared. His clothes got damp, moisture blew against his skin from the shaft beside the table. Water caught in his mouth, cold and sweet. And Esmal kept singing.

Mother it had to happen eventually

They caught us today now all will see

That even though I’m just an old dog

Four legs don’t make me any less needy

Oooooooh Moth—

The table itself had grown wet and slick. Esmal became so lost in himself he did not notice slipping till he fell. He landed at a forty-five degree angle, back against something solid and warm. It was Sisbul—he had dropped his mandola to catch Esmal against his chest.

The snake’s face hung down over his, eyes shining in the dark. “Hehehe, careful there, prince. Of all the ways to die—” Esmal pulled Sisbul into a kiss. The surprised naga loosed a gasp, but did not resist when Esmal tilted his head and pressed his lips at a new angle. Searching, seeking, till Sisbul began to kiss him back. Esmal shivered, cupping Sisbul’s cheeks as the naga’s tongue slid inside his mouth. It was thin like a snake’s would be, but Sisbul’s massive size made it just as thick as Esmal’s. They both tasted like the mezcal, tastebuds sliding together to seek out more. His heart pounded so much Esmal was certain Sisbul felt the pulse in his lips. The snake’s were smooth, fine delicate scales that yielded easily to Esmal’s attentions and left the prince wanting. Sisbul’s hands, meanwhile, roved Esmal’s body. Probing, touching, exploring like they were desperate to find every tender spot of Esmal’s flesh.

For a time, it was just the taste of him, the sound of his labored breathing through his snout, his hands, and the rain all around them.

When Sisbul broke the kiss, Esmal had no clue how long they had been there. They were both panting as they stared at each other in the dark.

The wine and mezcal both had emptied Esmal of all his reservations. He caressed Sisbul’s hood and whispered, “I want you.”

“Are you sure? Esmal you are very drunk and I—”

“Shut up,” Esmal said, “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to carry you out onto the roof and fuck you in the rain.”

Esmal bit his bottom lip. All those wet scales sliding against his skin, keeping him warm while Sisbul split him open on one of his cocks… “Then why aren’t you taking me up there right now?”

Sisbul’s hood folded inwards and he looked away. “I, uh, am too drunk to get hard…”

“What?” Esmal hissed.

“It is a thing nagas are notorious for,” Sisbul answered wryly. “I am no exception.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Esmal asked. He was, himself, so stiff his shaft ached in his pants.

“You could fuck my slit?” Sisbul suggested.

Struggling awkwardly, Esmal got off Sisbul and sat down on the table. “How would that work?” he asked.

“I mean, you have a child don’t you? I assumed it would be fairly obvious.”

“But would you enjoy it?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not going to fuck you if this is something you’re doing for my benefit,” Esmal warned.

“I returned your kiss, didn’t I?”

Esmal considered this. He nodded, “It was very good.”

Sisbul snickered. “Would you believe I hear that often?”

“I might need a second try to be sure,” Esmal said.

“Wouldn’t this be the third time?”

“That peck you gave me hardly compared. Now get over here you… you sexy snake.”

“Hehehe, if only to stop you from talking.” Sisbul cupped the small of Esmal’s back with one hand and tilted the prince’s head up with the other. Their lips met again, and the snake’s body now pushed against Esmal. The storm outside had grown steady and heavy, no longer swinging haymakers of rain but falling in a flat sheet. Sisbul’s scales were wet, but carried the naga’s supernatural warmth. Esmal hands touched Sisbul’s firm abdomen, the yellow scales so enticing against his skin. He traced the V of an Adonis belt and then… lower… a different heat. Sisbul’s kiss became harder, more urgent as Esmal’s fingers brushed along the snake’s slit. It was, like everything else about Sisbul, much larger than any other Esmal encountered. Big enough Esmal knew he would have no trouble fucking the steward there. His fingers traced the tender mound where scales puckered together to their inner flesh. There was a slick moisture there far too hot to be from the rain.

Their lips broke and Sisbul suggested, “Would you like to taste it?”

“Are you planning to teach me some strange ritual for it—”

Sisbul shoved his head down. “Shut up and just get to, ahhh…” the naga released a pleased hiss above him as Esmal split the slit open with his tongue. Sisbul rested a hand on the back of Esmal’s head, pressing down just enough to force his tongue inside. The potent cocktail of slit fluids made Esmal groan. It tasted like a reptile’s cum, only thinner and more watery. A taste Esmal now only associated with the pleasure he gave Zairsh and Srei. The smell was there, too. A delectable musk that made Esmal’s knees quake beneath him. Honestly, Sisbul could hold him here all night if he wished.

Esmal squirmed free of Sisbul’s grip and told him huffing, “Spread yourself.” Sisbul listened immediately, reaching down to his mound and pulling his slit open. Esmal only saw the silhouette of it in the dark, but a flood of that musk struck his nose and left him short of breath. He cursed, “Shkhanna’s slit…”

“The closest you can get to it, at least.”

Esmal leaned in again, a little lost in the moment. He whispered, “It certainly deserves to be worshipped.”

Esmal burrowed his face back into the open slit. This time when his tongue worked up and down inside Sisbul, he felt not the slit’s walls but the firmer flesh of Sisbul’s flaccid cocks. They were leaking precum even if they could not get hard. Esmal wriggled his tongue against one tip and the other. Sisbul made little trembles and gasps while Esmal worked. The naga began undulating his body to grind his slit more into Esmal’s face. The prince’s nose rubbed inside the slit, getting coated in fluid. It made it so he occasionally needed to come up for air, but Esmal did not care. His whole world was Sisbul’s magnificent sex.

Eventually he managed to rip his head away, panting. Both men took a beat before Sisbul said, “Esmal I want your cock.”

Something the prince never expected the steward to say.

Esmal began stripping off his pants without a word. Sisbul pulled off his soaked shirt and hugged Esmal to the scaly body before him. Sisbul sighed. “Your flesh feels good, you know.” Esmal thought the same of Sisbul’s scales, and it only occurred to him now that in some ways Esmal was the exotic one in this place. Sisbul’s hands roved up and down Esmal’s back, nails raking the prince’s skin just enough to make Esmal gasp. The steward reclined on his coils and pulled Esmal up with him so that Esmal straddled the great naga’s body.

Esmal’s dick slid up and down glossy scales in the dark. Till Sisbul grabbed his thighs and tugged him in place. There his dick teased across the slickened scales of Sisbul’s slit. The naga’s body touched Esmal all over. His face only came to the serpent’s collarbone in this position, which Esmal nipped before Sisbul tilted his cheek up so Esmal might look at him when he said, “Fuck me, Esmal.”

They both pushed their bodies into each other.

Sisbul’s slit was unlike anything Esmal had fucked before. Two firm yet flaccid shafts hugged and rubbed against his. Wet heat enveloped him, those hemipenes squeezed around his cock, but it was a different pressure than a cunt or ass. It was like a hand gripping down on the middle of his shaft while the base and tip rubbed against the loose, wet heat of the slit’s inner walls. Regardless of the strangeness, it still felt very good. Esmal cursed. His hips started working of their own accord.

Sisbul hissed as cock churned up his slit, Esmal’s pubes and balls soon damp in the messy naga’s fluids. Sisbul never stopped dripping, and when Esmal glanced down in the dark he could just see the wet mess sticking together between his flesh and those scales as he fucked Sisbul. Then a finger tilted Esmal’s head up, and Sisbul’s lips pushed against his. Esmal moaned, hips working automatically as he focused on the kiss. Sisbul still tasted like mezcal, but the naga’s slit now coated Esmal’s palette. Both males breathed quickly through their noses, huffing and groaning. The room reeked of rain and musk. It felt frantic and wild as hips came flush to that heated mound slap after slap.

Sisbul’s hood trembled before he broke the kiss with a curse.

Esmal hilted inside the slit. He took a breath, felt those twin flaccid shafts twitch and throb. They remained inert, but clearly reacted to the pounding Esmal gave. The rain had softened to a steady drip. Esmal barely noticed, both men panting and staring at each other in the dark. Then Sisbul whispered “I’m close Esmal.”

Esmal nodded, body still flushed. He squeezed the snake’s sides and grit his teeth. He fell into a feral rut against Sisbul’s body. He needed to make the steward cum. Esmal was actually too drunk at the moment to be anywhere near his peak, but it did not matter. His body buzzed warm with pleasure and all that mattered was milking this slit for all he could. Sisbul’s back arched, chest pushed against Esmal’s face. The steward moaned, quaking while dick rubbed all over his slit. The sensitive walls, those receptive shafts. Sisbul did his best to flex them around Esmal’s cock in a cloying trap of sticky sweetness. That heat going wet mess to tight squeeze back to a messy relief. Slit fluid and precum fell out with each clench. Esmal’s balls slapped against sticky hide, thick filaments of precum connecting skin to scale.

Then Sisbul started a string of curses. Esmal did not notice Sisbul spiraling towards the edge, though, until the snake’s slit started flooding with thick, sticky cum. Inhumanely potent and dense. Esmal stopped, gasping as the cum quickly flooded out against his hips, flush with the steward’s. He moaned, those cocks throbbing against his. When he looked up, he noticed the string of curses weren’t something incoherent, but measured. Sisbul looked down at Esmal, eyes glowing bright violet, tongues of flame pouring from them.

He had enough time to gawk before Sisbul lunged towards him, jaw open. Four venomous fangs, long and thick as Esmal’s middle finger, plunged into his shoulder. The prince screamed. Stinging pain lanced through his body, making Esmal lock up a moment as that pain pushed down to his toes. Then his body exploded with pleasure. Esmal’s dick jumped inside that squeezing, cum-filled slit. His balls started clenching even before his body had the wherewithal all to produce cum, but then ropes of his seed spilled inside the steward. Esmal’s shoulder burned, but it burned like the rush of alcohol in his face. A pleasurable heat he clung onto. He hugged tight to Sisbul, coils wrapped around his body, as they both shook and shuddered through their orgasm.

When Esmal came to, the rain had stopped. He lay across Sisbul’s chest, while the steward hissed a gentle, lullaby like melody. Scaly coils roved across Esmal’s legs and back, as if Sisbul wanted every part of his long body to touch his prince’s. Eventually, Sisbul licked his shoulder and apologized, “Sorry, I got caught up in the moment. I can heal your shoulder now, if you like.”

Esmal, a little lost, said what came quickest to his mind, “Keep it there…” a breath, “It can be… a memento of our first night together.”

“Esmal you know that means…” he shook his head and asked, “Will stay with me tonight?”

Esmal reached up and touched the naga’s cheek. He said, “I would love nothing else.”

Esmal had forgotten that the rain had stopped. That the storm’s end meant something.

The door to Sisbul’s suite opened. A voice carried across the room. “Dinner seems to have gone well.”

Esmal started. Zyshthunse. A padding of heavy paws through the suite. “Sorry to disturb your moment you two. We dragged our scales long as we could.” Tezzbelst, too. The drake chanted a little incantation and a few of the doused torches came back to life, the water sizzling right off the newly lit flames.

Esmal grimaced, suddenly feeling very exposed. Zysh slithered up to the two of them and asked, “Do we have a guest with us tonight, Sisbul?”

Clumsily, Esmal started getting out of Sisbul’s coils. “Actually, Srei might get worried if I disappear—I should return to my room.”

Sisbul helped Esmal back up, saying, “Allow me to escort you back.”

“It’s, uh, really not—”

“I insist, Esmal.”

Reluctantly, Esmal let the steward usher them both out. Back out in the dark hallway, Sisbul said, “I am sorry about those two—I did not mean—”

“It is fine, Sisbul,” Esmal said as they made their way to his suite.

“I should have told them not to come back tonight, I should have—”

Esmal turned and put a hand on Sisbul’s sternum. “Stop. You did nothing wrong. You did not know tonight we would…” Esmal touched his shoulder. It was still sore, but pleasure tingled with the pain.

“I did not think we would,” Sisbul admitted. “It is why I took out the mezcal.”

“What changed?”

Sisbul took his hand. “I just never saw that side of you. You were laughing and happy and a joy to be around. When we were singing together I felt our connection blazing inside me, in a way that… it leaves me at a loss for words Esmal.”

Esmal smiled gently. “We should do dinner again, is what you’re saying.”

“I would love that,” Sisbul whispered. He leaned in and they exchanged a gentle kiss. Esmal’s breath stolen by it. His heart pounded hard but also felt light and floating in his chest, and his bitten shoulder buzzed with new pleasure. Sisbul broke the kiss again and touched the wound. It was a scar now, healed by whatever magic Sisbul first channeled when he bit Esmal.

Sisbul said, “You know what this mark means, don’t you?”

Distantly, Esmal did, but he was still too buzzed and taken by the night to really consider its gravity. He nodded. “It’s what you leave on your consorts.”

“It will carry weight, attention you might not want. I can remove it if you like,” Sisbul said. His hood folded inward. “I did not plan to brand you with—I got lost in, well, you and the moment felt—”

“I will tell you if I want it removed.” Esmal said.

Even in the dark, he could tell Sisbul was beaming. The snake embraced him, strong arms crushing Esmal to his warm, scaly body. He laughed despite nearly getting the wind knocked out of him. Sisbul nuzzled Esmal’s cheek and said, “You won’t regret keeping it, Consort Esmal.”

Esmal, arms pinned to his sides by Sisbul’s embrace, just rubbed his cheek back against the steward’s. “I, hah, have not seen this side of you.”

Sisbul set him down with a chuckle. “You have known the Steward of Srrket, tonight you have started to know Sisbul.”

“Hehe,” Esmal, giddy, pulled Sisbul down into another kiss. He caressed the cobra’s hood, tracing it down to Sisbul’s shoulder, down his arm till they squeezed each other’s hands. Esmal broke the kiss and whispered, “I can’t wait to get to know Sisbul better.” They rubbed noses before Esmal said, “Good night, steward.”

“Good night, consort.”

Shoulder still warm, Esmal stumbled inside his room. He felt both immensely exhausted and flushed full of life. His brain buzzed with thoughts of Sisbul’s laughter, the snake’s touch, the taste of mezcal on the naga’s forked tongue. He crawled into bed, barely acknowledging that Srei was still outside, hunting for the scrolls Zysh used for the spell he cast. All of it felt a distant second to the naga who stayed wrapped around his thoughts. Little, riotous joys shook through Esmal. He pulled the bedsheets over him, and quickly, fell into a heavy, happy sleep.