After a few minutes of silence, the King looked at me. “You are quiet tonight, Sebastian.”
“I'm sorry, Your Majesty.” I turned toward him. “I didn't mean to neglect you. Shall I start with compliments on your handsome face or would you prefer to hear about the way I long to worship your body? I've composed an entire poem about your ass.”
The Dragon King lifted a golden brow.
“Shall I recite it?”
Did his lips just twitch? No, surely not.
“I'd rather hear about the garden,” he said.
“The garden is getting weeded. It will take a while to remove all the plants that don't belong, but it must be done before I move on to the next step.”
“Yes, of course.”
I let him take a few bites in peace, then asked, “So now can I recite my poem?”
“No, Sebastian.”
“You don't like poetry?”
“I do not. I find it to be a waste of time, thought, and paper.”
“Ouch.” I grimaced. “Is it the rhyming? Because my poem doesn't rhyme.”
“I don't believe you have a poem.” The King set his teal stare on me. “And certainly not one about my ass. It's nice enough, I suppose, but not worthy of poetry.”
“I beg to differ, Your Majesty. It is worthy of every type of adoration, including poetry. And I do have a poem dedicated to it.” I set down my fork, cleared my throat, and pulled a poem about his ass, well, out of my ass. “It's called, The Royal Heinie.” I cleared my throat and pretended not to see his lips tighten. “The King of Latur outshines all other monarchy.” I swept out my hand dramatically. “With hair of spun moonlight and a face so sublime, it could make the Gods weep. But it is that which he sits upon that I love best. The softest part of the hard, Indifferent King—the royal ass.”
The Dragon knights at their posts made choked sounds as their shoulders shook, but the King just stared at me. He gave me a long blink. Then he looked away.
“Shall I go on?” I asked.
“No, thank you, Sebastian,” King Shaleros the Indifferent said. “That's quite enough about my ass.”
“I did warn you.”
“You shouldn't speak on things you know nothing about.”
“Ah, yes.” I nodded. “Quite right. They always say you should write what you know. Could I perhaps get better acquainted with your ass? Purely for artistic reasons, of course.”
There it was! A twitch. It was at the corner of his mouth. Just a second, but it happened. I saw it. No doubt about it.
“You may not,” the Dragon King said. “I am not interested in you or anyone else touching me. Anywhere.”
“Sad.” I clicked my tongue. “Very sad. Especially with your body. You have a body made for touching and being touched.”
“Every body is made for those things. Mine has done its duty. Now, it is beyond such needs.”
“If you say so, Your Majesty.” I returned to eating as if I hadn't recited a poem about the King's ass.
He stared at me warily. When I remained silent, he returned to his meal as well.
Chapter Seven
A week later, I was done weeding the garden of the small stuff, but there were still larger plants to remove, including a few trees. And then there would be the pruning. It was a long process, but satisfying. It helped that the progress was easy to see. Not so much with the Dragon King.
Every night, I ate dinner with him and pushed him a little further. If I was lucky, I got a twitch—either eye or lips. But usually, he just stared at me. Flirting with someone that stoic can get exhausting. Depressing. I started to feel like a pervert. But it had become a game for us. Or at least for me. It was the only way I could keep going. I had to look at every response as a win. I think the King was amused too, deep down. When I didn't start teasing him right away, he'd say something to prompt it. But that was the only encouragement I got.
