“I can’t wait,” she whispered.
The restaurant was traditional Drakkon in architecture and atmosphere. They were shown to a booth tucked slightly away from the main floor. The menu surprised her. There were plenty of dishes she recognized from the Upperworld, little comfortsslipped between Drakkon staples. When her eyes caught the cheeseburger, she didn’t even pretend to hesitate.
“Oh, I’m getting that,” she declared. “I’m American. It’s in my DNA.”
She didn’t care if it got messy. She hadn’t had a real cheeseburger in ages, and the sudden ache of homesickness hit her square in the chest. She hadn’t even realized how much she missed home until that moment.
Hektor nudged her lightly. “Then let’s go all out American.”
Which somehow led to burgers, fries, and milkshakes. By the end, she could feel herself glowing, practically hugging her milkshake glass.
“This was heaven,” she sighed. And she finally asked the question that had been sitting in the back of her mind. “So…the mating ritual?”
Hektor gave her a look that saidyou’re not supposed to know about that yet,and she lifted her brows innocently.
“Nyxion mentioned it,” she said.
He exhaled, resigned. “It’s…a tradition. A way Drakkon meet their potential mates. It happens once a year. Human females come to Drakkoria for the event, and Drakkon meet them, court them, see if a relationship forms.”
She blinked. “So, it’s like the centaur’s festival?”
“More or less,” he admitted. “But over a couple of months.”
“So only Drakkon and human women?”
“Yes. Drakkon are all male. Our species has always been that way.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “The last one you were part of was with Eleonora, right?”
“You know about that?” his brows drew together in surprise.
“How could I not?” she snickered, “The day we met. You’d tracked Lord Eros to our office, then burned Perseus’s desk.” Her lips curved. “You were so extra.”
A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth as he shrugged. The moment lingered between them, the humor easing into something more thoughtful. Zara’s smile faded as she turned the pieces over in her head, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass.
“Huh,” she murmured. “Makes sense why Nyxion assumed I was here for…that.”
A slow, territorial spark lit in Hektor’s eyes, and she bit back a smile. “And,” he added, leaning in a little, “it’s also why things can be… competitive.”
“I noticed,” she murmured, thinking back to the tension she felt between him and Nyxion.
He caught her hand, thumb brushing across her knuckles. “But none of that matters right now. This”—his gaze softened—“is what I want.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Good,” she said, soft but sure. “Me too.”
“So,” he flipped the dessert menu toward her. “What are we having?”
She didn’t even pretend to think. “Apple pie with ice cream. Obviously.”
Hektor’s mouth twitched like he’d expected that answer.
And when the server set it down in front of her, all warm crust, melty vanilla, cinnamon drifting up like a hug, she actually felt herself light up.She made an embarrassingly happy sound as she lifted the first spoonful.
The taste hit, and she closed her eyes, bliss washing over her. “Oh, my gods.”
When she opened them again, he was watching her like she was the dessert.
“It’s good,” she said, and scooped up a spoonful for him. “Here.”
