“And we’d slap him,” Arla added with a wicked grin. “Her wealthy parents funded her every whim. After her first affair,she and Rhavor bought that farm together. For a while, it worked. But then she grew bored—of the dirt, of the chores, and eventually of Rhavor himself.”
Sylvie clenched her jaw. She thought of the sculpted expanse of his chest. The raw, carved power of him. The way his hands felt like a controlled fire. How did anyone grow bored of a man like that?
Vera smirked, looking like she’d just read Sylvie’s entire internal monologue.
“She ran off with a ‘life coach’ without so much as a sticky note,” Arla snorted.
“And that,” Vera said, brushing sugar from her fingers, “was that. We never thought she was right for him. Pretty, yes—but a complete mismatch of souls.”
She sobered. “But there’s more. When they bought the farm, Rhavor planted a special seed.”
“A seed?” Sylvie echoed.
“Call us old-school,” Vera replied. “He inherited it from his father, and his father before him. It marks a dragon’s territory. It’s primal.”
“It’s part of that whole ‘dragon-hoard’ DNA,” Arla added with a vague wave of her hand.
“He planted it on the farm back when he thought Ronda was his forever. Foolish boy. I didn’t know he’d done it until it was too late. The seed is bound to the dragon, and the dragon to the seed. It feeds his strength, his health, his literal vitality.”
Sylvie swallowed hard. Images of Rhavor—pure heat, muscle, and leashed power—flashed unbidden through her mind.
“Well,” Arla added dryly, giving Sylvie a pointed look, “let’s just say he definitely doesn’t need any of Myrtle’s special tonics to make a girl happy. He’s got plenty of ‘vitality’ to go around.”
Sylvie’s ears turned bright red under Vera’s knowing gaze.
“We didn’t come here to advertise his performance in the bedroom,” Vera scolded lightly, though her eyes were dancing. “Anyway, like all ancient bargains, there’s massive fine print. A dragon cannot be abruptly uprooted from the land where he planted his seed. The magic that strengthens him will literally drain him if he’s torn away from it.”
“That’s what happened to Rhavor’s father,” Arla added bluntly. “It wouldn’t be a long or healthy life—not by dragon standards.”
Sylvie’s fingers tightened around her cup. She didn’t fully grasp the magical physics, but she understood the stakes.
“Can’t he just… take the seed with him? Dig it up?”
“And go where?” Vera countered. “This is his home. The seed is rooted, and there are very specific, very difficult conditions required to move something like that. Conditions that won’t be met anytime soon.”
Arla leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Rhavor has unfinished business. With Ronda. With that farm. And perhaps more than that.”
Vera nodded. “Those seeds are highly collectible on the human black market. One is buried on that land, and you know how rich people are—always hunting for power they don’t understand and can’t handle.”
“He’s already been through enough. We didn’t want to worry him,” Vera said more softly. “But look at him. He’s come outof his shell since you arrived. He went to the pub. He’s actually participating in the festival. You’d need a kingdom’s army to drag Rhavor into public otherwise.”
She winked.
“Rough on the outside,” Vera added, “soft and warm on the inside. Dragons say the harder the scales, the softer the heart.”
Despite the weight of everything they’d just said, Sylvie couldn’t help it. She laughed.
“So he’s basically a giant, grumpy toasted marshmallow?”
Vera grinned. “Exactly, dear. And he’s all yours—if you’re brave enough to handle the fire.”
***
Sylvie showed up to her assigned stall early the next morning—and her heart straight-up sank. Rhavor was her neighbor.
Of course he was.
