She turned and started toward the door. Anton jumped down and followed her.
“NO!” she ordered. “Stay!”
Anton ignored her, wobbling along the floor on his roots.
She turned to Asherton. “Stop him!”
“I can’t stop him,” Asherton replied, irritated. “He wants you!”
“I don’t want him.”
“There’s nothing I can do about that.”
“Oh, stars above …” She ran down the stairs, wincing as Anton’s roots clattered along her father’s floors, leaving clumps of dirt on the rugs. When she reached the kitchen, Zephyr already had a cup of camfe ready for her.
“I’m sorry, Miss Devney. This is no place for a woman,” he said.
Magdala opened her mouth to agree, but before she could, Asherton yelped from the floor above as Anton felldown the stairs, bumping his huge head on each step. He landed in a heap on the tile and curled into a pathetic coil, keening.
Asherton thundered down the steps and scooped Anton into his arms, comforting him as if he was an injured child.
“There, there, is Mommy being awful?” he crooned. “She is. She’s the awfulest mommy anyone has ever had.”
He cast a cutting look at Magdala and she rolled her eyes.
“I thought he imprinted on you when he bit your hand,” Magdala said, sipping her drink. It was sharp and bitter and burned all the way down her throat. She relished it.
“It seems he imprinted on you both,” Zephyr said. “As I mentioned before, carnivorous plants are sometimes monogamous pairs, so he probably thinks Magdala is his mother and Ash is his father.”
Magdala choked on her camfe.
Zephyr’s eyes sparkled. “You’ll have to work out some sort of custody agreement.”
“I’m not co-parenting a plant with you,” Magdala said. “You can keep him.”
“Hush.” Asherton covered Anton’s earholes. “He’ll hear you!”
Anton wriggled out of his arms again, trotted to Magdala, and wrapped his leaves around her leg.
“This is ridiculous!” Magdala cried. “I can’t worry about him and you at the same time! One helpless creature is enough!”
“It’s not as though I wanted you to steal my plant.” Asherton yanked the kitchen door open and marched into the misty, humid morning.
Magdala shouted after him, “Put on some blasted shoes!”
Asherton called over his shoulder, “If you’re lucky, I’ll catch pneumonia and save you the trouble of doing me in yourself!”
“I’m not trying to…argh!” She slammed her cup on the counter, shook off Anton, and ran after the prince.
Anton skipped behind her, more steady on his root-legs every second. He was almost cute, in a horrifying way. Like a baby dragon. She imagined that if he had eyes, he would be less awful to look at.
Asherton waded into the garden, barefoot, his shirt unbuttoned and a mist of rain slicking his chest.
“Your Highness, put on a jacket. You’ll catch your death,” Magdala said, trying to keep up with him. She was crampy and sore, her head aching.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Would you slow down?”
