/~/~/~/~/
Friday morning, Rux spread his notes across the kitchen island and started planning.
The menu took shape course by course - each dish a translation of what he’d learned, what he’d observed, and what his dragon desperately wanted Sam to understand.
Antipasti - bruschetta with heirloom tomatoes from Urien’s garden, garlic, and basil. Fresh mozzarella. Nothingcomplicated. Traditional, like Sam preferred.
First course - wild mushroom risotto. Earthy, rich, the kind of dish that saidI put in the effort.
Main - lemon and herb roasted chicken with vegetables. Rux had already texted his cousin in Brighton for her family recipe, the one passed down three generations. He was determined to recreate that taste of home Sam had mentioned.
But he also prepared alternatives, just in case. A pan-seared salmon with dill cream sauce in case Sam wanted fish. Then he added a handmade pasta with sage butter as a vegetarian option. A Margherita pizza with extra garlic and mushrooms, because Sam had smiled when he’d mentioned it.
For dessert he went with dark chocolate torte with raspberries. Then decided to make a panna cotta with vanilla bean and a lemon posset that would taste like summer, so that Sam would have options. It was toomuch food for one person, but Rux didn’t care.
Saturday morning, he took over the entire kitchen. Mabon wisely retreated to his office. Urien brought in fresh herbs from the garden and then disappeared into the conservatory.
Rux worked methodically. He had stock simmering for the risotto, chicken marinating in lemon juice, garlic, thyme, and rosemary, a pizza dough rising on the counter, and torte cooling on a rack while he whisked cream for the panna cotta.
The kitchen smelled incredible - garlic and herbs, chocolate and citrus, butter and wine.
His dragon hummed with satisfaction.We’re taking care of our Treasure.
By four in the afternoon, every dish was either complete or ready for final preparation. Rux had timed everything to the minute. The chicken would need forty minutes once Sam arrived. The risotto, eighteen minutes of constant stirring.The pizza, twelve minutes in the oven if Sam wanted it.
Mabon appeared in the doorway. “This looks…”
“Don’t.” Rux pointed a wooden spoon at him. “Don’t say anything that’ll jinx it.”
“I was going to say it looks perfect.”
“Oh.” Rux set down the spoon. “Okay, then yes, it’s perfect. It has to be.” Because the dinner was his last chance.
If Sam didn’t understand after Urien’s garden, Mabon’s attempted grand gesture, and now the meal designed specifically for him - then they’d have to tell him everything.
Rux checked his phone. He still needed to deliver the invitation.
/~/~/~/~/
Saturday evening, Rux stared at his phone for ten minutes before Mabon physically took it from him and pressed dial.
“Stop overthinking it,” he muttered.
The phone rang twice before it was answered.
“Hello?”
Sam’s voice was slightly breathless, like he’d just come in from somewhere.
Rux’s carefully rehearsed speech evaporated. “Would you come to dinner?”
“Rux?”
“At our estate, tonight. Would you…I made…” Rux tried to get his fumbling words out. “Would you come to dinner. At our estate. Tonight?”
Rux could hear Sam breathing on the other end, could picture him adjusting his glasses the way he did when he was thinking.
“That seems very formal.”
